A week has gone so quickly. I nearly knock on my sibling's doors, thinking they'd forgotten school, all the while, it's already Saturday. Yawning soundly, I wrap my hair with a silky scarf, bother not to change out of my pajamas.

It's a cleaning day. Not so yay!

Being unemployed means I have so much free time, no pun intended. The little engagement I'm having, or had, with Mister Castle doesn't require me to work on weekends, and only God knows if I still have anything left to call a job, even remotely at this point, after what I said to him last night.

But what's done is done; life must go on.

Bruno Mars sings about the Uptown Funk, and I join him at the top of my lungs. My head moves in sync, and slowly I forget my troubles and enjoy the moment. I love working with loud music, and even so because I can piss Jake and his hatred for noise—my little sweet revenge for his rudeness.

Washing dishes, tidying up every corner of the apartment, and making breakfast occupy my morning until eleven when I finally finish the laundry which is the hardest part of this day. I find Isla in the living room when I'm done; she's strangely quiet, without the TV keeping her company.

Weird. Isla worships Nickelodeon.

"Something wrong, young lady?" I ask her, wiping the bead of sweat off my forehead while pressing a phone against my ear, making a call to Josh.

Isla shakes her head, seeming dejected and a bit frightened.

I narrow my eyes at her, for I feel like she's hiding something. "You were with Charlotte, right? I heard her. Has she left already?" I hear the phone ringing but my attention is still on Isla as I ask her this. She nods again. "And why are you—"

"Hey, Linc. What's up?" Josh greets me on the phone, interrupting my speech.

"Cool. Are you having a sappy date with your girlfriend or would you rather drop by and celebrate my being jobless with a bottle of sparkling Cristal?" I grin, imagining his dusky oriental eyes rolling upward at the mention of Bianca.

I dislike his girlfriend. He can't complain, though, because she's bitchy.

"None of the two. I've got a place to stop by this afternoon, so maybe later—hey you jerk, watch where you're going!" he shouts.

I frown, wincing away from the phone. I'm not a stranger to his foul mouth or anything; I'm just curious about what's up on his end. He sounds to be on the road and a lot can happen out there.

"Goddamnit!" he laments.

"You good?" I sit on the couch, eyes back on my baby sister who's hugging herself at the corner of the same couch, her legs tucked to her side in a very disturbing posture.

She is definitely hiding something.

"Some maniac just crossed his bike like a shitty junkie and I nearly ran him over! Talking about a bad day!" Josh tells me agitatedly. "So, Linc... I'll drop by later? That way you can tell me what exactly happened with that nasty piece of shit you once called boss. How dare he lay his filthy hands on you, huh?"

"You mean my boobs? Yeah, such an entitled asshole." I sigh at the memory of Daniel, my previous boss who went perverted hard on me claiming I led him on.

That's how I got myself into the sphere of Mr. Castle's influence. If Daniel wasn't some hormonal pig, I'd still be working in the restaurant and none of these impromptu affairs would be happening in my life because the New York businessman wouldn't have taken pity on the girl with a stable job.

That's it. Pity. He found my vulnerability that day and proposed I work for him.

Ending my call with Josh, my full attention return to Isla. I sigh again, for I hate it when she's this... crestfallen and taciturn, bottling things inside instead of telling me. If there's one thing I made sure she understands is the fact that she can tell me anything at any time.

I wanna be there for her, always.

"Okay, Missy," I start, shifting from the couch to the coffee table so I can watch her closely. "What's wrong with you? Did you fight with Charlotte?"

Charlotte is our neighbor's kid next door. She and Isla are best friends, and they attend the same school. She may be a little pest sometimes, but Isla loves her more than necessary.

"No." Isla shakes her head again, and it starts to wear my nerves when she lowers her gaze back to her lap.

"Isla, talk to me," I say smoothly, fully aware that she easily coils if I go hard on her. Lifting her chin with my fingers, I utter, "Look at me. Look at me in the eyes and tell me what's wrong, baby. Are you sick? You hungry?"

She can be moody when the food is late, but she knows where to get breakfast, which is ready on the table.

"No, Ara," she finally answers. "It's... Charlotte."

"Okay? What did Charlotte do? Did you fight with her or something?"

"No." Her head shakes again, and I feel my eyebrows harden on my face. "Her mom says—"

The doorbell buzzes.

Fuck.

