Chapter 1
Dear diary,
I can’t believe I got the job.
I don’t even know where to begin. But it’s only fitting that the last page of my old diary gives birth to a new chapter in my life. Before I buy a new one, I want to bring this one to a happy close.
We’ve been through a lot together these last three years. Every page of you is full of my heartache, pain, happiness, and achievements, and yet I still can’t find it in my heart to stop writing in you. Even now, having to buy a new one feels hard. It’s like breaking up with my ex all over again.
I honestly thought my life would end with him. He left me with no money, nowhere to live, and ran off with that skanky bitch Evelyn. We were supposed to be friends—best bitches to the end—but for her, the end was just long enough to steal my man.
But it’s like Momma used to say: If she can steal him, then he wasn’t yours to begin with.
She even got me fired from my job over something totally stupid. Like, who hasn’t used the work copier for personal stuff? Heck, it was just a few flyers for my sister and her soccer team. Nobody complains when she sells fucking chocolate for her sister, for crying out loud which might I add is illegal at work—and no one bitches about that.
Sigh...
I know, I know. I should calm down. It’s not like she can ruin this for me. I finally got a job. No more bumming it on my cousin Jasper’s couch.
You know, when he told me he was gay I didn’t think much of it—then I realized he was getting more guys than me. And I’m not gonna lie, I started to feel a little jealous. LOL. But Jaz is a sweetheart. Always has a sister’s back.
I’m gonna miss him.
I hope he can come visit me in Maine—Mount Desert, Maine, to be exact. I honestly don’t know much about the place, other than Jasper had a friend who was looking for help around his estate.
As you know, Jasper owns a nightclub with another friend of ours, Becky. And when there’s no DJ, they hire live bands. Well—there’s this guy who’s been trending like crazy. He’s on everything from KnockNok to Jamstagram. I even think he has a Junespace page, though it doesn’t look like it’s been updated much.
Anyway, that’s not important. I’m rambling. I just can’t help myself—I’m so excited.
Okay, okay, technically I’m his house sitter. But that’s just part-time. Really, I’ll be his live-in maid. Room and board, access to one of his cars, and pay. All I have to do is keep the place tidy while he’s off doing his star-stuff.
...Did I mention he’s rich as sin?
His name is Hunter Townsend. Most just know him by his stage name: Hunter T. Or Hunt.
Come May 1st, I’ll know him as Mr. Townsend—my boss.
I am so excited.
I know, I know. Why move away from a good thing, right? Even though Jasper would never kick me out, I know he’s not comfortable making out with his partners with me around. I mean, I walked in on them one time and let me tell you... Jasper is every bit of a screamer as I am when I’m being taken to town. LOL.
Ever since then, I’ve felt like I’m just keeping him from living it up, you know? And he’s really starting to get serious with his boyfriend Claude. I’m sure they want their couch back. I also know I take up a lot of time in the mornings getting ready.
But hey—I have to look my best. Or at least I try to.
I really let myself go a few years ago, as you know. I’ve just now started taking care of myself a little more. I always kept my hygiene on point, but I will admit—I let myself go a little. Nothing a few trips to the gym and running with Jasper didn’t fix.
Now, when I look at myself, I see a rather shaped, red-haired woman I don’t mind staring back at me in the mirror.
I’m happy with me.
And now that I have this new job? I can be happy making some money. I mean—it’s room and board. Plus, I get the benefit of using one of his cars to do the shopping, since I don’t have my own.
The only problem is... I have to move into a room in the home.
Hell, I say “home,” but it’s more like a mansion. This guy is loaded. Sadly, I don’t know much about him other than hearing him sing a few times. Jasper worked everything out with Hunt’s manager.
His manager—Miss Lucinda—is the one who picked me. Jasper says she’s been with him since day one. Super picky. So I guess I must’ve passed some test without even knowing it.
And yeah, I’m nervous. I’m moving into a mansion. Into the orbit of someone who makes the internet drool. Who probably smells like cologne and power. What if I mess it all up?
But this is my fresh start. A real one.
No more pity looks. No more Evelyns. No more Marcus.
Just me.
Doing this my way.
With red curls that I finally learned to love, hips that I’ve stopped hiding, and a little faith that maybe... just maybe... this new chapter is going to turn out beautifully.
Here’s to the girl who survived.
And to the maid I’m about to become.
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POV
“’Cuz you ready yet, hun?”
Jasper’s voice floated from the hallway.
I smiled to myself, still sitting cross-legged on his couch, scribbling one last line in the corner of my diary.
“Almost. Just putting the last touches on something I was writing,” I called out.
I ended the final page with a small heart—right at the bottom corner. A habit. Like sealing the page with a kiss.
Then I closed the book, stood up, and walked to Jasper, who was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed like always. His blonde hair was perfect, his makeup sharp without being loud, and his smooth sand-colored skin made me instantly jealous. Jasper was glowing.
