The battlefield was a wasteland of fire and chaos. Smoke curled around me like a suffocating serpent, its thick tendrils burning my lungs as I struggled to breathe. My uniform clung to my sweat-drenched skin, the weight of my rifle a familiar yet foreign presence in my grip. The scent of blood and metal was overpowering, and the deafening sound of gunfire rang in my ears.
I wasn't alone. There were bodies—fallen soldiers, some I recognized, some I didn't. The distant echoes of men shouting orders mixed with the screams of the dying, a haunting melody of war. My hands trembled, but I tightened my grip on the rifle, raising it as a shadow moved in the distance.
"Sidney!" a voice called.
I turned, my heart hammering against my ribs, but before I could react, something—someone—rushed at me from the smoke.
A sharp pain tore through my chest.
I gasped.
And then I woke up.
My eyes flew open, and I bolted upright, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The familiar comfort of my small bedroom in Ontario slowly came into focus, illuminated only by the dim glow of my bedside lamp. My fingers curled into the sheets, my pulse still erratic from the nightmare.
A laugh bubbled out of me, soft and breathless. "Jesus, Sidney," I muttered, running a hand over my face. "You really need to stop watching military movies before bed."
The dream had felt so real—the weight of the rifle, the suffocating smoke, the bone-deep exhaustion. But that wasn't my life. I was no soldier. I was a housekeeper. A glorified maid in a rich woman's mansion.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 4:13 AM. Too early to be awake, too late to force myself back to sleep.
With a sigh, I reached for my phone.
Scrolling through my contacts, my thumb hovered over one name before pressing the call button. Prisca.
The line rang twice before a groggy voice answered. "Sidney, it's four in the morning," Prisca groaned. "Are you dying? Because if not, I will kill you for waking me up."
I chuckled, flopping back onto my pillows. "I had a dream."
"You woke me up because you had a dream?" she grumbled. "You better have seen a winning lottery number."
"No," I said, grinning. "I was in a battlefield, holding a rifle, dressed like one of those badass female soldiers in movies."
Prisca snorted. "Please. The only battle you fight daily is scrubbing Anne's marble floors."
"Exactly!" I sighed dramatically. "And maybe a few verbal wars with Anne herself."
Prisca hummed. "So? Are you calling to analyze your dream, or did you just miss my beautiful voice?"
"Neither," I said, smiling. "I was thinking about Jake."
Prisca groaned loudly. "Oh, for heaven's sake. Sidney, let this man rest. Does he even know you exist?"
I rolled onto my side, staring at the ceiling. "Of course, he does," I said defensively. "I work for his sister."
"Yeah, and he's been to the house, what? Three times in two years?" Prisca scoffed. "Have you even spoken to him?"
I huffed. "Once. I said 'good evening, sir,' and he said 'hmm.'"
Prisca burst into laughter. "Oh wow, the chemistry is undeniable."
"Shut up."
"You're actually stalking this man, Sidney," Prisca teased. "What's new on his social media today?"
I smiled, pulling up Jake's Instagram profile. His latest post was a photo of him at a shooting range, all serious and focused, holding a pistol with perfect form. "He posted a picture at a shooting range," I said.
Prisca yawned. "Mmm-hmm. And?"
"And he looks really good. His arms, Prisca. His biceps. I can't breathe."
Prisca groaned. "You are hopeless. Have you ever thought about, I don't know, talking to him like a normal person instead of analyzing his every post like a detective?"
I sighed. "Jake is not just any man. He's…"
"A military man," Prisca finished in a dramatic voice. "A god among mere mortals. An untouchable warrior who doesn't even know that his sister's maid has been thirsting over him for years."
"Housekeeper," I corrected.
"Stalker," she countered.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't argue. It wasn't my fault Jake was so damn fascinating. He was everything I imagined a man should be—strong, disciplined, and just the right amount of mysterious.
"Anyway," I continued, scrolling through his pictures, "I noticed something on his tiktok yesterday."
Prisca hummed in mild interest.
"He follows this girl now," I said, clicking on the profile of a blonde fitness model. "He liked a bunch of her pictures."
"So?"
"So, what if he likes her?" I sat up. "What if they're talking?"
"Sidney, I love you, but I will reach through this phone and slap you," Prisca said. "You're panicking over a man who hasn't even noticed you exist. If you want him, do something about it. Flirt. Start a conversation. Stop being a creepy ghost in his life."
I groaned. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple," she said. "Stop watching him from a distance and give him something to look at."
I bit my lip, considering her words.
But before I could respond, a loud crash echoed from outside my bedroom door.
I froze.
Prisca must have heard it too because her voice sharpened. "What was that?"
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the phone. "I—I don't know."
The house was supposed to be empty. Anne was out for the night, and no one else had a key.
Another sound. A creak of the floorboards.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I wasn't supposed to be scared because I can defend myself, but this is so unexpected.
"Sidney," Prisca whispered, "I need you to listen to me. Get up. Get something—anything—you can use as a weapon."
"Have you forgotten so easily that I'm the daughter of General Choi?" I whispered.
"You're all alone, Sidney! What if..."
I didn't wait for her to complete her statement because I can't afford to let her send chills down my spine.
I moved slowly, slipping out of bed. My heart pounded against my ribs as I grabbed the metal candle stand from my nightstand.
The silence stretched.
Then, footsteps.