Page 24 of Cruel Obsession

That’s more than double what I’m making now. That’s enough to start chipping away at Dad’s bills. That’s—

I force myself to keep reading.

Seeking an experienced, professional housekeeper to join our household staff. The ideal candidate will maintain our residence to exceptional standards while demonstrating discretion.

I can do that. I’m organized. Meticulous. I clean my own apartment like I’m prepping for a military inspection because I can’t stand mess.

Key Responsibilities: Maintaining cleanliness and organization of all living spaces, Daily cleaning, dusting, vacuuming, and floor maintenance, Laundry and ironing services.

Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve been doing my own laundry since I was twelve. How hard could it be to do someone else’s?

Requirements: Minimum 1 year of experience in luxury residential housekeeping.

My stomach sinks.

I don’t have that.

Strong attention to detail and organizational skills, Professional demeanor and full discretion.

But I have these. I use them every single day at the registrar’s office. I handle high-stress situations without falling apart—like when my dress split open in front of a hundred people, and I still finished the ceremony.

Professional demeanor? Check.

Discretion? I’ve been keeping secrets my whole life.

Benefits: Private, furnished accommodation provided, health insurance, daily expenses covered, holiday pay.

Please send a CV and a photo to: [email protected]

My cursor hovers over the link.

This is ridiculous. I have zero experience in housekeeping. Zero experience working in someone else’s home, let alone aluxury residence. They’ll take one look at my CV and laugh me out of the interview.

But five thousand dollars a month…

Five thousand dollars that could save my father’s life.

I open a new document and start typing.

An hour later, I’m done.

The CV is a masterpiece of creative truth.

I list my registrar job first, emphasizing organizational skills, attention to detail, and the ability to work under pressure. Then I pad it with every remotely relevant experience I can think of—volunteering at the church fundraiser where I helped set up and clean, the summer I spent helping Dad reorganize the house after Mom died, even the babysitting gigs from high school where I kept toddlers alive and their houses spotless.

It’s nottechnicallylying.

It’s just… strategic framing.

For the photo, I take a selfie in decent lighting—hair pulled back, minimal makeup, the kind of smile that saysresponsible and trustworthyinstead ofdesperate and drowning.

I attach both files to an email, type a brief cover letter about how I’m excited for the opportunity and confident I’d be an asset to the household, and hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

The moment it’s gone, anxiety floods in.

What if they respond? What if they don’t? What if they call my references and realize I’ve never actually worked in a mansion before?

I close the laptop and press both hands to my face.