"Wait a minute." I rise and head toward the door. Flying it open after peeping in the little hole, I come face to face with Mrs. Millers, Charlotte's mom. "Um, hello." I scowl at the cold glance she throws instantaneously over my shoulder.

"There she is!" she snaps. Following her gaze, I catch Isla panicking, fear engulfing her face, and she's already up to her feet, fidgeting. "That brat!" the woman adds.

"Alright, just hold your wild horses, woman!" I find myself annoyed right away, needless to understand the situation. "You don't get to just knock on my door, not even bother with a greeting, and start calling my sister names, you hear me?" My eyes blaze.

"Ha!" Mrs. Millers huffs at me with the other-woman kind of attitude.

Dusky brown hair in big rollers, an old housewife dress resembling a curtain, and a pair of white slippers complete her appearance this morning. She's a very resentful woman, a gossip too, but we've never had a one-on-one before.

Well, not until today.

"What do you want?" I ask her, blocking the entrance so she doesn't walk in and scare Isla more than she already has.

"Charlotte, come here!" Mrs. Millers calls, glancing to her side. Charlotte is with her; the old witch jerks her little hand and snaps, "I bought her a new dollhouse last week. But guess what? The doll has miraculously disappeared. And that's not all, we can't find her one ballet shoe, and the last time it's that brat who was wearing them!"

"Quit calling her a brat! She has a name! Isla!" I retort acidly. Mrs. Millers rolls her eyes, but she says nothing. Pulling in a breath, I keep my cool and ask, "So, are you suggesting that my sister took that doll or whatever? And what else? One ballet shoe?"

I can't believe this.

"She's the only kid who came to play with Charlotte yesterday!" Mrs. Millers spits, shooting daggers at Isla.

I glance at Charlotte; her little doe eyes are puffy from crying. I take another long breath and stride back inside, up to where Isla is standing looking petrified with tears swimming in her eyes.

"Did you take her doll, Isla?" I ask my sister in a low, contained voice.

"Take? It's called stealing!" Mrs. Millers snaps.

"I didn't steal anything!" Isla shouts at last, and I shut my eyes meditatively to keep my anger under control. "Ara, I didn't take anything. I only played with her doll and left. I swear I didn't steal it." She looks me in the eyes, crying, begging me to believe her.

"You stole them! Just admit it you're jealous of my daughter since your sister can't buy you the things you want," Mrs. Millers chimes in so venomously.

"My sister is not a thief!" I bark stoutly, glancing gravely at Mrs. Millers. Jealous of her daughter? I let the anger burst, and the old lady looks fazed as she backs down automatically upon noticing it. "Can you prove that she stole from you? Did anyone see her take it?" I demand.

"Well..." Mrs. Millers stutters, her eyes fraying momentarily.

Isla hiccups, crying audibly.

"I told you not to cry like a fool, didn't I?" I scold her mildly. She always succumbs to tears when she's cornered, and I want her to stand up for herself or else she'll become nothing but a pushover. "Sit down and quit crying," I add pointedly.

She does as I say, and it rips me apart watching her so humiliated. I know she's telling the truth. I just know it because she's a terrible liar, unlike Jake and me.

"That's it?" Mrs. Millers glowers when she sees my nonchalant look.

"Mmm, that's it." I fold my arms across my chest, lifting a sly eyebrow at her. "She said she didn't take it, so I suggest you go and search for the doll and one shoe somewhere else because it's not here. But since you're so hung up on branding her a thief, go get me proof and we'll talk. We got security cameras, right?"

"What?" Lines of anger deepen on Mrs. Millers' greasy forehead. "You can't be serious! You believe her?"

"I do," I answer boldly.

"Unbelievable," she remarks icily, dropping a smirk alongside her boney hands that fall tightly to her sides.

I lean over toward her daughter, fixing my face into a smile. "Charlotte, dear. Are you sure no one else played with your doll and shoes other than Isla? I don't think she is the only person you play with, right?"

And for fuck's sake, one ballet shoe? What would Isla do with that?

The young lady looks unsure, clinging onto her mom's arm as if I'm going to chew her off if she stays on her own. I just smile and straighten up again.

"See? It's probably somewhere in your house, or some other kid took it," I remark differently.

"Now I understand where your siblings get the bad manners from," Mrs. Millers says spitefully. A frown deepens on my face. "What can I expect from them if their sister is nothing but a hooker? Coming home late at night in fancy cars, aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

And that's it! I think I'm gonna strangle this ugly witch to death.