[ON HIATUS]
Working as a maid for three of the most terrifying, gorgeous, high-powered women alive was never on my bingo card. Yet here I am, cleaning furniture that costs more than my entire bloodline while trying not to cry in the walk-in pantry. Every day I get judged by women who could step on me, ruin me financially, emotionally, spiritually, sexually, or all of the above. At once. With heels.
Arlecchino is basically a human lie detector with murder-mystery detective energy and eyes that probably know my search history. Signora looks like she files taxes (or not, I dunno) in couture and eats diamonds for breakfast. Kafka is the therapist-slash-author who could destroy my mental health using only a paragraph, then gently pat my head about it.
My daily routine goes something like this: cook, clean, garden, get stabbed a little, get kidnapped occasionally, recover, and then immediately get pulled into more nonsense that absolutely was not included in any job description I signed. It's like the universe said, "What if we threw one overstimulated disaster maid into a murder mansion and filmed it for fun?"
They keep calling me the head maid, which is hilarious considering I am literally the only maid here. Somehow I'm still hanging on. Through the flirting, the near-death experiences, the emotional whiplash and the slow realization that I might be developing Stockholm Syndrome but make it cute.
Also, surprise, the story is a romantic comedy fused with a psychological thriller and sprinkles of emotional devastation. You know, for flavor.
And maybe... maybe I'm not just barely surviving anymore. Maybe this mansion is starting to feel like home.
Haha. No. Absolutely not. Probably.