FINISH LINE

Sierra's POV:

Fatigue had already taken over me; my body was broken after this endless shift. The bar was packed, and it was impossible to move around due to the large number of people. A pungent smell of alcohol and cigarettes wafted through the air, clinging to my skin as if it had become a part of me. But another twenty minutes, and it would be over. A little more and I would be out of this place.

When I went outside, I took a deep breath of the cool air. Autumn had already begun to take over the nights, and the dark streets of my neighborhood looked bleaker than ever. The government hadn't bothered to invest here; this area had always been associated with crime, drugs, and prostitution. The streets were littered with trash, and barely two street lamps illuminated them with a weak light. It's not the most inviting place to live, but I don't have a choice. We deal with what we have.

I guess that's what I've always done, I've always struggled. For as long as I can remember, I've been alone. I don't have parents waiting for me at home or worrying if I got back safely. I don't even know who they were; they died when I was little. I only know what they look like because of the pictures I've been left with. I grew up in foster homes, moving from family to family, with no real belonging. Everywhere I went, I felt like a temporary resident. Unnecessary. In the end, I learned to stop hoping. I learned to trust only myself.

The traffic light turned green, and I started to cross the road when, suddenly, there was a sharp screech of tires burning on the asphalt!

A luxury sports car, shiny like a wheeled exhibition, hurtles toward me at breakneck speed. It's not the kind of car you usually see here. My heart skips a beat, my muscles freeze. I can't move; everything is happening too fast. The bright lights blind me, and I instinctively fall back to the floor, hands on the cold floor, shock overwhelming me.

The car stops inches from me. The silence after the sharp noise is chilling.

The door opens, and a tall man emerges from inside. His hair is brown and unkempt, his eyes are green, like a forest, sharp and focused. His body was perfectly toned, and he was wearing a T-shirt. A white shirt with blue jeans and a black leather jacket. All his muscles stood out through the white shirt. His muscles appeared to be perfectly designed to complement his height and build. His movements were light and flowing. His gaze was penetrating, and his mouth showed that he was used to being watched all the time.

"Shit." He muttered, his gaze indifferent.

Really?! He said it in the form of, "Hey, I almost run over someone every day."

"Are you crazy?! You were a second away from killing me!" I snap at him, the adrenaline forgetting the pain from the fall.

I stood up, shaking the dust off my clothes. My hand was rubbed from hitting the rough asphalt.

"Wow, calm down," he says, his voice low, tense. "I didn't see you."

"Didn't you see me?! Maybe stop driving like this, the road belongs to you!"

He rolled his eyes, and then he pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, as if I was some nuisance he just wanted to get rid of.

"Here, compensation. Close the story."

I stare at the money he hands me. No, I'm not buying it. I'm not looking for money.

I grab the bills—and throw them at him.

"You think my life is worth a few bucks?! Take your garbage and go choke." With him !"

He stands there, stunned, the bills scattered around him, and I turn and walk away, my heart beating fast, the rage still burning in me.

What an idiot.

The morning started differently. My steps were heavy, every part of my body was screaming, but I had to get up. The shift at the bar was always the same routine, but today, I had a new shift. Today I had to clean the house that the cleaning agency found for me. I got ready. I put on my tight black shirt that emphasized everything I needed, my tight jeans, and a huge plaid jacket over it to keep me warm on the way. My black Ulster shoes were already worn out. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My body looked thin, my skin looked tired. My hands were full of Band-Aids that covered my wounds from the accident last night.

I walked quickly towards the door, starting the new day, unsure of what to expect. The bus ride was long; every stop along the way felt like an eternity. I didn't understand where the bus was taking me, and I started to worry about where I was going. And why was it so far from my home? When I reached the nearest stop, I got off carefully, still not understanding where I was going. I looked at my phone and walked towards the address I had saved. My legs felt heavy, as if each step was more complex than the last. The house was on a hill. "You have arrived at your destination." A voice from the GPS on my phone woke me from my thoughts. I looked up and couldn't believe what I was seeing. I was standing in front of a giant metal gate, almost three meters high, made of blackened steel with a modern and elegant design. Its clean lines and precise finish exuded a nearly cool luxury, one that keeps strangers away and indicates - this place is not for everyone. Through the thin bars, which were far enough apart to give an open look but still instill a sense of privacy, I was able to peek in. My jaw almost dropped. The garden behind him looked as if it had been taken from a private paradise. An expansive lawn, green grass, and carefully tended, without a single wild weed or a patch of bare ground. The bushes were trimmed in perfect geometric shapes, and colorful flowers were carefully planted – splashes of red, purple, and yellow that added touches of life. A path paved with light stones led to the entrance, winding between the tall trees that stood around – oaks and palms whose branches trembled slightly in the wind.

