Put to work

CHAPTER 3 - SOMEONE ORDINARY

Monika fiddled at the badge for another moment, her mind racing. This was insane. Completely insane. She needed to get out of here. Find her car. Find her driver. Get home and away from this nightmare.

She turned away from the facilities office and headed down the hallway—but not toward the elevators that would take her up to the third floor. Instead, she moved in the opposite direction, toward the main entrance she and Erin had come through earlier.

Her muddy stilettos clicked urgently against the polished floor as she walked faster, then faster still, nearly breaking into a run. The glass doors were just ahead. Freedom. Escape. She could see the parking lot beyond, the late afternoon sun still bright outside.

Just a few more steps—

She pushed through the first set of doors into the vast, gleaming lobby, and that's when she saw her.

Erin.

Standing outside the bathroom, casually scrolling through her phone as if she had all the time in the world. The plastic bag containing Monika's clothes hung from her other hand.

"ERIN!" Monika's voice came out as a **** cry. She changed direction, hurrying toward her assistant, relief surging through her chest. "Erin! Thank God! You need to—"

A hand clamped around her wrist like a vice.

Monika spun around to find Emma standing there, her face flushed with anger.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Emma’s voice was low and dangerous. “I just watched you on the security cameras walking the wrong direction. You’re supposed to be on the third floor already.”

“Let go of me!” Monika tried to pull away, but Emma’s grip was iron-strong. “I need to—Erin! ERIN!”

But across the cavernous lobby, Erin didn’t react. Her head was tilted slightly, her expression serene, white AirPods glinting faintly beneath her hair. She couldn’t hear a word. Or perhaps she could.

Emma was already dragging Monika back toward the elevators, her grip so tight it cut into the delicate skin of Monika’s wrist. Monika stumbled, her muddy stilettos scraping and clattering against the polished floor as she struggled to keep up.

"Wait—stop—" Monika tried to dig her heels in, but the effort only made her slip, her heels skidding with sharp, frantic sounds across the floor with scrape-clack-scrape as Emma hauled her along like a disobedient child.

They passed directly by Erin.

"ERIN!" Monika's voice cracked with desperation, her free hand reaching out, trembling to get Erin to acknowledge her, to help her. "ERIN, PLEASE!"

At last, Erin's head turned. She blinked as if noticing them for the first time. She glanced up from her phone with deliberate slowness, one white AirPod gleaming beneath her hair as if to remind Monika just how completely unheard she was. For one brief, agonizing moment, their eyes met across the few feet that separated them. Monika's face was flushed, her uniform disheveled and ill-fitting, the ID badge swinging from her chest, her hair yanked back in that awful tight ponytail, her muddy designer heels scraping uselessly against the floor as she fought against Emma's iron grip.

Erin's gaze slid over her, calm and appraising as if she was taking in the scene of Monika being dragged past her. The faintest curl twisted at the corner of her mouth betraying amusement or triumph. Her phone angled slightly, its camera open.

Not even trying to hide it. Just pure, undisguised triumph.

Monika’s heart lurched. “Erin—tell her! Tell her who I am! PLEASE.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened.

Her stiletto caught on the floor, nearly twisting her ankle. She stumbled, and Emma yanked her forward harder, the momentum making her shoes drag and screech against the tile.

Erin never moved to help. She turned her attention back to her phone, the smile still playing at her lips, as if Monika were just another piece of background noise. Just another stranger. Just another nobody in a custodial uniform being dealt with by management.

"Stop talking and start walking," Emma snapped, jabbing the elevator call button with her free hand while still maintaining her crushing grip on Monika's wrist. "I don't have time for this. You've already wasted enough of my day."

"You don't understand—I'm not—I shouldn't be—"

The elevator dinged. The doors opened.

Emma dragged Monika into the elevator and hit the third-floor button. The doors closed with a soft hiss, cutting off her view of the lobby and of Erin. The last thing Monika saw before the elevator closed was Erin casually swinging the plastic bag with her designer clothes, and a sly smile on her lips.

"Listen to me very carefully, Mona," Emma said, still gripping her wrist as the elevator began to rise. "I don't know what your problem is, but you need to get it together. You show up late, looking like a disaster, no ID badge, and now you're trying to leave before you've even started? One more incident and you're fired. Do you understand?"

Monika opened her mouth, then closed it. What could she say? Emma had already dismissed every attempt to explain. And now, trapped in this elevator, being dragged to the third floor, she felt the last of her control slipping away.

The elevator dinged. Third floor.

