I kept scrolling trash, unable to stop.
Plots tired, twists obvious—my thumb moved on its own.
One title froze me:
"I'm a Live-in Helper. I Never Met My Employer—Until One Day…"
First-person. Plain style.
She signed with the story platform, not a person.
Rules:
Day: house empty. She cleans.
Night, 10 p.m.–6 a.m.: stay in room. Door shut.
Never open it.
Every sunrise, the house looked ransacked—furniture overturned, dishes shattered. She scrubbed until dusk. Cycle repeated.
One midnight, the noise outside her door became unbearable.
She cracked it—
Text stopped mid-sentence.
I swore. "You're kidding me."
Black screen:
"Watch a 10-second ad to continue."
I rolled my eyes—and tapped.
Ad loaded.
Profile photo: smiling girl, round eyes, too still.
Message:
"Applying for live-in helper.
Can arrive tomorrow night.
Willing to pay you $70 to move in."
I never posted a job. Never listed my address.
Another line blinked:
"Click CONFIRM to finalize contract."
My finger hovered—dry, cold.
Outside, the clock struck twelve.
Only then did it hit me—
the story had never shown what was outside the door.
And the ad…
was still waiting.