AUTHOR'S REFLECTION

 I appreciate your decision to join me in reading this story, and I want to express my gratitude to all my readers.

This story delves into the real experiences of life, so as you embark on Erica's journey, keep in mind that it will include profound romantic language, and corresponding actions may unfold.

It revolves around the innocence of a young lady who ultimately finds her resilience and strength.

Enjoy the ride.

NOTE: This book encourages close adult supervision; it's R18."

Excerpt:

As he moved, his robe revealed his chest, slightly damp from the water dripping from his hair.

CHAPTER ONE

Working at the Stridha Mansion was a dream come true for me, just as it was for every girl in my town. Today marks my first day here, and we're about to receive instructions and house rules from an elderly mansion attendant, Miss Gilet.

"In this house, one rule rules them all: if you want to keep your job, make sure you're not found in the wrong place at the wrong time unless you've been sent to that place or area by the bosses. You stay, put your heads down, and obey every command," Miss Gilet instructed.

As she spoke, an unexpected chill swept through the corridor, and the air seemed to shimmer briefly. We exchanged puzzled glances, sensing an unspoken tension lingering beyond the mundane rules, a mysterious energy that hinted at secrets veiled within the grandeur of the Stridha Mansion.

"That one in the blue shirt is Mr. Stridha; no one calls him by his first name, so you're better off not knowing it, and you won't even need to address him by his name at all unless otherwise." Miss Gilet was patient and careful when she was talking to us, making sure we wouldn't make any mistakes in the future.

She carried on with the rules, "and that one besides him is his mistress. She often visits, and you're not to talk to her unless you're spoken to first.

"The other man in a white t-shirt is young Stridha. Mr. Muya is a less talkative person, and his cousin beside him is Mercy. Those are the bosses around the house, but oftentimes other relatives come to visit the Stridha mansion."

As Miss Gilet spoke, a peculiar sound echoed through the corridor, causing a momentary pause. It was as if the mansion itself held secrets, whispering tales that went beyond the rules we were being told. We were four on that job orientation that morning, and we were assigned a young lady named Sera to take us around the compound and all the rooms. It was tiring because it was too big to finish.

Food was offered to us, and we were not to leave until they had returned, especially Mr. Stridha. So, we stood waiting for him that day without a sign of him anywhere, and I began to wonder about the time I'd reach home; technically, my mother should have been worried by that hour.

It was at midnight when I received a text. Well, that's when I saw that I was to attend orientation at the Stridha mansion. Excitement alone made me not sleep the rest of the night, thinking, planning, and choosing what to wear. I have been up until this hour. ' Exhaustion will make me fatigued, I figured.

Around 8 p.m., the car drove in, and my heart rested knowing that he had finally come.

"Now I can go home and rest from this tiring and stressful day," I thought. It was funny how I kept all my senses awake and my eyes on the door only for that one man; I did not even know what he looked like.

Upon his arrival, Miss Gilet extended the first greeting, asking, "Has your day been exhausting, sir? How did it go?"

He sighed with a blink. "As usual," he replied.

Then she went on to introduce us: "These are the new house helpers, as instructed by Miss Shelly. Earlier, we revised the applications and came up with these ones; they are complete with orientations and ready to start tomorrow."

Wait, what! Tomorrow? I exclaimed in my heart, Will I even get enough rest? It's half past eight, and I'm still here.

I felt sorry for myself, and what was more irritating was the fact that the man we stood up for all that time didn't say a single word as to why we could have been waiting for him.

He walked in, and I thought he'd share some ideas. But no, it was just an introduction, and he left soon after Miss Gilet said, "That's all, sir."

I was annoyed at waiting for so long. I thought Miss Gilet could've given him the names and stuff so we wouldn't have to go home late. Sometimes rich people are just annoying.

One girl asked, "Can I ask Miss Gilet, a question?" And she said yes.

"Are we coming here every day, or are we staying here? Will someone drive us back and forth?" That's what she wanted to know.

In the midst of the group, I held the role of the reticent one, yet within the confines of my mind, I was the most loquacious.

Miss Gilet addressed the matter succinctly, stating, "That will be handled," and directed us to follow her with urgency. "Quickly, the table must be set by the time Mr. Stridha completes his ablutions."

The realization struck me that our stay here was prolonged. Sympathy for my bed and pillow at home started to creep in. The determination to return to my tasks waned as the prospect of relinquishing the comfort of my bed loomed, realizing I'd be spending an extended period here.

A voice interrupted my contemplation. "What's your name again?" it inquired. "Me?" I responded, and a collective glimmer of attention descended upon me—from the cooks to the girls I had entered with that day.

"Do you see anyone else besides you?" she asked again. It dawned on me that I stood alone amidst my friends or acquaintances, considering if I should label them as such. They were gathered near the table, engrossed in some task, and I realized I had missed them when she called them.

"Well, I'm Erica, ma'am," I responded, feeling a bit out of sync.

"Erica, you're not permitted to doze off on duty," she asserted. I nodded in acknowledgment, taken aback by the reprimand because technically I wasn't dozing.

"You respond verbally, Erica!" Miss Gilet emphasized sternly, and almost instinctively, I added, "Yes, ma'am."

A sudden realization hit me—shoot!

Despite being the quietest, my name echoed twice that night. Puzzled by Miss Gilet's expectations, I hesitated to use my voice. Yet, as if she sensed my thoughts, she instructed, "Carry the food and set the dining table."

Following her precise directions, we arranged the table to Mr. Stridha's liking. Standing beside the chairs, I couldn't help but draw comparisons to royal households, momentarily confusing this residence for a palace.

Mr. Stridha descended from his bedroom for the meal, commanding a majestic presence with his towering height. As he focused on his phone, strands of damp black hair clung to his forehead.

His well-defined, muscular physique was captivating, and the movement of his robe subtly unveiled a chest glistening with water droplets from his damp hair.

Engrossed in admiring his flawless figure, I suddenly recalled the "keep your heads down" rule. A wave of panic set in—had Miss Gilet noticed my lapse?

"Erica?" Her call interrupted my thoughts, and my heart skipped a beat. The dilemma lingered: should I turn and face her, risking the consequences my wandering thoughts might bring?

My thoughts will kill me.