The doors opened, revealing a quiet, carpeted hallway lined with dark wood doors and brass nameplates. The air was faintly perfumed with lemon polish. This was executive territory—the kind of space Monika was used to sweeping through in heels and silk, not as… not as this, a cleaner in a uniform that smelled faintly of disinfectant.

Emma finally released her wrist and strode down the hallway. "Come on. Since I'm here, I'll show you where everything is."

Monika followed, rubbing her wrist where Emma’s fingers had left red marks. Her stilettos sank slightly into the carpet with each step, the sound muffled, unreal.

Emma stopped at a small alcove near the end of the hall and gestured to a cleaning cart. It was fully stocked with spray bottles, rags, a mop, a bucket, rubber gloves, and trash bags.

"This is yours for the shift," Emma said briskly. "Conference room’s through those double doors." She pointed to a set of heavy mahogany doors gleaming beneath recessed lights. "Executive bathroom is down there." She pointed left. "I want both spotless. The conference room first; that coffee has been sitting there for hours and it’s probably starting to smell. Any questions?"

Monika stared at the cart, at the faint scuffs on the mop handle, the smell of ammonia rising from a half-open bottle.

"Well?"

"No," Monika heard herself say quietly.

"Good." Emma checked her watch. "I’ll be back in an hour to inspect your work. Don’t disappoint me."

She turned on her heel and walked toward the elevator, her steps brisk and confident. The elevator dinged, the doors closed, and silence swallowed the hallway.

Monika stood motionless for a long moment. The cleaning cart beside her looked alien, absurd. The ID badge on her chest felt heavier with every breath.

She let out a long, shaky breath. At least she was alone now. At least Emma was gone. And more importantly, she looked around the empty, quiet corridor—still empty. The executives who knew her, who might recognize her, were most-likely outside at the charity event. The building should be nearly deserted with a few exceptions for the next several hours. She just needed to find a phone, any phone, to call Richard and put an end to this humiliating nightmare.

Her hand instinctively went to her pocket, then remembered. She had no phone. No purse. Nothing.

Maybe there was a phone in the conference room or in one of the offices. She could—

Footsteps.

Monika's head whipped around. A sharp rhythm of heels on the carpet behind her, steady and approaching.

Monika’s chest tightened. Someone was coming.

Panic flared through her. She couldn’t be seen like this. Not by anyone who might know her. Not dressed like this, with her hair scraped back like some low-class cleaning lady, not with this embarrassing ID badge.

Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest door handle and pulled. Locked. She tried several more doors. Locked as well. Panic climbed in her throat. Finally at the end of a hallway, she pulled at a door, with a click it opened.

She slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her just as the footsteps passed by.

Her breath came in shallow bursts. She pressed her back against the door, trying to calm her heartbeat.

Then she turned to see where she’d hidden—and froze.

It wasn’t an empty office or a supply closet.

It was the break room.

A small, bright space with a humming refrigerator, the smell of coffee, and the faint crackle of a radio playing somewhere near the window.

Sitting at one of the tables was a woman in her early thirties, wearing a fitted navy suit and reading a magazine. Her ID badge caught the light: Sophie Lin — Executive Assistant to the CEO.

Monika’s stomach dropped. Sophie.

The same woman she’d scolded in front of a full meeting last quarter. Twice.

Sophie looked up, her expression flickering with surprise as she took in the sight before her—the ill-fitting custodial uniform, the muddy stilettos, the tight ponytail, the bare face, the ID badge that read MONA P.

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

Then recognition flashed across Sophie's face. Oh, she knew exactly who this was. How could she forget Monika Pritzker, the woman who'd once humiliated her over something as trivial as the "wrong type" of sparkling water. The woman who'd made her redo a presentation three times because the font wasn't "aspirational enough".

Before Sophie could speak, her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced down. A message from Erin.

Thought you'd appreciate this. Monika Pritzker's "helping" out on janitorial duty today.

Sophie’s lips parted in a quiet, delighted breath. She looked up again, eyes glittering with contained amusement. Her expression smoothed into something deliberately neutral, though her lips curved into a slow smile. Not polite. Not welcoming. A smirk, really. Something teasing, mocking.

“Oh, hello," Sophie said sweetly, the corners of her mouth curving into a mock-polite smile. "Are you here to empty the trash?”

Monika's breath caught. She couldn’t find her voice, instead she **** herself to nod slightly, keeping her face angled down. Relief flooded her. Sophie didn't recognize her. Of course she didn't. Without her makeup, with her hair scraped back tight, in this ridiculous uniform… she should be unrecognizable, right? Just another cleaning lady. Just… Mona P.

