CHAPTER 2: THE ULTIMATUM

AMBER HART POV

The silence in the room was suffocating. Kalix didn't blink. He just stood there by his desk, looking at me like I was a bug he wanted to crush under his expensive shoes.

My hands started shaking, so I locked them behind my back. "I’m Amber, sir. The new housekeeper. Mrs. Gable recommended me to Martha."

Kalix looked at the broken lamp on the floor, then back at me. A harsh, humorless laugh escaped his lips. "The new housekeeper. And you’ve been here for what, ten minutes? You already managed to destroy property."

"It was an accident. I tripped on the rug," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I sounded a lot braver than I actually felt. Inside, I was screaming. If he fired me right now, I’d be sleeping on a park bench with two massive suitcases in the freezing cold. I couldn't let that happen.

"I don't care if you tripped or if you flew," Kalix said, his tone icy and completely indifferent. He stepped out from behind his desk, walking slowly toward me. He was tall, easily over six feet, and his presence completely dominated the room. "I have one rule in this house: absolute competence. I pay a premium so I don't have to deal with noise, clutter, or clumsiness. Clearly, you can’t even handle walking across a room."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen. "Martha. Come up to the master suite and pack this girl's things. She’s done."

He didn't even wait for Martha to reply before hanging up. He turned his back on me, walking back to his desk as if I had already disappeared.

Panic flared hot in my chest. This was it. The absolute bottom. I thought about the four dollars in my bank account. I thought about Mark and Chloe laughing in our old apartment. I thought about my parents waiting for my next remittance check.

Something inside me snapped. I wasn't going to let this arrogant billionaire ruin my last chance at survival without a fight.

"Wait," I said, taking a step forward.

Kalix paused. He didn't turn around immediately, but I saw his shoulders stiffen. When he finally faced me, his expression was darker than before. "What did you just say?"

"I said wait. Please," I added, forcing the word out. "You can't just fire me over a lamp. I need this job."

"I can do whatever I want in my own house," he countered, his voice dangerously low. "And I don't keep liabilities around. Leave before I have security drag you out."

"I am not a liability," I said, holding his gaze even though every instinct told me to look away. "I made a mistake. People make mistakes. But I am a hard worker. I worked twelve-hour shifts at a diner for two years without a single complaint. I can clean, I can cook, and I can keep this place perfect. Just give me a chance to prove it."

Kalix stared at me. For a second, he looked almost surprised that I was talking back to him. Most people probably cowered and ran the moment he raised his voice. But desperation made people do crazy things, and right now, I was as desperate as they came.

"You're wasting your breath," he said, though his voice lacked the sharp edge from before. He was observing me now, his eyes scanning my tired face, my cheap jacket, and my tightly clenched fists. "I don't do charity cases, Amber."

"I'm not asking for charity. I'm asking for a job," I shot back. "Give me one week. A probationary period. If I make even the slightest mistake—if I break another thing, if I make too much noise, or if you just don't like the way I dust your desk—you can fire me on the spot. No severance, no arguments. I'll walk out myself."

The bedroom door opened, and Martha hurried in, looking breathless and terrified. "Mr. Smith, I am so sorry. I should have supervised her—"

"Quiet, Martha," Kalix interrupted, raising a hand. His eyes never left my face.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Martha looked between the two of us, completely confused, while I just kept my eyes locked on Kalix. I needed him to see that I wasn't going to break. I needed him to see that I meant every single word.

Kalix leaned back against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. He let the silence stretch for a long, agonizing minute.

"One week," Kalix finally said.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"But the rules change," he continued, a cold smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Since you're so confident, you won't just be cleaning the house. You will be my personal assistant while you're here. You clear up this mess right now, you bring my espresso to my desk in five minutes, and tomorrow morning at exactly five AM, you will have my breakfast and my schedule ready. If you are even one second late, you're out. Understood?"

"Understood, Mr. Smith," I said, nodding firmly.

"Martha, leave the basket. She cleans it up," Kalix commanded.

Martha gave me a worried look but quickly bowed her head and exited the room.

I immediately dropped to my knees and began picking up the larger pieces of the broken lamp, careful not to make any sharp noises. My fingers stung as a small piece of metal grazed my palm, but I ignored it. I couldn't afford to show any weakness.