And the house? It was huge.

A magnificent structure in delicate cream tones, with massive glass walls that gave it a wonderfully modern and open look. The morning sun touched the glass, creating soft reflections that added to an almost dreamlike beauty. Its lines were clean, minimalist yet luxurious – every detail, from the black window frames to the tall front door, exuded power and money.

It wasn't a house. It was a mansion.

I took a deep breath, trying to digest it. This is where I'll be working? This must be a mistake. It was light-years away from the cramped apartments and gray housing estates where I grew up—this feeling of not belonging burned into me.

I took another breath, raised my hand, and pressed the intercom button on the gate. I felt like I was going to have an enjoyable day at work.

A man's voice came from the intercom.

"Um ...my name is Sierra, I'm the new cleaning lady," I said uncomfortably.

"Come in," the voice on the intercom said after several minutes of silence that felt like an eternity. The gate doors opened in front of me, and the guard, who looked to be about fifty years old, with gray hair and eyes, met me and escorted me to the entrance of the house.

I knocked on the front door of the house, and someone in their thirties opened the door. She looked neat with her hair pulled back into a slicked-back ponytail and an executive suit. I felt a little neglected next to her.

"Hello, you must be Sierra, very nice, I'm Sofia." Sofia smiled a polite but professional smile and shook my hand with a short, matter-of-fact squeeze. There was something authoritative about her; maybe it was her confident tone, or the way her eyes scanned me, assessing me without saying a word.

"Welcome, Sierra. Come, I'll show you the house and your responsibilities," she said, motioning for me to enter.

I crossed the threshold and almost forgot to breathe. The interior was even more impressive than the exterior.

The high ceiling gave a breathtaking sense of space, and the white walls with ceramic touches exuded an understated elegance. The light marble floor was so polished that I could see my reflection in it, and above us hung modern crystal chandeliers, delicate yet full of presence.

"We take great care with cleanliness here," Sophia continued in a measured voice. "I need you to clean the main spaces, mainly every morning. The living room, kitchen, and several main hallways in this house require cleaning, as well as the public rooms. There's another team in charge of the bedrooms, so you don't have to worry about them."

She led me down a long hallway where every wall was adorned with luxurious modern art. On one side was a vast glass wall that overlooked the private pool, the clear water sparkling in the morning light. On the other side were dark wooden doors that led, I assumed, to more rooms.

"In the kitchen," she continued, "I want the countertops to be clean at all times. Dishes in the dishwasher? Run it as soon as it's full, but there's no need to wash dishes by hand. We also want the floor to be spotless. These tiles are delicate, so only use the cleaning products in the cupboard here." She opened a door almost completely hidden in the wall, revealing neat shelves of high-end cleaning products.

"And what about the living room?" I asked, trying to keep a businesslike tone.

Sophia nodded. "In the living room, make sure the tables are always dust-free, the pillows are tidy, and the rugs stay clean. We also have a gas fireplace; you don't need to mess with it, but if you see dirt near it, clean it carefully."

The living room itself was huge. Black leather sofas, a minimalist glass table, and a giant TV screen hanging on the wall like a painting. Everything looked incredibly expensive.

"And finally, we have the back porch," she said, opening wide glass doors that led outside. Cool air caressed my face as I peered out—a clean, shiny wooden deck, a luxurious outdoor dining table, and, of course, the large pool that looked like it came out of a design magazine.

"You will start every day at eight in the morning, and finish by noon. Any questions?"

Really? I had a lot. But I just shook my head in denial.

"Excellent," Sophia smiled slightly. "So have a good day at work, Sierra."