Chapter 77 First Day Chaos.
I woke up choking.
The smell that invaded my senses was so aggressive it felt like it had hands. Thick, acrid and unmistakable.
Something was burning.
For a few foggy seconds, I stayed where I was, half-buried in sleep, my mind scrambling for excuses. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe it was the neighbor in the next apartment doing something reckless at an ungodly hour.
Then the smell got worse and I sat up in bed almost coughing out my lunch. My eyes flew open. Holy shit, there's smoke in my room!
“Oh shit,” I muttered, throwing the covers off. I stumbled out of bed, still half-asleep, nearly tripping over my own feet as I rushed out of my bedroom. My pulse thundered in my ears as I followed the smell. It was coming from the kitchen.
I burst in like a mad man. The kitchen was filled with smoke so thick it looked like a low-budget horror movie. It clung to the ceiling, curled around the cabinets, and stung my eyes the second I stepped inside. I coughed, waving a hand in front of my face, panic spiking all over again.
Right there, in the middle of it all, stood Ashley. She looked… disastrous. Her black hair was slightly frizzed, her clothes smudged with something dark, and she was coughing violently, her eyes watering as she waved her hands uselessly at the smoke. Something on the stove was burning aggressively, the sound of it sizzling like an accusation.
“Ashley!” I shouted, rushing forward. I didn’t even think. I reached past her, turned the stove off in one swift motion, and grabbed the pan, dumping its contents into the sink. Smoke billowed upward in protest, but at least the source was gone.
I opened every window I could reach, flipped on the exhaust fan, and finally turned back to her. She was still coughing.
“Are you okay?” I asked sharply.
She nodded quickly, still trying to catch her breath. “I—I think so.”
I studied her for injuries, my heart still racing. She looked shaken but unharmed, and relief washed over me so suddenly my knees almost gave out.
“What were you doing?” I asked, softer now.
She hesitated, her shoulders slumping. “I was trying to make breakfast.”
I looked around the kitchen again, the ruined pan, the smoke, the faint smell of charred eggs, and then back at her.
She looked guilty and embarrassed, like a child who has broken something precious without meaning to. "I’m sorry,” she said quietly, eyes downcast. “I thought I could do it.”
I should have been angry, or at least annoyed. Any normal employer probably would have been. She could’ve burned the apartment down. She could’ve gotten hurt. But standing there, watching her fidget nervously, I didn’t feel any of that.
She just looked too… sincere and fragile in that moment. She was just trying to make a meal.
“It’s fine,” I said finally.
Her head snapped up. “Really?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “It’s fine. Accidents happen.”
She still looked unconvinced, her lips pressed together. “I didn’t really mean to—”
“I know,” I interrupted gently. “But next time, please don’t try to cook.”
She sighed sadly, but replied. “Okay.”
“Listen, its not because you did anything wrong,” I added quickly. “Just—let me handle it. From now on, I’ll take care of the cooking. You can focus on cleaning.”
Her expression shifted instantly, relief flooding her features. “Okay,” she said, nodding. “I can do that.”
I glanced at the ruined pan again, then back at her. “Sit down,” I said. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“You don’t have to. You're the boss you know,” she said immediately.
“I know, but I want to.”
She watched me with wide eyes as I moved around the kitchen, pulling out fresh eggs, grabbing a clean pan, measuring coffee grounds. I was suddenly hyper-aware of her gaze on me, tracking my every movement like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
I cracked the eggs smoothly, letting them slide into the pan, and glanced over my shoulder. She was leaning slightly against the counter, chin tilted, eyes fixed on the stove.
I talked her through it as I cooked. How long to heat the pan, when to flip the eggs, how not to burn them. She listened with rapt attention, nodding like she was memorizing every word.
It struck me then how strange it was. She claimed to have experience, and yet she looked like she’d never cooked a day in her life.
“Coffee’s easier to make,” I said, pouring hot water carefully. “You just need patience.”
She hummed softly, watching the steam rise. “You make it look so simple.”
“It is,” I said. “Once you know how.”
When everything was done, I set the plate in front of her. She stared at it for a moment, then looked up at me. “Uh thank you.”
“Go ahead, and eat."
She hesitated, looking at the food like it was something foreign. She slowly cut a little piece with her fuck and dipped it in her mouth chewing slowly. I don't know if it's my eyes playing tricks on me, but I saw a grimace on her face before she replaced it with a smile.
“It’s delicious,” she said.
I smiled before I could stop myself. "That's good to know,” I said. “I have to get ready for work.” I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.
“Sir?”
I paused and stared at her. “Yes?”
She hesitated, then asked softly, “Are all humans… this kind to their maids?”
I frowned slightly. “Humans?”
The moment the word left my mouth, she froze, her eyes widened in horror.
“I—I didn’t mean—” she stammered. “I mean—rich people. I never thought rich people would be so kind.”
I studied her carefully. There it was again. That strange attitude again. I ignored it and asked. "Had you expected me to fire you?"
She nodded with a cute blush. “Honestly, I did.”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t do that to you Ashely. You made a mistake and it's not your fault.” She stared at me like I’d just said something profound and I continued. “No human is perfect,” I added, without thinking. “We all mess up.”
Something changed in her expression then. It wasn’t relief. It looks almost like pride.
She straightened slightly, her eyes shining as she looked at me. And for some reason, that look made me uncomfortable in a way I couldn’t explain.
“Thank you,” she said again, softly.
I cleared my throat, suddenly eager to escape my own kitchen. “Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll be late tonight.” As I walked back toward my room, I heard her voice follow me.
“Thank you, sir!”
I smiled despite myself.
Maybe having her as a housekeeper is not that bad.