PAINT MY LOVE IN YOUR HEART

She glanced at her wristwatch again as her stomach growled loudly, its demand for food unmistakable.

On instinct, she looked around, then sighed in relief when she realized she was alone in the vast, white office - an office much bigger than her entire house.

The emptiness of the space only made her acutely aware of her poverty.

Her stomach growled once more, louder this time. The stale bread from yesterday's dinner had clearly run its course, and her stomach was craving something far more satisfying. A smile tugged at her lips as she imagined the meal she would finally have today.

Her thoughts wandered to a dreamlike vision of a steaming, enormous bag of seafood from Alma's store - a dish she had long coveted.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back, her mouth watering as she imagined sinking her teeth into soft, bouncy shrimp, tender lobster drenched in butter, and savory sauce.

She could practically hear the crunch of onion rings and taste the spicy hot sauce that would accompany the soft boiled eggs and potatoes. The aroma of the boil was so vivid she nearly licked her lips.

But the sound of a door opening jerked her back to reality. She quickly wiped away the drool that had escaped from the corner of her mouth.

"I heard you have something for me?" A woman's voice interrupted, dripping with condescension.

Mrs. Charlotte, wrapped in clothes more expensive than Alice's entire wardrobe, looked her over with an air of superiority.

"Yes, ma'am," Alice stammered, looking down at her feet. "I believe you'll like it. I really poured my heart into this painting, Mrs. Charlotte."

"I don't care what you poured in. I just hope it's worth my time." Mrs. Charlotte's voice was cold, and her eyes bored into Alice with the weight of authority.

"Of course, ma'am." Alice hastily stood up, clutching the painting. In her nervousness, she knocked over the cup of coffee the secretary had served her earlier.

The coffee spilled across the table, splashing onto a pile of documents, and Mrs. Charlotte scrambled to rescue whatever she could.

"You clumsy idiot! What have you done?" she shrieked.

Alice's heart sank, and the celebration dinner she had dreamed of now seemed like a distant fantasy.

"I didn't mean to, ma'am. I'm so sorry," Alice apologized, her voice barely a whisper.

"Sorry? Your idiocy just cost me two million dollars!" Mrs. Charlotte shouted, her face twisted in fury.

Alice felt lightheaded as Mrs. Charlotte picked up a small, expensive-looking portrait from the table.

The coffee stain had ruined it beyond repair. Alice noticed the signature-this was no ordinary painting. It was priceless.

Her stomach tightened, and she had to blink rapidly to fight back the tears threatening to spill.

Mrs. Charlotte stood there, seething, her face contorted in anger. Alice couldn't help but imagine her as a beautiful but deadly doll, her eyes flashing with rage.

"You owe me two million dollars, Alice. The owners of this painting are coming in twenty minutes. They'll either want their painting or their money. What's it going to be?"

Two million dollars. Alice almost laughed, the absurdity of it all was too much. If she had that kind of money, she wouldn't be living in a waterlogged house with overdue rent for the past three months.

Her landlord had become an ironical boyfriend, checking up on her daily for his rent.

"I don't have that kind of money, ma'am," Alice said quietly, trying to sound brave despite the overwhelming fear threatening to swallow her whole. She gripped the edge of the chair for support, terrified she might collapse.

"And I don't have a painting to give to my client in the next 18 minutes," Mrs. Charlotte snapped, her voice dripping with disdain.

Alice could almost see the wheels turning in Mrs. Charlotte's mind. The room fell silent for a moment, until Alice's stomach let out a loud growl, breaking the tension.

"Let me see your painting," Mrs. Charlotte said, her voice colder than before.

Alice's heart plummeted. She knew this moment would come, but it didn't make it any easier to face. She handed over her painting, watching anxiously as Mrs. Charlotte inspected the canvas.

"This will do," Mrs. Charlotte said dismissively, as though the painting were a mere consolation prize for the one she had lost. "I'll take this in place of my ruined copy."

The walk home was the longest Alice had ever taken, each step feeling heavier than the last. Going home meant losing her painting, but perhaps, just perhaps, a miracle might still happen.

When she knocked on the door, her uncle opened it immediately. His face fell as he saw her, just as Alice expected.

"What do you want here?" he sneered.

"Please, Uncle Jim... I need help," Alice pleaded, standing at the doorstep like an unwanted stranger.

"And why should I help you? After everything you did?" He scowled, his voice dripping with disdain.

"I didn't do it! I swear, I didn't do it. Please believe me," Alice pleaded, the tears she had been holding back now flowing freely, her resistance crumbling in the face of his coldness.

"Get out and stay out," he growled. "You don't want her to catch you here, do you?" He smirked, enjoying her discomfort.

