His Nanny Mate - Season 3 Episode 63

Ella

The mornings had always been my time of clarity, my beacon of hope. But not today. Two weeks had slipped by since my dismissal. Two weeks of job searching, late nights spent revising my resume, late mornings sleeping in and being awoken by the sound of my neighbors arguing or playing loud music.

I felt like a failure. A failure with convictions, maybe, but a failure. Today, I woke up tangled in a mess of bed sheets, my mind muddled with thoughts I couldn’t shake off. Groaning, I groggily crawled out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom, where I flicked on the light and jumped out of fear of my own reflection.

My hair was a mess. I had dark circles under my eyes. I was starting to look a little gaunt, too, from not being able to afford halfway decent meals since Mr. Henderson fired me. The weight of Logan’s influence and the web of the Mafia in the city felt inescapable.

Even though I tried to reintegrate into another law firm, word had traveled fast, and every door seemed shut. Every conversation turned cold the moment my name came up. It was as if I were marked, and in this city, it wasn’t in a good way.

My stomach growled-a reminder that I had responsibilities beyond just my pride and ambitions. Ema felt weak, too. It was a bit concerning, to say the least. My father always said that a weak wolf was just asking to be attacked or overpowered. Underfeeding myself was a dangerous game.

My ever-loving parents had generously offered financial help when I had first moved here, but my stubborn heart had refused. They had given me so much already. Asking for money now would be like admitting that I couldn’t stand on my own two feet. That my dream of independence was just that-a fleeting dream.

I had always lived frugally, but my rookie lawyer salary barely covered my expenses. And now, with the stream of income gone, I found myself calculating how long I could survive on my meager savings.

My parents didn’t even know that I was out of a job. Whenever they called me, I skirted the subject, claiming that I was just really busy or that I was working on stuff that I wasn’t allowed to talk about.

Naturally, there would soon come a point when they realized that I was full of shit. Would I give in at that point and move back home, where it was safe and comfortable and there was no shortage of money? Maybe.

But I wasn’t willing to let it get to that point just yet. I still held out hope that there was a shred of good left in this city. There had to be at least one law firm, however tiny, that still held onto its beliefs and wasn’t secretly backed by the looming shadow of the mafia.

If that didn’t work, then surely there was a coffee shop that would let me make drinks and keep my head down until people forgot my name. Then I could try again.

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Minutes ticked into houses, and the clock’s ticks only served to add to the weight on my shoulders. I glanced outside, watching as the sun made its way higher and higher into the sky. It was officially lunchtime, and I hadn’t even had breakfast.

Finally, I decided to grab my laptop and make my way downstairs to the coffee shop across the street. There was free wi-fi there, central heating, and cheap croissants. I scrounged up some cash that I had lying around the apartment and made my way over, shivering against the chill of the autumn air.

“That’ll be six dollars and fifty cents,” the barista, a young man who looked a few years my junior, said from behind the counter.

“Six… Six dollars?” I exclaimed, my eyes wide. “It’s just a black coffee and a single croissant!”

The barista shrugged. “Inflation.”

Grumbling under my breath, I dug into my pocket, where I managed to find a few more. quarters. But I was one quarter short. “I only have $6.25,” I murmured.

The barista snatched the money from my hands and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’re holding up the line.”

“Thanks,” I said, shuffling over to a table. A few minutes later, I had a cardboard cup of bitter black coffee and a stale croissant in my hand. It tasted like shit, but it was sustenance.

Maybe going home wasn’t such a bad idea. I could tell everyone it was a vacation-a brief respite. I was just taking time off of work. Yes, I was taking time off of my very busy work schedule. I was even getting vacation time!

Opening my laptop, I began to search for flights, settling for the cheapest ticket I could find. The flight was scheduled for this evening, giving me just enough time to pack and leave.

As I zipped up my suitcase, a knock at my door startled me. Peering through the peephole, my blood ran cold. Several men, their eyes void of emotion, stood outside. All of them wore chilling, stiff smiles, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Danger,” Ema said, her voice weak and far away. “Be careful.”

“I know.”

I took a deep breath and tried in vain to summon any shred of bravery I had left. There was none there, but I knew that the men wouldn’t be going away anytime soon. I opened the door just a crack, then peered out and eyed the men suspiciously.

“Can I help you?” I asked. One of the men stepped forward, his grin unwavering. “Miss Morgan, our boss has been waiting for a chance to chat with you for a while. It seems he got wind of your travel plans.”

Fear clawed at me. How did they know about my flight? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, trying to feign innocence. “Oh, come on now,” another man chuckled, his voice dripping with malice. “You’re not exactly subtle, sweetheart.”

I frowned. “You have the wrong girl,” I said, going to shut my door. But the man in front stuck his steel-toed boot out, stopping the door from shutting all the way. My face blanched.

Before I could react, the man in front muscled the door open. Two of them grabbed my arms, easily overpowering my weakened state from hunger and anxiety. Their grip was iron-clad, and any attempts to wriggle free only made them hold tighter.

“Let go of me!” I shouted, fear and anger giving my voice a tremulous edge. I felt my wolf try to take control, but it was no use. She was too weak, thanks to my poor diet. We were helpless, both of us.

“I said, let me go!”

The men didn’t respond. Instead, they effortlessly hauled me down the hallway, kicking and screaming.

“Help!” I cried. “Murder! Fire!” Of course, no one came out of their apartments. They wouldn’t. They knew what this was. I had quickly learned that everyone in this godforsaken city knew about the mafia. To them, I was just a ticking time bomb. Why get involved?

Panic surged within me, threatening to drown my senses. Memories of all the Mafia stories, filled with torture and revenge, played out in my mind. Had my act of defiance led me to this dark end?

The men dragged me out of the building against my will, and unceremoniously threw me into an unmarked van.

As the van sped away, I caught a fleeting. glimpse of my apartment building, the place I had once viewed as a symbol of my newfound independence in the city. A tear rolled down my cheek, not out of fear for what awaited me, but for the dreams that had been brutally shattered.

And then, a burlap sack was shoved over my head, and I couldn’t see anything anymore. All I could hope for now was a chance to see my loved ones one more time. But in this city, where the Mafia’s tentacles seemed to stretch into every corner, even that might be too much to ask.