Raphael had heard many apologies in his life—apologies from staff, from partners, from people who wanted a contract.
But Stella’s apology sounded different.
It sounded like a person drowning.
“I—I don’t know how I got here,” she said quickly, words falling on each other. “I was mopping and I just… I just wanted to rest small, sir. Just small. I didn’t mean to sleep. I didn’t mean to enter your bed. I swear, sir. I swear.”
Raphael folded his arms slowly.
He said nothing.
Stella looked up at him with wet eyes.
“Please don’t sack me,” she begged. “Please. I know I did wrong. I know it’s a big offense. Please, sir.”
She reached for the bedsheet like she wanted to hide the evidence.
“I will wash it now,” she said. “I will wash it with my hands. I will buy another one if I have to. Please, sir. Please.”
Her hands trembled as she pulled at the sheet.
Raphael didn’t move.
He just stared, because something strange happened in his chest.
It wasn’t sympathy exactly.
It was memory.
Not his father’s voice this time.
Something else. A small, old pain.
Raphael grew up wealthy, yes, but not always soft.
His father built the company with stress, sleepless nights, and hard decisions. Raphael had seen workers faint in the yard. He had seen drivers sleep inside trucks.
He had never liked it.
But as the company grew, Raphael became busy. He became sharp. He became strict.
He started thinking of workers like numbers.
And now this girl was kneeling on his bedroom floor, shaking like she expected him to destroy her life with one sentence.
Raphael’s voice came out calm, but his eyes stayed hard.
“Stella,” he said, “stand up.”
Stella shook her head quickly.
“No, sir. Please, let me beg.”
“Stand up,” he repeated, firmer.
Stella hesitated, then slowly rose to her feet.
She kept her head down like a child caught stealing.
Raphael pointed at the mop.
“What is this?”
Stella’s lips quivered.
“Sir… it’s the mop I was using.”
“And you brought it on my bed.”
“I didn’t plan it, sir,” she said quickly. “I think I fell asleep while holding it. I… I didn’t even know I was walking. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like my body shut down.”
Raphael stared at her face again.
He noticed small details now.
The cracked corner of her lip, like she hadn’t been drinking enough water.
The way her fingers were swollen from detergent.
The faint cough she tried to hide by swallowing.
She looked drained.
Raphael’s voice lowered.
“How long have you been working today?”
Stella blinked, confused by the question.
“Sir… how long?”
She swallowed.
“Since morning, sir. Since 5:00 a.m.”
Raphael’s brows lifted slightly.
It was after 11 p.m.
Stella nodded, eyes still down.
“Yes, sir.”
Raphael felt anger rise again—not at Stella this time, but at the system in his own house.
He hated that feeling.
“Why are you working until this time?”
Stella’s eyes flicked up and down quickly.
“Because there was a dinner meeting in the house, sir. The guests used the visitor’s lounge. The wine spilled the carpet. I cleaned it. And Madame Rita, your aunt, said the upstairs must shine before you enter.”
Raphael’s lips tightened.
So his aunt was still giving orders in his house.
Wonderful.
“And the children?” he asked.
Stella’s shoulders tensed.
“I put Master Jaden to sleep. I gave him his medicine. He had small fever again.”
Raphael’s stomach twisted.
“Jaden had fever?”
Stella nodded.
“Yes, sir. But I wiped him and he slept.”
Raphael’s eyes narrowed.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Stella’s voice dropped.
“Sir… you were in Abuja yesterday. And when you returned today, you were angry on the phone. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Raphael looked away for a second.
He remembered himself yelling at his PA earlier.
He remembered slamming a file on his desk.
He remembered thinking, Nobody should bring me nonsense today.
And now he was hearing that his son had fever and nobody told him because they were afraid of his mood.
Raphael felt ashamed—just a little.
But that little was enough to make him restless.
Stella sniffed and wiped her face quickly with the back of her hand, then remembered herself and stopped.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered again. “Just punish me anyway, but please don’t send me away.”
Raphael turned back to her.
He studied her like he was seeing her for the first time.
Stella was twenty-six, but her eyes looked older.
Not because of wrinkles.
Because of responsibility.
“I heard you coughing,” Raphael said quietly.
Stella stiffened.
“It’s nothing, sir.”
Raphael didn’t believe her.
He pointed at the door.
“How long have you been in this house?”
“Eight months,” she answered softly.
“And before that?”
“I was working in a small hotel in Ojuelegba,” Stella said. “Cleaning rooms.”
Raphael nodded once.
Ojuelegba. Busy area. Stressful work.
He glanced at the mop stain again.
In his mind, he saw two pictures.
One picture: a maid disrespecting his space.
Another picture: a tired girl whose body finally gave up.
He didn’t know which one was more painful.
Stella stepped forward and reached for the bedsheet again.
“I will wash it now, sir,” she said urgently. “Please. I will wash it now. I will soak it. I will scrub it. Please don’t sack me.”
Raphael watched her hands grab the edge of the sheet.
Then he did something Stella did not expect.
He held her wrist.
Not hard.
Just firm enough to stop her trembling hands.
Stella froze like a trapped bird.
Raphael looked straight at her.
His voice was calm, but it carried weight.
“Stella,” he said, “leave the bedsheet.”
Stella swallowed.
“Sir…”
He released her wrist, but his eyes didn’t soften.
Stella’s chest rose and fell quickly.
Then she whispered like the words were burning her throat.
“Sir… are you going to sack me?”
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