His words felt like punishment, as if he were enjoying the suffering he believed Alice deserved. "Just this once, Uncle Jim, can you be family to me? Just this once?" Alice's voice was barely a whisper, as if the weight of her situation had crushed all her energy.

"You thought you were smart," he said with a bitter laugh. "I told you, didn't I? I said you'd come crawling back. Now get out and live with your decision."

The door slammed in her face before she could say another word.

'Justice was never close when you wanted it,' Alice thought bitterly as she trudged back to the box she called home. Sitting on the stairs outside her door was her landlord, waiting to reclaim either his rent money or the house keys.

"Remember, you were specially handpicked for this job. Don't be stupid," the head maid cautioned as she shared the duties among them.

Alice was trembling in her shoes as the woman handed her the tag.

She was in. She had gotten in.

"Now to the maids' quarters for breakfast," the boss said, and the line of maids marched to the end of the hotel - far away from the guests' area.

Of course, none of those billionaires who frequented the hotel would want the dirty and undignified maids having their disgusting breakfast near their luxurious living quarters.

"Hey, new girl! Come here," one of the maids called to Alice.

Not wanting to get in trouble or disappoint Mr. Steven, her landlord, she walked up to the girl politely. The girl sat with three others who looked like the high school bully type.

"Go over to the counter and get our food. Be fast about it," ordered the blonde who had called her.

Alice squinted her eyes in disbelief. She was hired to serve billionaires, not a skinny brat an with attitude.

"Why should I do that?" Alice asked.

The group stared at her, stunned.

"Are you crazy?" one of them asked, half-laughing.

"No. And you don't look crazy either. So why would you think you can boss me around?"

"You're a maid, stupid," the blonde snapped.

"Not your maid. Go get your food yourselves," Alice retorted and marched off.

She knew she shouldn't have challenged them, but she wasn't going to let anyone bully her again. She was sick and tired of being pushed around all her life. No one ever stood up for her. Not even Mr. Steve - especially not him.

He had warned her, "I got you this job so you can pay me. Your silly artwork is as useless as you are, but you're still important to me, so I can't ask you to leave just yet." His finger had trailed up to her chin.

Her skin crawled as she recalled that evening, coming home to find him waiting on her porch.

He had asked for rent again. And since she didn't have it, he demanded the other thing he'd been asking for over the past three months.

With a dead heart, she followed him into that shabby, moist, disorganized room.

"Try smiling. It puts me in the mood," he'd said, lying down, already stripped.

She looked at the bush around his groin and willed herself not to gag.

She climbed onto the bed beside him, pumped some lubricant he had conveniently placed by the bedside, and began to stroke him slowly - just how he liked.

"Your artistic hands are useful after all," he said, grunting. "I really can't imagine being without them."

He started to whine, following the rhythm. She could feel the tension building in his body.

"Use your mouth. I want to feel your hot tongue on the cap," he requested, trying to push her head down.

"You promised," she said, resisting.

"I'll take off two extra weeks."

"No."

"No?" His eyes snapped open. "I'm trying to help you out here, you silly wretch."

"I'll work hard at the hotel and pay every penny. I don't need your extended kindness," she muttered and continued with the act.

She could feel the wet drip down her thighs. His precum had started flowing from his thick shaft, but she swore she'd never give herself to him.

He knew it too. He knew she wanted him to touch her, just a little - to ease that aching desire she never dared acknowledge.

He'll break you one day, he thought smugly.

She increased her pace slightly, and a moan escaped him.

"Focus on the cap. Stay on the cap."

His shaft was soaked now, and she massaged the tip with the slick fluid.

More groans escaped him, and just as she felt the pressure building inside him, his phone rang loudly, breaking the tension and forcing a quick, sloppy climax.

"Fucking phone," he muttered.

It was the head maid on the line, calling to confirm the vacancy.

"You're one lucky bitch," he said as she picked herself up and walked out - not with her head held high, but at least not broken.

That was how she ended up at the hotel.

Now, she was a target again. Bullied, belittled, just like always.

Even her landlord bullied her.

Breakfast ended in ten minutes.

Alice was grateful for the job - at least she didn't have to worry about food anymore - but she couldn't say the same for the snub queens. They followed her around, messing up beds she'd already made, and mixing up her laundry just to get her in trouble.

By noon, she was already fed up.

One of the guests had spat on her for washing a colored outfit with whites, and half her pay had already been deducted for the damage.

Just before her hellish shift ended, the manager summoned her.

"An important guest is arriving in the next thirty seconds," he barked. "I don't want you anywhere near the lobby. I don't want your clumsiness ruining my business. Is that understood?"

Her cheeks turned red with shame, and she nodded.

"Now get out."

