The Unfilial Boss Woman

Chapter 5

Patrick woke up the following morning with a pounding headache. He sat up in his bed, scanning the room as he tried to recall the strange, hot dream he’d had the previous night.

"F*CK!" he cursed aloud, running a hand through his messy hair.

"What happened here?" he muttered to himself. Just then, a knock on his chamber door interrupted his train of thought. Before he could respond, the door swung open, revealing Jeff Hudson.

"Good morning, boss," Jeff greeted him, stepping into the room. His brows furrowed at the sight of Patrick sitting on the bed, clutching his head as if nursing a hangover.

Patrick shifted, intending to slide out of bed, but froze when he realized he was completely unclothed. Embarrassed, Jeff immediately glanced away, avoiding the sight of his boss's nakedness despite being older than Patrick.

"Get out!" Patrick barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

"Yes, boss," Jeff replied quickly, retreating from the room. He shut the door behind him, shaking his head in confusion as he walked away.

Once outside, Jeff fished his phone out of his trousers pocket to answer a call from one of the company’s private clients, who was inquiring about why the young Mr. Anderson had missed an important meeting the previous night.

Meanwhile, back in his room, Patrick slid out of bed, his thoughts racing as he tried to piece together fragments of the dream he’d had. He remembered holding a beautiful, fair-skinned woman in his arms, both of them entwined in passion—but her face remained elusive.

"But her eyes..." Patrick muttered, frowning as the memory teased him. He turned back to the bed, pulling the bedsheet aside, and froze at the sight of the stain.

"Oh my God!" Patrick exclaimed, his voice filled with shock.

Hearing the outburst, Jeff—who had lingered outside the door after ending his call—rushed back into the room.

"Boss, are you okay?" Jeff asked, his face full of concern. But as he stepped inside, he was greeted by the sight of Patrick standing stark naked next to the bed, staring at the stained sheet. Jeff’s eyes widened in shock and confusion.

"Get out and give me some privacy!" Patrick snapped, his voice laced with irritation.

"I’m sorry, boss. I heard you shout," Jeff stammered, swallowing nervously before quickly exiting the room.

Jeff walked away, shaking his head in disbelief. Ever since Patrick had graduated and assumed his role as CEO, managing both the Anderson family’s public enterprises and their secret dealings, he had become increasingly bitter and unpredictable. Jeff couldn’t understand why the young billionaire, who had inherited a fortune and a thriving empire, seemed so troubled.

Downstairs, Jeff exited the building and headed to the garage to wait. It was already past 8 a.m. on a bright Wednesday morning, and Patrick was running late.

Back in his room, Patrick stared at the stained sheet on the floor, bile rising in his throat. "Wasn’t it a dream?" he asked himself, his voice barely above a whisper.

Annoyed and confused, he walked to his luxurious bathroom and turned on the shower. As the water poured over him, he inspected his body, trying to find any injury that could explain the bloodstain. Finding none, he shook his head in frustration.

Patrick bathed quickly, knowing he was late for work but unconcerned. He was the boss, after all. The Anderson family owned the prestigious Anderson Hotels and Suites, along with multiple fashion and lifestyle magazines. Patrick himself managed his elderly father’s oil business and several other private ventures.

After his shower, Patrick stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes fell on the bedsheet again, but he avoided looking at it too long, as if doing so would force him to confront the truth.

He walked to his wardrobe and pulled out a tailored blue suit and a crisp white shirt. Dressing quickly, he put on his undergarments, buttoned his shirt, and slid into his trousers.

Just as he was adjusting his cuffs, a soft knock came at the door. Patrick knew it was the maids, arriving to clean his room since he had woken up later than usual.

He walked to his wall mirror, fixing his tie. As he stared at his reflection, a sudden memory flashed in his mind, causing his heart to race.

"What was that?" Patrick asked himself, gripping the edge of the dresser.

The image of someone entering his room the previous night—while he was unclothed—flickered in his mind. His eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the memory.

Anger simmered in his chest. He stormed to the door and flung it open, startling the two maids standing outside. Both were slim, dark-skinned women dressed in pink maid uniforms with white aprons.

"What do you want?" Patrick demanded, his voice filled with irritation. "Can’t you wait until I leave before barging into my room? Get out!"

The maids exchanged nervous glances before hurrying away, and Patrick slammed the door shut.

He turned back to the room, his gaze falling on the study table. There, the tray of food from the previous night sat untouched. His brows furrowed as realization dawned on him.

"Obviously, it wasn’t a dream," Patrick muttered, his voice low and tense.

He walked to the tray, uncovering the meal. The memory of the maid who had brought it to him resurfaced—her face, her nervous demeanor.

"That new maid..." Patrick whispered, his fists clenching as anger and confusion swirled within him. "My Goodness!"

He turned back to the discarded bedsheet on the floor. Picking it up, he inspected the stain again, sniffing it. His suspicions confirmed, he threw the sheet back onto the bed in frustration.

Grabbing his briefcase and suit jacket, Patrick left his chamber, his mind consumed by questions.

When he reached the dining room on the first floor, his mother was already seated at the table, chatting with someone. Patrick set his briefcase down on a nearby couch and slipped into his jacket, adjusting it to look sharp.

"Good morning, Mother," Patrick greeted, walking over to her and giving her a warm hug.

"Son, your baby is here," his mother said, smiling brightly.

Patrick stiffened, his face turning cold as he saw who was sitting across from her. Willow.

"He's here already, Ma," Willow said, smiling sweetly at him. She winked, but Patrick’s expression remained unreadable.

His eyes darkened as he sat down. His mother, oblivious to the tension, continued smiling.

"Didn’t you eat your dinner last night, my son?" His mother asked him.

Patrick’s gaze flicked to the tray being carried out of the kitchen by a maid. His heart skipped a beat when he recognized her—it was the same maid from last night.

Loveth walked into the dining room, holding a tray with Patrick's mother’s herbal tea. She wore the same pink maid uniform with a white apron, her movements nervous as she approached the table.

"Good morning, Ma. Good morning, Sir," Loveth greeted, her voice soft as she blushed under the weight of everyone’s stares.

Patrick’s eyes followed her every move, his expression unreadable.

Willow noticed his gaze and turned to look at Loveth as well. Her brows furrowed in surprise—she hadn’t expected to see such a beautiful young maid in the Anderson household.

As Loveth placed the tea on the table, Patrick’s mind churned with questions and emotions he couldn’t yet untangle.