Chapter 5: Debt and Lemon Bars

When I woke up for real, the fever had finally broken. I realized I was in the Governor’s mansion—the real one, with security gates and the American flag waving out front.

The housemaids were kind, or at least Maria was. She pressed a cool hand to my forehead and smiled. “You poor thing. Rest, mija. Mr. Derek said you’re not to lift a finger.”

She told me it was the Governor’s son who saved me. Derek Chen—the one the society pages call the city’s most eligible bachelor, but impossible to catch.

I blurted out, “Where is Mr. Derek? I want to thank him.” My mom taught me manners before she died, even if she was just a maid.

I met Derek that afternoon. He sat at his desk, black suit tailored to perfection, the air faintly scented with cigar smoke—real cigars, not the cheap stuff from the corner store.

“Awake?” His voice was cool, controlled, like he didn’t need to shout to be heard.

My mouth went dry.

Pastries—lemon bars, perfect squares dusted with powdered sugar—sat on his desk. My stomach rumbled.

He stood and came over, every movement deliberate. The back of his hand was cool on my forehead, softer than anyone’s touch in years.

“Are you feeling better?”

I nodded, voice small. “Better. Thank you, sir.”

I pulled the crumpled bills from my pocket—mostly ones and fives, a few tens—and shoved them toward him, my hands shaking. “Please, take it. I don’t want to owe you.” My heart pounded, terrified he’d see how little it really was.

He looked at the money like it was a foreign object. “Not needed,” he said quietly.

But he’d saved me. That’s not free.

I stuffed the money into his hand, voice trembling. “I saved up this much—all for you!”

His brow furrowed. “Is it enough?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at my sad little pile of bills, silent.

Medicine is so expensive. Candy, even more. The free clinic would have charged at least two hundred for what he’d given me.

“If it’s not enough, I can work at the Governor’s mansion to repay you,” I offered, desperate. “I’m really good at cleaning! I know how to get red wine out of white carpet, how to polish silver without scratching it.”

He stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes.

My stomach growled again. The lemon bars looked even more beautiful under the lamp.

He finally spoke. “Alright.”

My shoulders slumped. Of course it wasn’t enough. Now I’d have to serve two people—double shifts, double trouble.

But maybe, just maybe, he was nicer than my stepsister. Not that the bar was high.