Kalix ignored me, sitting down in his leather chair and pulling a laptop in front of him. The click-clack of his keyboard filled the room, a steady, rhythmic sound that felt like a countdown timer for my one-week trial.

Once the floor was clear, I went back into the study. The espresso machine was fully heated. I carefully selected a dark roast capsule, placed a small porcelain cup underneath, and pressed the button. The rich, bitter aroma of coffee filled the small space.

I placed the cup on a small silver tray, took a deep breath, and walked back into the bedroom. I approached his desk slowly, making sure my steps were entirely silent this time.

"Your espresso, sir," I whispered, setting the tray down on the empty space near his right hand.

Kalix didn't look up from his screen. He simply reached out, took the cup, and took a small sip. He didn't frown, which I took as a victory.

"Get out," he murmured, his eyes still fixed on his work. "And don't be late tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Mr. Smith," I said.

I picked up the laundry basket filled with the broken lamp pieces and walked out of the room, shutting the heavy double doors softly behind me.

The moment I was out in the hallway, my legs felt like jelly. I walked down the grand staircase and headed straight for the staff quarters. When I entered my tiny room, I locked the door and slumped against it, dropping the basket to the floor.

I made it. I had a bed for the night, and I still had a chance to earn that ten thousand dollars.

Walking over to the small bed, I checked my phone. It was already past midnight. I had less than five hours before I had to be back upstairs to face Kalix Jace Smith again. I set my alarm for four-thirty AM, plugged the phone into the wall, and climbed under the covers without even changing out of my clothes.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to sleep, pushing away the image of Kalix's cold, piercing glare.

The loud, shrill alarm woke me up what felt like two minutes later.

I sat up instantly, my heart racing. It was four-thirty AM.

I rushed to the small bathroom, splashed cold water on my face to shake off the exhaustion, and tied my hair back into a neat, tight bun. I changed into the spare grey uniform Martha had left on the dresser. It fit a bit loosely around my waist, but it was clean and presentable.

By four-forty-five AM, I was down in the massive commercial-grade kitchen.

Martha was already there, sipping a cup of tea. She looked up, her eyes widening slightly when she saw me. "You're still here. I expected you to pack your bags and run in the middle of the night."

"I told you, I need this job," I said, walking over to the counter. "Where is Mr. Smith's breakfast menu? And his schedule?"

Martha sighed, pulling a tablet from a drawer and sliding it over to me. "He likes a traditional American breakfast—black coffee, three eggs whites scrambled with spinach, and whole wheat toast. No butter. No oil. And his schedule is synced on that tablet. He has a board meeting at seven AM, which means he leaves the house at six-fifteen."

"Got it," I said, already grabbing the frying pan.

I worked quickly but quietly. Cooking was something I was actually good at, thanks to the years spent managing the breakfast rush at the diner. By exactly four-fifty-five AM, the food was plated perfectly on a silver tray, next to a fresh cup of black coffee and the tablet showing his daily schedule.

I took the service elevator up to the third floor. My hands were steady this time. The desperation was still there, but it was replaced by a sharp focus.

I knocked on his door at exactly four-fifty-nine AM.

"Come in," a voice called out from inside.

I pushed the door open. Kalix was already fully dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, adjusting his cufflinks in front of the full-length mirror. He looked completely refreshed, showing no signs of the late-night work session from hours prior.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith," I said, walking over to the small dining table near the window. I set the tray down carefully, arranging the plate, the coffee, and the tablet in a neat line. "Breakfast is served. Three egg whites with spinach, whole wheat toast, and black coffee. Your schedule for the day is open on the screen."

Kalix walked over to the table, his eyes inspecting the setup. He picked up the fork, took a bite of the eggs, and chewed slowly.

I stood at attention, waiting for the verdict.

"The coffee is acceptable," he said, setting the fork down and picking up the tablet. "The schedule is correct. You're on time."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't get comfortable," he replied, not looking up from the screen. "It's only day one."

He took another sip of his coffee, completely dismissing me. I bowed slightly and turned to leave the room, keeping my steps light and practiced. As I reached the door, I took a quiet, deep breath, adjusting the cuffs of my uniform.

I walked out into the hallway and closed the door behind me.