Chapter 5 Dylan's ex

CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning, Molly woke to the soft hum of birds chirping outside her small window. Sunlight filtered in through pale curtains, painting gold across the simple room she now called hers. For the first time in years, she had a bed with a proper mattress, clean sheets, and her own space. No yelling. No threats. Just peace.

But even that peace was short-lived.

She rubbed her forehead as the dull ache reminded her of yesterday's incident-Dylan had hit her, albeit unknowingly. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror showed a faint red mark still lingering. She ran cool water over her face and let out a quiet sigh.

She had to make this work.

By 6:30 a.m., Molly was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. She wore the simple uniform Dylan's mother had delivered the evening before-a navy blue cotton dress with a white collar. It wasn't fancy, but it made her feel a little more official. A little more respected.

She was plating his omelet and toast when Dylan walked in, phone in one hand, the other ruffling his already messy hair.

His eyes swept over the kitchen, then her.

"Good," he muttered. "At least you're not hiding this time."

Molly lowered her gaze. "Good morning, sir."

He grunted in reply and walked past her, reaching for the coffee pot. As he poured himself a mug, he paused.

"Smells decent."

"Thank you," she said softly.

He took a sip, then nodded to the plate she was preparing. "You can serve it in the dining room."

"Yes, sir."

As she carried the plate out, Dylan leaned against the counter, observing her quietly. She moved with caution, like someone used to punishment. There was something about her presence that unsettled him-too quiet, too obedient. Too sad.

He joined her at the dining table, scrolling through his phone as he ate. Molly stood nearby, hands clasped in front of her apron.

"Don't you have something to do?" he asked after a moment, not looking up.

"I've cleaned the rooms and mopped the floors," she said. "The laundry's drying in the back. I was waiting to see if you needed anything else before I went to dust the upstairs."

Dylan raised a brow. "Efficient."

She nodded, unsure if it was a compliment or sarcasm.

"You live here now, right?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Keep the place clean, meals on time, and stay out of my way. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

He stood and walked to the hallway, pausing halfway. "And stop calling me sir. You're not in the military."

She blinked. "What should I call you then?"

"Dylan," he replied, then added, "Only when we're alone. Okay?"

"Yes... Dylan."

He didn't respond. Just walked away.

Later that afternoon, Molly was in the backyard folding laundry when a sleek black car pulled into the driveway. Curious, she stepped closer to the window and peeked out.

A tall woman stepped out-dressed in a blood-red jumpsuit, heels clicking confidently against the pavement. Her long blonde hair framed a face painted to perfection.

Molly stepped away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring.

Seconds later, the doorbell rang. She moved to the door.

She opened it carefully.

"Um... hello?"

The woman gave her a once-over. "Oh you must be the maid."

Molly nodded. "Yes. May I ask who's asking?"

The woman smirked. "Vanessa. Dylan's ex. Or maybe not so ex."

Before Molly could respond, Dylan's voice echoed from behind.

"Vanessa? What the hell are you doing here?"

He appeared shirtless, towel slung over his shoulder, clearly having just stepped out of the shower.

Vanessa's eyes swept over him. "I came to talk. I missed you. And I'm sure you did miss me too "

Molly immediately turned away, pretending to find something fascinating on the doormat.

"This isn't a good time," Dylan said flatly.

"Come on," Vanessa purred, stepping closer. "Don't tell me you're still mad. I know I did and said some things, but you didn't have to block me-"

"And yet, I did." His voice was firm. "Because I meant it. Go home Vanessa. I don't have time for this"

Vanessa's gaze flickered toward Molly, who had slowly begun backing away into the hallway.

"Oh. I see. You replaced me with this?" she said, her tone dripping with condescension.

Dylan clenched his jaw. "Leave her out of this."

"She's your maid, Dylan. Don't act like you haven't done this before-picking someone below your class just to get a rise out of your father."

"I said-leave."

Vanessa rolled her eyes, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and walked past Molly with a sneer. "Careful, honey. Men like him always trade you in for a shinier model."

And with that, she disappeared down the steps and into her car.

The slam of the door echoed through the house.

Molly stood frozen, unsure what to say.

Dylan turned toward her, his expression unreadable. "Ignore her."

"I wasn't listening," Molly said quietly.

He gave a dry laugh. "You were."

She looked down. "Is she always like that?"

"She's not important."

Molly didn't press further. She just gave a small nod and turned to leave. But Dylan stopped her with a sigh.

"You okay?"

She looked at him, surprised. "Yes."

He studied her. "You're not used to people asking that, are you?"

She bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

"Well, get used to it," he muttered. "You live here now."

She smiled faintly. "Thank you."

"Go rest. Dinner's not for another few hours."

"Yes... Dylan."

As she walked away, Dylan sat on the couch, running a hand through his damp hair.

Something about her unsettled him. Not in a bad way.

She was quiet, hardworking, beautiful-but clearly carrying the weight of the world. He didn't trust people easily, but something about Molly made him pause.

Maybe it was the sadness in her eyes.

Or the way she never asked for anything-not even sympathy.

And for reasons he couldn't explain... he wanted to know more. He wanted to know more about his house maid.