Sophie had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Unrecognizable? Those were the same sharp cheekbones. The same imperious nose. The same strawberry blonde hair… even scraped back and muddy. And those stilettos… Sophie would recognize those obscenely expensive Louboutins anywhere, even caked in mud. And what cleaner would wear Louboutins while cleaning anyways.

"I didn't realize Facilities had reassigned someone this late," Sophie continued, setting down her magazine with exaggerated care. That strange smile still played on her lips. "You must be... new."

Monika nodded again, not trusting her voice. If she could just get through this without speaking, without Sophie getting a good look at her face…

Sophie's eyes sparkled with barely suppressed glee. Oh, she was getting a very good look. Every humiliating detail. Erin's text didn't explain why the Monika Pritzker was dressed like a cleaner, but it didn't matter. Not yet. She'd find out soon enough. This was too perfect, too delicious to ignore. She was going to enjoy this. The too-tight shirt straining across her chest. The too-big pants bunched awkwardly at the waist. The bare, blotchy face still red from whatever rough treatment had removed all that expensive makeup. This was the same woman who'd once told her that her suit looked "pedestrian."

Buzz Buzz

Another message from Erin.

If you happen to see Monika around, take photos. Thanks.

Sophie leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs, her eyes never leaving Monika. She was going to savor every second of this. "What did you say your name was?" Her eyes dropped meaningfully to the ID badge on Monika's chest. "Mona... P.?"

She drew out the syllables slowly, deliberately, watching Monika's face for any flicker of recognition. "Funny. Those initials... M.P. Almost like Monika Pritzker, aren't they? But that would be ridiculous, right? A woman like that would never be caught dead in a custodial uniform."

"Yes," Monika managed to whisper, the word barely audible. She could feel heat creeping up her neck. Just play along and get out of here. Sophie doesn't know. She can't know. Maybe she's just—

Sophie gave a wide knowing smile. Oh, she knew exactly who was standing in front of her. She'd sat through countless meetings watching Monika Pritzker sign expense reports, heard her full name announced at charity galas, seen her face with perfect makeup plastered across social media. Erin's text had been clear. And watching Monika Pritzker, the woman who'd humiliated her in front of entire meetings, now desperately trying to hide behind a fake name? This was delicious.

"Well then, Mona," Sophie said, adding deliberate emphasis on the fake name, savouring how it made Monika's skin prickle. She gestured toward the trash bin in the corner near the coffee station. "Since you're here, the trash does need emptying. It's getting rather full."

Monika's face flushed hot, the blush spreading from her cheeks down to her neck. She hesitated, frozen in place for a moment. This couldn't be happening. She was Monika Pritzker. She didn't empty trash. She didn't—

But Sophie was watching her expectantly, that strange smile still on her face, thoroughly enjoying watching the high-and-mighty Monika Pritzker wrestling with the decision to actually do custodial work. To see if she'd break character. To see how far she'd go to maintain this pathetic charade.

With trembling hands, Monika moved toward the trash bin. She kept her face angled away from Sophie, turning her head as much as she could without being obvious. Her muddy stilettos clicked softly against the floor. Each step felt like an eternity.

Sophie took a slow sip of her coffee, her eyes tracking every movement. This was better than any **** fantasy she'd ever imagined. Monika Pritzker—no, "Mona P."—was so **** to avoid recognition that she was actually going to empty trash. Actually playing the role. Wearing a janitor's uniform with those ridiculous muddy five-inch heels that Sophie recognized immediately, expensive Louboutins that no actual cleaner would ever wear.

Monika bent down to pull the bag from the bin, her face burning hotter with every second. The bag was heavier than she expected, and she fumbled with it, trying to tie it closed while keeping her face turned away.

Behind her, Sophie watched with undisguised satisfaction, though Monika couldn't see her expression. Watching. Assessing. Memorizing every detail of this moment to replay later.

Monika's hands shook as she finally managed to secure the bag. Just get out. Just leave. She doesn't recognize you. You're safe.

Sophie slipped her phone onto her lap and angled it casually, the camera lens perfectly trained on Mona P. A quiet click followed, the soft shutter loud in the stillness of the breakroom.

Monika froze. The sound was small, almost nothing, but it sliced through the silence like a pinprick. Her pulse spiked. She glanced over her shoulder, quick and uncertain, searching for the source. Sophie hadn’t moved; she was stirring her coffee, her expression serene, unbothered.

Maybe she’d imagined it. The air conditioner, perhaps. The hum of the refrigerator. Something ordinary.

Monika **** her attention back to the trash bag, her fingers trembling as she lifted it. But unease coiled low in her stomach, sharp and cold, refusing to settle.

Something about the room felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still. And the way Sophie was sitting there, so relaxed, so... amused.

