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The apartment building you lived in was a rather expensive one. It was extremely expensive actually—and the majority of the people who lived in the building either had some fancy high-paying job. Or were of course using daddy's money? You were neither of the two though. On top of that majority of the tenets were retired and old, so the building was almost always quiet.
You were the very small minority of people who fell under the 'other' category. A woman you used to work for had passed away and left her apartment to you, along with other belongings. She had no relatives to leave her things to you and she considered you to be a daughter to her.
However you didn't know she even put you in her will, it was all thrown at you a few days after her passing.
That woman was Ayaka Hayashi, she was one of Japan's most beloved singers and actresses in the 70s-90s. She retired in the late 90s but made cameos in movies and tv shows for a while. Until she got sick and needed a caretaker—which was you.
Even while working for her you never felt like you were working. At first, you did but as the years went on it felt like you were hanging out with your best friend every day—even when you gave her her medicine.
Though Miss Ayaka was very picky about every person she interviewed for the job she chose you because she had a feeling. Well, at least that's what she told you. You always thought it was an ominous reason but never questioned it further.
To say you were sad about Ayaka's death would be an understatement. Not only were you the one who found her but she knew it was coming. You knew for sure because she left you a letter on her nightstand. Even still you hadn't read it, even though they were her last written words to you. It was too hard.
Her death was made public but nobody knew who received any of her inheritance. It was the talk of Japan for the whole week. You couldn't leave the apartment without hearing about it.
"Did you hear that Hayashi Ayaka passed on Saturday?" You overheard the conversation while you were in line at a café. The subject made you tense every time it was brought up.
There were very few people who even knew you worked for the star. Family and friends only knew you worked as an "assistant"— that's what you told them at least.
You never had to explain anything further, but now you'd definitely have to explain how you could afford to live in a very pricey apartment building. Who knew how people would react if they figured out how you did? And now that you were jobless you had to search for a new job.
