Chapter 4

"Then it's the milk," Damian set down the sandwich and picked up the porridge. "Too thin."

I had nothing.

"This fried egg," he continued, poking it, "is overcooked and too tough."

I breathed deeply, telling myself to stay calm.

"Mr. Black, if you don't like it, skip breakfast," I said.

He looked up at me, eyes provocative.

"The contract says you must make me a breakfast that satisfies me," he said.

I clenched my fists.

This jerk was picking a fight on purpose.

"So what do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Make it again," he said coolly.

I wanted to wipe that annoyingly handsome face with my rag.

But I managed to hold myself back.

I forced a sad smile. "Fine, Mr. Black."

I turned to the kitchen, hearing him rustle the newspaper outside. I was so mad I almost slammed the pot down.

I made him a fried egg, black coffee, and thick millet porridge.

When I brought it out again, he'd finished the breakfast he'd complained about and was leaving.

Without even looking at me, he grabbed his briefcase, tossed out, "I want seafood for dinner tonight," and walked off.

I stared at the untouched breakfast and dirty dishes.

I vowed to crush Damian one day!

I picked up Ben from school in the afternoon.

He was amazed by the huge house as soon as he walked in.

"Mom, did we hit the jackpot?" he whispered, clutching my leg.

I ruffled his hair and said bitterly, "Nope. We're here to work for the evil corporate overlord."

Ben nodded, pretending to understand.

I showed him around and told him this was Daddy's house. We'd be staying here for a while.

He ran around the living room excitedly like a tornado.

I was trying to make the "seafood feast" for dinner.

When I opened the fridge, there was seafood I didn't recognize.

Lobsters, king crabs, abalone...

I stared at the wild, spiky things, stumped.

I had no clue how to cook any of this.

With no options left, I turned to the internet for help.

I fumbled with the ingredients while following a tutorial on my phone.

When I put the lobster in the pot, it splashed water in my face.

I was frantically turning the kitchen into a war zone.

At seven, Damian arrived on time.

He was hit by a weird smell as he walked in.

A strong seafood smell mixed with burnt scent.

He entered the dining room to a table of culinary disasters—a food apocalypse.

There was a burnt lobster, an exploded king crab shell, and garlic abalone in unnatural colors.

I stood in my apron, covered in flour and sauce, looking like a kid caught red-handed.

"Mr. Black, you're back," I said.

Damian stood silently, staring at the disaster on the table.

His face was more epic than when I kicked in his door.

"Maggie," he croaked, "you call this a seafood feast?"

"Yeah," I said, bracing myself. "I was trying my 'nightmare seafood special.'"

He picked up his fork, hesitated for a long moment, then finally speared a piece of the black lobster meat.

And he chewed twice, his expression darkening.

Then, he dashed to the bathroom.

I heard Damian retching in the bathroom.

Game over.

This time, for real.

I ruined dinner and made my boss lose his lunch.

When he left the bathroom, his face was pale.

He looked at me with despair in his eyes.

He asked, "Maggie, are you trying to poison me for my money?"

"No! I swear!" I blurted.

"Starting tomorrow," he said weakly, "you don't have to cook."

I was so overjoyed.

"Really?" I gasped, barely hiding my excitement.

"I'm afraid I won't last three months if you keep cooking," he muttered.

With that, he pulled out his phone and dialed David.

"Book the best private chef for three meals a day, starting now," he ordered.

I saw his defeated posture and felt amused, not guilty.

Damian, you finally got what you deserved!

Since I made Damian puke, my "maid" life got much easier.

A top private chef came daily, and I just ate and enjoyed.

Life was seriously good.

Ben loved it—chauffeured to school, living in a mansion, and eating great food daily.

And he quickly hit it off with Damian.

Though Damian stayed cold, he was more patient with Ben.

He played chess with Ben, told him stories, and let him draw in his expensive study.

Watching Damian and Ben together, I'd get a fleeting illusion.

For a moment, it felt as if we were still a family.

But reality always brought me back.

Damian still watched me like a hawk.

Sometimes, he'd look at me to check if I was losing my mind again.

He monitored my every move.

His study and bedroom were off-limits to me.

After 10 p.m., I had to stay in my room.

I couldn't bring any friends over.

Honestly, it felt like I was under house arrest.

One day, my bestie Lauren Scott called to go shopping.

I glanced at Damian, who was going through papers in the living room. "Can't," I whispered. "I'm grounded."

"What?" Lauren thought I was joking. "Who locked you up? Aliens?"