CONTROL

Pink Listings

Golden Miller

I moved to the city three weeks ago with two suitcases, a dying houseplant, and the kind of mindless optimism that only shows up when you have nothing left to lose.

The optimism died first. The houseplant followed a few days later.

Now it was just me. Twenty-two, broke, and sitting in a coffee shop that smelled like burnt beans, pretending my laptop held a future instead of a hundred rejection emails. I refreshed my inbox. Again. Nothing. No interviews, no follow-ups, not even the polite automated “thanks but no thanks.” Just silence.

I tugged the sleeve of my pink sweater over my knuckles. It’s a habit I can’t seem to kill. Pink has always been my thing, bright, soft, impossible to miss. My mother used to say it suited me because I insisted on seeing the good in people even when there wasn’t any.

We don’t talk much these days. Our last phone call was just heavy pauses and unfinished sentences. She never really forgave me for leaving, and I never forgave her for the secrets. We don’t mention my father, either. He’s the ghost who left before I was born but still manages to haunt every room he was never in.

I went back to the job listings. Barista. Retail. Receptionist.

I’d applied for all of them. Most didn’t respond, and the ones that did paid just enough to starve slowly. My stomach did a nervous flip. Rent was due in twelve days.

I was scrolling fast, my thumb blurring the text, until I saw a number that made me stop.

Nanny Needed — Competitive Pay.

Competitive was an understatement. I leaned closer to the screen, squinting. The hourly rate was almost double anything else I’d seen. It looked like a typo. Usually, when something looks too good to be true, it’s a scam. Or worse.

But I clicked anyway. The listing was weirdly short.

Seeking nanny for two-year-old girl. Private residence. Live-out. Must be reliable, discreet, and comfortable with unusual household expectations. Flexible hours. Background check mandatory. References preferred but not required.

“Unusual household expectations.” That’s a hell of a phrase to drop into a job description.

There was no family photo, no name, no details. Just an email address and a note about private interviews. My gut told me to close the tab. My bank account told me to keep reading.

The city outside the window was full of people who actually belonged here. People with places to be. I felt like an extra in a movie I hadn’t even auditioned for. No friends, no safety net. Just me. And desperation is really good at talking you out of your instincts.

I hit Apply.

The form wasn’t about my experience with kids. It was about my personality.

Are you comfortable in quiet environments?

Do you respect strict rules?

Can you follow instructions without question?

I hesitated on the last one. Are you able to maintain confidentiality regarding employer lifestyle? Then there were the “household requirements.”

No photography inside the residence. Do not open locked interior doors.

Follow all instructions given by employer without deviation.

A slow chill crept up my spine. Locked doors? It was creepy. I should have walked away right then, but rent doesn’t care about creepy.

I clicked Submit.

The confirmation screen popped up instantly. A second later, my phone buzzed.

Application received. Interview approved. Reply to confirm availability tomorrow at 6 PM. Address will be provided upon confirmation.

No greeting. No name. Just orders. I stared at the screen, my chest feeling tight. This felt like a door cracking open, but I couldn’t see what was in the room behind it.

I typed my reply: I’m available.

The response was almost immediate.

Confirmed. Wear neutral colors. Do not arrive early. Do not be late.

Neutral colors. I shut my laptop, feeling a strange heaviness. Maybe they were just eccentric. Rich people are weird. Protective parents are intense. It didn’t have to mean danger. Right?

Outside, the winter air bit at my face. The city lights were flickering on, painting the wet pavement in neon gold. For a second, I let myself imagine it actually working out. A stable job. A routine. Maybe I’d finally stop feeling so lonely.

I walked back to my studio apartment, a cramped box with a radiator that hissed like it held a grudge. Tomorrow could change everything.

I didn’t know then that some lifelines are actually warnings. I didn’t know who lived behind that listing or what was waiting inside that house. And I definitely didn’t know that the strangest part of the whole thing wouldn’t be the locked doors or the silence.

It would be the man who opened them.

But for now, I just needed to pay the landlord. And tomorrow at six o’clock, I was going to get that job.

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First chapter !! Thoughts??

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