I sat on the edge of my bed, deep in thought. If I was going to find a job, it had to be something that allowed me freedom—both physically and mentally. Something that wouldn't tie me down but would also give me access to certain places without question.
Then it hit me. A private detective.
It was perfect. It would let me move freely, investigate things at my own pace, and most importantly, stay away from the suffocating walls of this villa.
Just as I was mulling over the idea, the door burst open. Abigail stood there, her expression a mix of anger and desperation.
"Samuel, you are not allowed to take any job."
I raised an eyebrow, amused at her possessiveness. "Oh? And why is that?"
She took a step closer, arms folded tightly. "You have everything you need here. Am I not giving you enough? Money, a home—"
I cut her off with a chuckle, shaking my head. "It's not about what you're giving me or not, Abigail." I stood up and faced her, my gaze steady. "I'm already receiving more than enough depression from being caged here. I think I need some space."
Her eyes widened slightly at my words. "You—You make it sound like I'm imprisoning you."
I smirked. "Aren't you?"
She flinched but quickly masked it with irritation. "Samuel, don't be ridiculous. Why do you even want to work? You don't need to. You're my husband."
I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "And that title alone is supposed to keep me satisfied? You forced me to quit my job just so you could parade me around as your perfect little househusband while you humiliated me."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I—"
I didn't give her a chance to speak. "I'm done living like that. I need something for myself. And I've already decided—I'm going to be a private detective."
Abigail's eyes widened in shock. "A detective?! Why? What's even the point?"
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Because it lets me roam freely. It lets me do what I want, where I want."
Her hands trembled at her sides. "You're doing this just to get back at me, aren't you?"
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "No, Abigail. This has nothing to do with you. I just refuse to be your caged pet any longer."
She clenched her fists. "I won't allow it."
I met her gaze, my smirk unwavering. "Then stop me."
Silence hung between us. Abigail's lips parted, but no words came out. For the first time, she had no control over me—and she knew it.
I turned away from her, already planning my next move. "I'll be leaving tomorrow. Find something else to entertain yourself with."
As I expected, she didn't say a word. She just stood there, watching, as the man she once controlled walked away from her grasp.
The next morning, I left the villa without looking back. I could still feel Abigail's burning gaze on me as I walked out, but I ignored it. Today, I had a purpose.
I needed to find a detective agency that would hire me.
As I strolled through the bustling streets of the city, I scanned the buildings, searching for something that fit the job I was looking for. The air was crisp, the city alive with people rushing to work, but I took my time, observing everything.
After a while, I spotted a modest yet professional-looking signboard:
Blackhawk Investigations – Discretion, Precision, Results.
A smirk tugged at my lips. Sounds promising.
I pushed open the glass door, the small bell above it chiming. The interior was dimly lit, giving off an old-school noir vibe. Dark wooden furniture, scattered case files, and the faint smell of coffee filled the air. A few detectives sat at their desks, flipping through reports or talking on the phone.
At the front desk sat a sharp-eyed woman, her dark brown hair tied into a ponytail. She looked up from her paperwork and eyed me skeptically. "Can I help you?"
I stepped forward confidently. "I'm looking for a job. I want to work as a private detective."
She blinked before laughing. "You? A detective?" She gave me a once-over. "You don't look like the type. What's your experience?"
I smirked. "Experience? Let's just say I have a talent for finding things—and people."
Before she could respond, a deep voice came from the back. "Let him through."
I turned to see a middle-aged man, probably in his late 40s, wearing a long coat and a fedora. He had a cigarette between his fingers, and his sharp gray eyes studied me with interest.
The woman sighed. "Your call, boss."
I followed him into a more private office. He gestured for me to sit before taking a drag from his cigarette. "Name?"
"Samuel Gebb."
He exhaled a puff of smoke. "So, Samuel, why do you want to be a detective?"
I leaned back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Freedom. I want a job that lets me go wherever I want, whenever I want."
He chuckled. "Honest. I like that. But you do realize detective work isn't just running around playing hero, right? It's tough, dirty work. And it takes skill. What can you offer?"
I smirked. "Let's just say I have instincts sharper than most. I notice things others don't. Give me a test if you don't believe me."
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Then, he reached into his drawer and pulled out a file. "Alright. A woman hired us to track her missing brother. No leads, no last-known location. What do you think?"
I flipped through the file, scanning the details. Then, I noticed a small, seemingly insignificant note about the last place he used his bank card. "You didn't check the gas station camera near his last transaction?"
The boss narrowed his eyes. "We did. The footage was deleted."
I chuckled. "Deleted doesn't mean gone. Cameras store residual data. I can retrieve it."
The man leaned forward, clearly impressed. "You can hack security systems?"
I smirked. "I can do a lot of things."
There was a long pause. Then, he snuffed out his cigarette and stood. "Alright, kid. You're hired. But screw up, and you're out."
I grinned, standing up. "Deal."
As I walked out of his office, the receptionist looked at me in shock. "You actually got the job?"
I winked at her. "Guess I do look like the type after all."
With that, I left, ready for whatever came next.