Emma's POV
I slouched on the park bench, my little sister Tessa beside me, and my friend Katie sitting on the other side. The sun was warm, birds chirping, kids running around—it was the kind of day that should have made me relax. But all I could think about was the absurdity of my new job.
"I swear," I muttered, rolling my eyes, "this job is ridiculous."
Tessa frowned, glancing up at me from her phone. "What now?"
"I mean… rules, rules, rules everywhere!" I gestured with my hands as if I could push the world's absurdity away. "Yes, I understand it's his house. Yes, I understand he's the boss. But I'm the chef! I know what I'm doing! I don't need instructions on how to chop onions or how to make a pie. Seriously."
Katie gave me a sympathetic smile. "You're still lucky to get the job though, Em. Five hundred dollars a week and all expenses covered—that's huge."
I groaned and leaned back. "I know, I know. Money's amazing, yes. But the old man—Nicholas Knight?—he's… distracting. Like, completely controlling. Every little thing, he notices. He has to adjust a spoon, a napkin, a lamp. I get it, order is good, but come on! I didn't sign up to babysit his kitchen."
Tessa snorted. "You mean you didn't sign up to obey an old man?"
"Exactly!" I shot her a look that made her laugh. "See, even you get it."
Katie leaned forward, lowering her voice like I needed to hear some wisdom. "Just remember, Em, this is a great reference. You can survive a month here, and you'll have a stellar job on your resume. Master's degree plus working for a trillionaire's household? That's gold."
I nodded, taking a deep breath. "I know. I have to do this job. Money isn't just for me—it's for Tessa's school, groceries, rent, all of it. I get it. But still… Ugh, he's impossible. And Ms. Cora—don't get me wrong, she's amazing—but she's like the general giving orders for every tiny thing."
Tessa frowned again, finally looking up from her phone. "So… when do you have to leave?"
I checked the time on my watch and groaned. "Now. My new job doesn't wait for me to finish my pity party in the park. Let's move."
We left, walking toward the car that would take me back to the mansion. My mind was still buzzing with irritation and anticipation. The moment I arrived, I was met with the smell of disinfectant and the faint hum of cleaning machines.
Ms. Cora was already there, clipboard in hand, giving instructions to the new cleaner. I noticed the cleaner's face immediately—a mix of shock, disbelief, and barely concealed sarcasm. She was trying her best to stay attentive, but the ridiculousness of it all was written all over her.
"Remember, the kitchen has very specific instructions," Ms. Cora said in her usual calm, precise voice. "Everything must be measured, every surface sanitized, and nothing moved from its assigned spot. You have a manual, follow it strictly, and I expect reports by the end of your shift. Any deviation is unacceptable."
The cleaner's eyes widened as she nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she said, but I caught the slight roll of her eyes behind Ms. Cora's back.
Once Ms. Cora moved to another part of the kitchen, I finally approached the new cleaner. She exhaled quietly, as if relieved.
"Too many rules, huh?" she whispered.
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You have no idea. It's insane. But you get used to it."
She raised an eyebrow. "And you? You follow all of them perfectly?"
I smirked, leaning against the counter. "Of course. I'm the old one here; I've been around. If I didn't, I wouldn't still have a job."
She laughed quietly, the kind of sound that acknowledged the absurdity without complaint. "Old one, huh?"
"Yeah… lucky me," I muttered.
Just then, Ms Cora returned, brisk and efficient, giving me a quick glance. "Emma, don't leave notes in the kitchen anymore. It's not required. You just do your job and leave, understood?"
I nodded, trying to hide the exasperation on my face. "I know, Ms Cora. Those were just follow-ups… trying to make things easier. But yes, I get it. I'll stick to the rules."
As she walked away, I let out a long breath and leaned back against the counter. My hands were still trembling slightly from frustration.
I made a ridiculous face, half-scowl, half-laugh. "F*ck this man," I muttered under my breath. "Nicholas Knight… controlling, perfectionist, old, arrogant… all of it. And I have to survive in his kitchen. For money. For Tessa. God help me."
The cleaner glanced at me and raised an eyebrow, amused. I only rolled my eyes.
I spent the next few minutes checking the kitchen, making sure everything was in order. The meal I had to prepare today would be complicated, and the last thing I needed was distractions.
But even as I started setting up the ingredients, my mind kept wandering back to the absurd rules, and… him. Nicholas Knight.
I shook my head. No. Focus. Money. Responsibilities. Rules. I'd deal with him later.
With a sigh, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and tied my apron tightly around my waist. Gloves on, knives ready, ingredients prepped. Today, I was a chef, not a complainer. I reminded myself: survive today, make it perfect, follow every rule—even if it made my blood boil.