As I walk down the hallway, I can't resist glancing at the cameras. "I'm going out," I announce to Red-Eye, trying to sound authoritative. "Don't miss me too much."
Sparkles gets a sidelong glance. "Keep an eye on things while I'm gone, okay?"
For a second, I feel quite proud of my performance, but then it hits me—I'm talking to inanimate objects. Cameras, no less.
"Okay, Y/N, get a grip," I tell myself, shaking my head to snap out of it. "You're officially losing it."
As I reach the front door, it swings open with a dramatic flair, complete with imaginary background music that feels straight out of a movie.
And of course, Ms. Signora strides in, her luxurious suit perfectly tailored, exuding an aura of power and elegance.
She pulls off her sunglasses with a flourish, her gaze locking onto me.
"Oh wow," I mutter under my breath. Can this woman ever just enter a room normally?
Signora moves with a confidence that makes me feel like a clumsy duck in comparison.
Every step she takes exudes authority, and her eyes have a way of making you feel like she can see right through you. She stops in front of me, looking me up and down with a scrutinizing gaze.
Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes in my casual attire. "Y/N, why are you not in your uniform? And where exactly do you think you're going?"
I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure. "Kafka gave me a day off," I say, flashing a big smile, hoping it conveys innocence and charm. "I was just heading out to meet some friends."
Signora raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Kafka did, did she? Let's confirm that, shall we?"
Oh boy. I give her my best over-enthusiastic smile, bowing slightly. "Absolutely, Ms. Signora. Feel free to ask her. She said I should take some time to relax. Have a nice day!" I start to walk past her, praying she won't pursue the matter further.
But before I can get far, I feel a firm grip on my shoulder. The suddenness of it makes my heart leap into my throat.
My thoughts spiral into a panicked jumble, and I find myself mentally reciting a prayer: Dear Lord, I know I haven't been to church in a very long while, but if you could see your way to saving me, I promise I'll be good. Please forgive me for any transgressions and deliver me from this evil. In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Signora's grip is unyielding as she turns me to face her. "You may have Kafka's permission, but you do not have mine. There's work to be done."
I feel a wave of dread wash over me. I'm frozen, petrified even, too scared to even speak.
"B-but, Ms. Signora," I stammer, trying to sound respectful yet desperate. "What could possibly be more important right now?"
Her expression remains stern. "The garden needs tending. The hedges need trimming. We have important visitors coming this evening—top investors. We'll be holding a meeting in the gazebo, and it must be perfect."
I nod, feeling defeated. "Yes, Ms. Signora," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dejectedly, I pull out my phone and call Lisa back, dreading the conversation.
When she answers, I break the news as gently as I can. "Hey, Lisa. Change of plans. I have to stay and tend the garden. Investors coming. Important meeting in the gazebo."
There's a pause, followed by a very irate Miko grabbing the phone. "Are you kidding me? They're making you do this on your day off? What kind of place only has you as the maid?"
"It's fine, really," I try to assure her, but Lisa cuts in.
"No, Y/N, it's not fine. This is ridiculous."
"I'm really sorry," I say, feeling genuinely awful. "I'll make it up to you guys. Promise."
With a sigh, I hang up and drag myself to the garden, mentally preparing for the tasks ahead.
The garden is sprawling and beautiful, but right now it feels like a jungle that needs taming. I grab the hedge trimmers and get to work, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling into bitterness.
Each snip of the shears feels like a tiny victory against my frustration. I imagine the hedges as the embodiment of my stress, and every trim as a step towards reclaiming my sanity. "Take that, stress bush. You too, anxiety shrub."
As I work, I can't help but think back to how my day was supposed to go.
A leisurely stroll through the mall with my best friends, indulging in a bit of retail therapy, and maybe even a sweet treat from that new bakery we've been dying to try.
Instead, here I am, pruning and trimming like my life depends on it.
I pause to wipe the sweat from my brow, glancing around to make sure no one is watching. The last thing I need is an audience for my breakdown.
The garden is eerily silent, save for the occasional chirp of a bird. I sigh and get back to work, knowing that Signora will inspect every inch of my handiwork.
As I move on to the flower beds, carefully weeding and arranging the blooms, my phone buzzes with a message from Lisa: "Hang in there, Y/N. We'll have our day out soon. You're a rockstar for putting up with this!"
I smile despite myself, her words lifting my spirits just a bit.
Maybe this isn't how I wanted to spend my day, but at least I have friends who care. And if I can survive a day under Signora's watchful eye, I can survive anything.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the garden starts to look presentable. The hedges are trimmed, the flower beds are neat, and the gazebo is clean and inviting. I step back to admire my work, feeling a sense of accomplishment despite everything.
As I head back inside, I can't help but feel a small surge of pride. Maybe my day didn't go as planned, but I still managed to get through it with my sanity mostly intact.
And who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be better. For now, I'll take my victories where I can get them, even if they come in the form of perfectly pruned hedges.
Just as I'm about to start walking back to the mansion, I hear a faint, suspicious noise coming from the back gates. My heart skips a beat, and I freeze, listening intently. The sun has just set, casting long shadows across the garden. The light is dim, and everything takes on an eerie quality.
I step back outside, trying to convince myself that it's just my imagination. But then I hear it again—a rustling sound by the hedges. My heart sinks, a cold dread washing over me.
I cautiously make my way towards the noise, every step feeling like a monumental effort. The garden, which had been a place of frustration and mild annoyance earlier, now feels like a labyrinth of fear.
The rustling gets louder, and I can feel the adrenaline starting to pump through my veins. My breath comes quicker, and I grip the shears in my hand tightly, my knuckles turning white.
I peer through the hedges, my eyes straining to see anything in the growing darkness. The sound is coming closer, and my mind races with possibilities.
An animal? An intruder? I can't be sure, and that uncertainty makes it all the more terrifying.
My imagination runs wild, conjuring images of shadowy figures and unseen threats.
Suddenly, the rustling stops, and there's an ominous silence. My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my temple.
The silence stretches on, becoming unbearable.
I take a step back, my instincts screaming at me to run. Just as I turn to head back to the safety of the mansion, the rustling resumes, more urgent and closer than before.
Panic surges through me.
I drop the shears, and they clatter loudly on the stone path, the sound echoing in the stillness.
I turn and start to run, my feet pounding against the ground.
But in my haste, I slip on the damp grass and crash to the ground, scraping my elbows on the rough stone walk path. Pain shoots through my arms, but the fear is stronger.
I scramble to get up, but before I can, something heavy is thrown over my head. A sack. I scream, the sound muffled by the rough fabric.
I thrash and struggle, trying to pull the sack off, but my hands are quickly bound, and I feel myself being lifted off the ground. Terror grips me as I realize what's happening.
I kick and scream, but my cries for help are swallowed by the darkness. I'm thrown into a van, the metal floor cold and unforgiving against my skin.
Tears stream down my face, mingling with the dirt and sweat.
I'm shaking, my mind a chaotic mess of fear and confusion.
I try to make sense of what's happening, but it's all too much.
The van door slams shut, and I hear the engine roar to life.
The vehicle lurches forward, and I'm thrown against the side, my head hitting the metal with a sickening thud.
"Help! Somebody, please!" I scream, my voice hoarse and desperate.
But there's no response, only the steady hum of the engine and the sound of my own ragged breathing.
As the van speeds away, the weight of my predicament sinks in.
I'm at the mercy of whoever's taken me, and all I can do is pray for a miracle.
The darkness closes in, and I can only hope that someone, anyone, will come for me...