He honestly looked better than I have in a long time. Hell, if not for him, I wouldn’t even be taking these steps.
“You know you don’t have to leave, right?” he said, his voice softening. “You can always kick it with us a little longer.”
I shook my head. “Jazz... You’ve done more than enough. I mean, come on—you’ve wiped my puke, literally applied my deodorant on days I couldn’t even lift my arms. I hereby, as your big cousin, set you free from all duties of care.”
We both laughed.
He wrapped his arms around me, pulled me into a hug, and kissed my forehead. “Just know you always got a place here with me, okay, Jaybird?”
“I will,” I whispered. “And I can’t thank you enough. You know that, right?”
“Sure you can,” he smirked. “Convince your rich-ass boss to do a private set at the club sometime. He’s worth every penny—but baby boo, he is expensive.”
We both laughed again, maybe a little too hard. But we needed that laugh.
Packing wasn’t hard. I didn’t have much.
One suitcase:
Underwear. Shirts. Two pairs of pants. Socks. Two pairs of shoes. Toiletries. Laptop.
That’s it.
On the way to the airport, Jasper pulled off at a gas station and came back with a new laptop charger—said mine looked like it was about to catch fire. “Going-away present,” he winked.
I also grabbed a brand-new diary. Leather-bound. Blank pages. Waiting.
The flight from Georgia to Maine wasn’t long. But my nerves made it feel like an eternity.
What if I messed this up?
What if I wasn’t good enough?
What if I botched it on day one?
But all that buzzing inside my head faded the moment I met her.
Miss Lucinda.
Sharp suit. White blouse. Red lipstick. Hair in a tight silver bun like she didn’t have time for nonsense.
She met me at the gate, holding a sign with my name. She didn’t even say hello. Just turned and walked. “This way.”
And I followed.
She drove us in a sleek black SUV with tinted windows. I didn’t say much—mostly because she spent the entire ride on a conference call. She was arguing with promoters. They were trying to cheap out on some event, but she wasn’t having it.
They caved. They always caved.
She moved like a woman who could silence a room with just a breath. There were agents and stylists who wanted to work with her—hell, she said she’d turned down offers from top publishers. Because, as she proudly told someone on speaker, “He does his own publishing. Control is key.”
Watching her work was honestly kinda thrilling. She wasn’t just good—she was better.
It was all so different from anything I’d ever known.
And then… we arrived.
To a secure gate that opened and allowed us to turn in.
There was no street sign.
No house number.
Just a long, winding drive that twisted like it didn’t want to be found.
The trees grew denser the farther we went, tall and silent—like sentinels. The car’s tires crunched over gravel and pine needles, and I swear even the air got quieter. The only sound was Miss Lucinda tapping her nails against the steering wheel and the occasional breath she took between calls.
“We’re nearly there,” she said after a long silence. “Welcome to the Townsend Estates.”
It didn’t sound like a house when she said it.
It sounded like a reputation.
And then I saw it.
I had to blink twice, just to make sure it was real.
It was huge—but not in that cold, soulless mansion way. No, this place had a presence. A personality. Like it had lived a hundred years and remembered all of them.
Gray wood siding, soft and weathered, wrapped around the frame like a fitted coat. Deep green shutters lined the windows, tall and arched, like something from a cathedral. A wide porch hugged the front, draped in hanging baskets and flanked by flags. The American one I expected. The Maine flag? That one fluttered like it belonged to something older than the country.
The house didn’t sit on the land—it rose above it, quietly claiming the trees and the ledge and even the breeze as its own. You couldn’t tell where the structure ended and the estate began. It all just flowed.
And the smell—
Salt. Pine. Stone warmed in the sun. Something crisp and clean I couldn’t place, but it made my lungs stretch open wider.
The Townsend Estates.
No wonder they didn’t put a sign out front.
Places like this don’t ask you to notice them. They assume you will.
Lucinda didn’t pause.
She just drove us around the circular gravel path and parked near the front steps like she’d done it a thousand times.
I sat frozen, suitcase gripped in my hands like a shield. Doubt crept into my mind, and I asked myself, was this truly for me? I was nervous and hesitant.
Then, as if she could read my mind, Miss Lucinda turns to me and says.
“You’ll do,” she said finally, pulling the keys from the ignition. “He likes quiet. He doesn’t like being hovered over. Stay in your lane, and you’ll be fine.”
Then, without another word, she stepped out and climbed the porch.
I followed.
The wood groaned softly under my boots as I climbed behind her. The door loomed large—stained mahogany with polished brass hardware that practically winked in the sun.
And then it opened.
Before she even knocked.
And there he was.
Leaning casually in the doorway, one hand tucked into the pocket of his fitted black joggers, the other brushing his curls out of his face. His eyes caught mine before I could even brace myself.
Hunter T.
And my whole mouth went dry.