Sophie tilted her head, her smile widening just a fraction. She was going to make this last. “You know," she said thoughtfully, her voice sweet as honey, "you remind me of someone.”

Monika froze mid-step, the heavy trash bag clutched in her hands. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

"Turn around for a moment, would you?" Sophie's voice was casual, almost friendly. But there was an edge to it that made Monika's stomach drop.

Monika stood there, paralyzed. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to keep walking, to get out of this room. But Sophie had given her a direct instruction. And right now, in this uniform, with this badge, she was just... staff.

Slowly, so slowly, Monika turned around. She kept her eyes down, her face still angled away as much as she dared. The trash bag hung from her trembling hands like a shield.

Sophie's phone was already in her hand, in clear view. As Monika turned, her face catching the light, Sophie tapped the screen. Another faint click. Another captured image with Monika's bare face in clear view.

Monika flinched at the sound, her head snapping up. “D-did you… did you just take a picture of me?” Her voice cracked on the last word, shock and disbelief threading through it.

Sophie smiled, unbothered, and tilted the phone toward herself, studying the image. “Relax. I was just checking something.” She looked up, eyes glinting. “It’s uncanny, really. You look almost exactly like Monika Pritzker. You know, that fashion influencer, the politician's wife? She's at the charity event outside right now, actually."

Monika’s breath caught. The room seemed to tilt slightly around her.

Sophie angled her head, still inspecting the screen. "Same hair colour, same eyes… though I suppose she’d never be caught dead without her hair styled and makeup done or in that uniform.” Her tone softened, mock-thoughtful. “Still, if someone squinted—just a little—they might almost mistake you for her.”

Monika's blood turned to ice. Her grip on the trash bag tightened, the plastic crinkling loudly in the silence.

Sophie leaned forward slightly ,peering at Monika as if comparing the real thing to the image on her phone. "Hmm. No wait." She paused, frowning lightly as though reconsidering. Letting the moment stretch out, she finally looked up. "On second thought, it doesn’t quite work, does it? Monika Pritzker has that perfectly put-together look: graceful, confident, like she owns every room she walks into."

Sophie's eyes flicked over Monika's face, waving her hand dismissively. "You definitely look much older. I think it's your skin; the wrinkles and the blemishes. And your face is actually sort of... common? Your features are coarser. Plus you have that hunched over posture." She paused, as if carefully considering. "Monika has that polished, elegant thing going on. She carries herself like somebody important. You just look... well, like exactly what you are, ordinary."

She smiled again, a thin, satisfied curve of her lips. “No, definitely not her. Not even close.”

The words hit like a slap. Monika felt her face burn hotter, a mixture of humiliation and relief warring in her chest. Common. Ordinary. She wanted to scream, to correct her, to—

But she couldn't. She just stood there, clutching the trash bag, her eyes stinging.

Sophie’s phone buzzed again, the single vibration that cut through the quiet. She glanced down at the screen, her expression sharpening for the briefest moment before settling into something cool and pleased. Whatever she read made her posture straighten with interest.

Her gaze lifted to Monika, studying her anew. The uniform, the mud-streaked heels, the bare, anxious face. Then, still smiling faintly, she raised her phone.

“Hold still a second,” she said, her tone casual, almost amused. The camera shutter clicked.

Monika’s head snapped up, startled. “What—?”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Sophie said smoothly, lowering the phone. “Just sending proof to Facilities that someone’s actually cleaning up around here.” She gave a small, satisfied smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You never know who’s slacking these days.”

She tucked the phone back into her jacket pocket, her eyes never leaving Monika’s face.

“Oh, and while you’re here,” she added lightly, “the executive bathroom down the hall needs cleaning. I noticed it earlier; it’s quite a mess.” Her tone was sugar-sweet, but her gaze glittered with something else entirely. “You should take care of that right away. Third door on the left.”

"Y-yes, miss," Monika heard herself whisper.

"Off you go then, Mona." Sophie's tone was bright, dismissive. "Lots of work to do, I'm sure."

Monika didn't need to be told twice. She turned and practically fled from the break room, the trash bag rustling loudly as she hurried out. Her muddy stilettos clicked rapidly against the floor—click-click-click. Each step was a frantic escape to put distance between herself and Sophie's knowing eyes.

The door swung shut behind her, and she pressed her back against the hallway wall, breathing hard. Her hands were shaking so badly the trash bag nearly slipped from her grip.

Older. Common. Ordinary.

The words echoed in her mind as she stood there, alone in the hallway, dressed like a janitor, holding a bag of garbage, with the executive bathroom waiting for her down the hall.