ELOISE
My first day at work was absolute torture. I thought I'd be the one playing the villain, but it seems the universe had other plans—today, I'm the victim.
It's either Maverick breathing down my neck with a pile of endless paperwork or Mom calling in the middle of the day to send me on random errands that have nothing to do with my job.
Honestly, I'm tired. I feel like resigning and going back to my normal life—where peace existed, at least before Mom decided to make chaos my lifestyle.
The door swung open and, as if summoned by my misery, Maverick appeared.
"What now?" I muttered under my breath.
"Where are the documents I asked you to photocopy?" he said, knocking on my desk like an impatient landlord.
I didn't even bother to look up from my laptop. "I'll do that later."
The IT and Data Management department isn't supposed to feel like hard labor. It's about systems, cybersecurity, and digital solutions—not survival training.
But somehow, Maverick manages to turn every task into punishment. Every day, I make his coffee, draft his daily routine—basically do the work meant for his assistant.
He treats me like an intern in a prison camp. And when I get home late and exhausted, Mom says I'm lazy.
You can't imagine.
"Hello?" Maverick's voice snapped again, knocking on my desk. "If you're not ready to work your ass off, then resign. I need serious, reliable staff—not lazy touts."
Wait. What?
Did he just call me a lazy tout?
My blood boiled, but Dad's voice echoed in my head—"Be nice during office hours. Remember, Maverick is your boss."
Ugh.
I wanted to set the world on fire. Burn everyone—except me.
I swallowed my anger. "In twenty minutes, I'll deliver them to your desk."
"Twenty?" He scoffed. "You have five minutes, Eloise. Five. And if it goes beyond that, you're fired."
I clenched my jaw as he walked out.
Five minutes? I swear, one day this man will wake up in Antarctica.
By the time I got home, I was starving and running on fumes. Food was my only goal. I stormed into the kitchen—clean pots. Empty stove. No food.
"Maybe it's in the fridge," I muttered hopefully.
I opened the fridge. Empty.
"What the fuck?" I slammed the door and marched to the lounge where my parents were watching TV. "Where's my dinner?"
Mom and Dad exchanged that silent look—here she goes again.
"Dinner?" Mom snorted. "Who's your maid in this house?"
"For God's sake, we have over ten maids in this mansion! It's literally their job. You don't expect me to come back from work half-dead and still cook!"
"Eloise," Mom said sharply, sitting up. "So if there were no maids, you wouldn't cook, eh?"
I ignored her question and called out, "Samantha!"
The maid appeared like a frightened rabbit. "Yes, ma."
"Why is there no food in the kitchen? Or even leftovers in the fridge?"
She scratched her head. "Eh… erm…"
"What is eh eh eh? Speak up!"
Mom cut in. "Samantha, you can go."
"What?!" I turned to Mom. "I was about to send her to make dinner!"
Mom raised a brow. "Don't you have hands? What are they for?"
I looked at Dad, silently begging for backup, but he just focused on the TV.
"Oh my God!" I stomped my foot and kicked a pillow. "I'm hungry! I'm hungry! I'm hungry!"
Mom gave me that look. "If you can't make yourself useful in the kitchen, go drink garri. I can't have a daughter who can't even boil water."
I sighed dramatically. Mom knows I'm hopeless at cooking—zero talent. I can't fry an egg without setting off the smoke alarm. But when it comes to eating? I'm a professional.
Left with no choice, I drank garri. And I hate garri. It tastes like poverty and despair.
I'd have ordered pizza, but Mom seized my phone and froze my credit cards weeks ago.
These days, I have to beg Dad for one of his cards—just to buy fuel. Me. Broke. Imagine that.
The next morning, Mom sent me on an errand before breakfast. "Go get these from the grocery store," she said, like I was her unpaid assistant.
With her list in hand, I scanned shelves quickly, glancing at my smartwatch to stay within her "time limit." God forbid I'm late—she'd probably exile me.
After checkout, I was hurrying to the exit when I bumped into something solid.
No, someone.
And when I looked up—oh, not him again.
"You again?" I snapped. "Are you stalking me? You almost broke my nose!"
He smiled like he owned the air we breathed. "My apologies, princess. I was just carried away by your beauty."
"Oh, get lost." I pushed past him toward my car.
"Hey, can I have your number?" he asked, knocking on my tinted window.
I rolled it down just enough to glare. "I don't give my number to incompetent fools."
He laughed. "But we've met three times now. Doesn't that mean something?"
"Yeah—it means I'm cursed. I'd rather kiss a toilet bowl than give my number to a nobody like you."
I rolled the window up, but he stopped it with his hand. "I don't bite, okay? I just want to know you."
"And I said I don't!"
He tilted his head, grin widening. "Are you free tonight? Maybe we could go somewhere and talk our problems out."
"You are my problem. Stop stalking me, and maybe I'll finally have peace."
He chuckled, blue eyes glinting like ocean lights. "Look, just give me your number. I'll call you."
"No. Go die somewhere."
"Okay, fine. How about I give you mine?"
"What's your obsession with this?" I huffed. "Why are you forcing this friendship?"
He smiled again. "Because I like you."
"Ew." I wrinkled my nose. "What's there to like?"
"Everything."
"Ugh, goodbye." I hit the gas and drove off, muttering, "Rubbish."