His Wife, His Enemy

lla said standing up. Looking like she fought with the soldiers during World War Two. She picked up the old alarm clock and saw the time. It was 8:30am, which means she has 30minutes to get he

the building, then they saw that Arabella's badge and uniform was already there. Allison and Arabella changed into their work uniform, picked up their supplies and cleaning supplies. Shortly they find theirselves in the top floor. The hallway very quiet The elevator doors slid open with a smooth ding, revealing a carpeted hallway so plush that Arabella felt guilty just stepping on it. Recessed lights bathed the corridor in a warm glow, making every surface gleam-even the doorknobs sparkled like they'd been polished by angels on overtime. "Whoa," she breathed, clutching her mop handle closer. "This place looks like money decided to build itself a penthouse." "Correction," Allison whispered, eyes alight with mischief, "money and ego. Remember, rumor says Xavier Blackwood Knight likes his office to remind people who's king." They approached a frosted-glass door stenciled with EXECUTIVE BOARDROOM in gold. Allison scanned her badge; the lock clicked open. Inside, the space stretched wider than Arabella's entire orphanage dining hall. A mahogany table ran the length of the room, surrounded by twelve leather chairs that probably cost more than her college tuition. One wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, the skyline framed like modern art. Another held a bar stocked with crystal decanters and water that looked fancier than regular water. "It's so quiet I can hear my heartbeat," Arabella murmured. "Enjoy the calm," Allison said, rolling in a sleek chrome cleaning cart. "Harley will come up here later, nose in the air, looking for a microscopic speck of dust she can write us up for." She mimicked Harley's voice: 'Dirty floors offend Mr Black's delicate eyes.' Arabella giggled, earning an exaggerated bow from Allison. They set to work, falling into an easy rhythm. Allison sprayed the long conference table with lemon polish, Arabella buffed behind her with a microfiber cloth. They worked their way around the room, chatting about nothing and everything: Allison's failed attempt at baking banana bread last night, Arabella's fear of elevators ("I swear they're just fancy metal coffins"), even a brief debate over whether pineapple belonged on pizza. It felt...normal, something Arabella had almost forgotten could exist. Half an hour later, the boardroom gleamed. They high-fived-gloved palms squeaking-and wheeled their cart toward the CEO's private office at the opposite end of the floor. The door there bore no label, only a sleek black X engraved into ebony wood. Subtle, powerful, terrifying. "Moment of truth," Allison muttered, swiping her badge. Nothing happened. "Maybe it's jammed?" "More like Harley forgot to activate your clearance." Allison's jaw tensed. "Let me try mine." She tapped her own badge. The lock flashed green, but the door still refused to budge. Arabella pushed gently-then a little harder. The door swung open so fast she stumbled and caught herself against the frame, heart hammering. "Friendly door," she joked, though her nerves jangled like loose change. The office was pure masculinity: dark oak bookshelves, charcoal walls, a fireplace that probably lit with a voice command. In the center sat a massive obsidian desk devoid of clutter-save a single crystal tumbler and a closed laptop with the initials XBK. "Okay," Allison whispered, "dust, vacuum, done. Five minutes tops." Arabella crossed to the windows, where floor-length drapes the color of midnight framed a dizzying view of the city. She pulled a feather duster from her apron and worked methodically down each shelf-until she reached a row of framed photographs. Curiosity won. There, amid images of board meetings and ribbon cuttings, one photograph snagged her attention: a little boy, maybe nine, standing beside a sleek black stallion, both wearing matching stubborn expressions. The boy's eyes-icy even in the picture-felt u