She was getting kicked out of places a lot lately.

As she walked out of the office, she ran into her enemies. Judging by their smug expressions, they'd heard every word.

She tried to pass, but Sandra - the blonde - grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back.

Alice winced in pain.

"One wrong move and you're out of here. I know you need this job more than you let on," Sandra said, laughing at her flushed face.

"I have an errand for you. Do it, and I won't bother you again."

Alice looked at her cautiously.

"What is it?"

"I want you to pick up a package for me. From the reception."

The reception?

That was in the lobby.

"I'm not allowed to go to the lobby," Alice protested.

"Not our problem," Sandra sneered. "You can either go grab the package or enjoy your worst workdays yet - with us."

They all grinned, proud of their cruelty.

The manager had said the guest would arrive in thirty seconds. Judging by the time that had passed, it was probably safe to go out now.

"Please don't waste our time," Sandra added, folding her arms. "Get going already."

Alice stepped into the lobby, not so boldly.

It was empty. Not even the receptionist was at her desk.

She lingered awkwardly, unsure of where to go or what to ask. Then her eyes landed on a paper on the reception counter - a list of names and numbers, possibly the guest registry. Something about it felt... off. She hesitated, then reached for it.

That's when the receptionist suddenly returned.

"What do you want?" the woman snapped.

The head maid had introduced all the new staff, but this receptionist had clearly taken an immediate dislike to Alice.

"Sandra asked me to pick up a package for her," she replied carefully.

The woman eyed her for a moment, then suddenly smiled.

"Did she now? Smart girl," she said.

Alice didn't respond.

The receptionist grabbed the paper Alice had seen and stuffed it into an envelope, handing it over.

Alice took it, her eyes still glued to the envelope as she turned to leave.

But because she wasn't looking up, she bumped into someone - a woman cloaked in a luxurious mink coat.

It wouldn't have been a problem... except the woman had been holding a full cup of coffee.

Now it was dripping down the front of the fur.

Alice's heart leapt into her mouth. She stared, horrified, as the woman's face turned beet red with rage.

"How dare you?"

Alice froze. She couldn't speak. Couldn't apologize. Couldn't move.

Guests were beginning to fill the lobby, whispering, watching, surrounding.

She felt small, like she had when she was five. Scared. Powerless. Alone.

"I don't think you realize what you've done, you wretched stinking maid! Do you know how much this mink coat cost me?" the woman screamed. "Your entire five years' salary wouldn't cover it!"

Alice couldn't breathe. Her hands trembled. Her throat closed up.

She saw the manager hurrying over, his face a mess of anger, confusion, and - was that fear?

She saw her life flash before her eyes: jobless, penniless, back in that shabby room with Mr. Steven, stroking him for rent.

The woman wasn't finished. She hurled insult after insult - even dragging Alice's dead parents into it.

Tears began to stream down Alice's face.

Then the woman raised her hand, preparing to slap her.

The crowd murmured but no one intervened.

Alice closed her eyes, waiting for the hit.

She deserved it. This was her punishment. For existing. For being born into the wrong life.

Seconds passed.

The slap never came.

"How much do you want for the coat?"

Alice's eyes fluttered open.

A new voice.

"No, Mr. Eric, you don't need to concern yourself with this situation, sir," the manager said quickly. "We wouldn't want to trouble you-"

"And how exactly were you planning to handle this?" the newcomer asked coldly, staring at the manager, who flushed under the weight of that gaze.

Alice dared to glance up.

Where would she even begin describing him?

He was tall. Broad shoulders. Arms like marble sculpted by God Himself. His shirt clung tight to a chest that dared the buttons to stay on. His lips were so perfectly shaped they looked like they were carved to kiss sin. Moist, full, and hypnotic.

His beard framed his strong jaw in just the right way. His deep-set blue eyes stared through her like glass, like he could see every dark part of her.

Alice swallowed. Her throat was dry.

Then - the lips moved.

"Maybe stop checking me out and thank me," he said.

She didn't hear the words - only the delicious curl of his mouth as it moved. The lips lowered, those sharp eyes catching hers, tilting her chin.

"You okay?" he asked. "You're blushing a little too much. It's almost... disgusting."

His voice was velvet and gravel, sinful and holy. She could sleep inside that sound.

Except he found her blushing disgusting.

"I'm... sorry for staring," she mumbled, embarrassed.

"I paid for the coat. So you owe me."

At the word owe, Alice snapped out of her trance.

"What?"

"The coat cost a lot. And you don't look like someone who has that kind of money."

Her heart dropped.

She was back to zero again. Owing someone. Indebted. Vulnerable.

What did he want?

All she had to offer was herself.

Then came the words.

"Marry me."