The sun's first rays crept over the luxurious Stark mansion, bathing its opulent facade in a golden light. The estate was already a hive of activity, with staff busy polishing windows to a crystal-clear finish and arranging vases of fresh flowers in every corner.
Mr. Jarvis, the ever-efficient butler, moved with purpose through the bustling halls.
When Mr. Jarvis made his way through the mansion, it was as if everyone was witnessing a royal procession. The staff greeted him with the kind of respect usually reserved for a high-ranking official, like a minister in the presence of a king.
And let's not forget Mr. Jarvis himself-he was no less imposing. The staff might not fear Mr. Stark as much, but they definitely had a healthy fear of Mr. Jarvis. It wasn't just jarvis's appearance that intimidated them; it was Jarvis's reputation for his exacting standards and meticulous nature.
Edwin Jarvis had a particular habit: everything had to be spotless and gleaming.
No matter what task was underway, he would interrupt it to perform a thorough inspection. If he found even the slightest flaw, you could be sure that person's job was as good as gone. His scrutiny was so intense that it felt like he had a sixth sense for spotting imperfections.
His polished shoes clicked rhythmically on the marble floors as he made his way to the kitchen, where the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the air.
The moment Mr. Jarvis strode into the kitchen, the atmosphere shifted. It was as though someone had pressed 'pause' on the kitchen staff.
One chef stood mid-whisk, staring at Mr. Jarvis as if he were a strict headmaster about to announce a pop quiz. Another maid froze in front of the sink, her hands still holding a half-scrubbed dish.
Even the eggs in the frying pan seemed to sizzle a little more quietly, sensing the tension.
"Why, exactly, has everyone turned into statues?" Mr. Jarvis's voice rang out, crisp and commanding.
"Did I miss the memo on a new kitchen freeze tag competition? "
When no one responded. Mr. Jarvis said " No? Then get back to work!"
Everyone snapped back into action so fast, you'd think they'd been shot out of a cannon. A junior chef, who had been slicing tomatoes, nearly cut his finger off in his rush to catch up with the speed of the room.
Poor guy. It seemed like everyone's life depended on getting his approval, as if he held the key to their very existence. Well, it's not life or death-just work. But everyone was so focused on making sure Mr. Jarvis didn't find fault or cause any trouble that they were practically running around like their life depended on it!
The sound of clattering pans, hurried chopping, and frantic whisking waft through, the kitchen turning into a Hubbub of hectic energy.
Mr. Jarvis walked around the room, his shoes clicking sharply on the tiled floor, his eyes scrutinizing every detail.
Nothing escaped him.
Mr. Jarvis used his eyes like scanners to locate his target.
Yes.
A young, innocent maid.
Her bad luck just got a promotion!
He paused next to the maid who was folding napkins.
She had clearly been trying to make something fancy, but the napkin looked more like a crumpled tissue than an elegant fold.
He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Is that supposed to be a swan? Because it looks like the poor creature's had a terrible accident. "
YOU ARE READING
A Chance Of 40 Days
HumorTony Stark. The name screams money and attitude. And why not? The guy's swimming in cash. He's lived his whole life like it's one big, luxury party. Anything he wanted, he got-no questions asked. Naturally, this turned him into a spoiled, arrogant m...
