The streets of Lyon had always felt like home, with their winding cobblestone roads and the rhythmic hum of everyday life. I used to walk through those streets with my parents and my sister, Chloé, back when everything seemed simpler.
Now, those memories feel like they belong to someone else, as though my life had split into two parts—the part before, when everything was whole, and the part after, where everything unraveled. The sound of passing cars and the faint murmur of voices lingered in the air as I sat at a small café, my hands wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long gone cold.
The days had started blending together, and each one seemed heavier than the last. The weight of responsibility sat squarely on my shoulders, an unrelenting pressure that had begun to seep into every corner of my life. I hadn't expected this—none of it. I had always been the kind of person who believed that if you worked hard, stayed focused, and played your cards right, life would reward you.
But now, at twenty-eight, with both of my parents gone and my younger sister's illness becoming more critical by the day, the harshness of reality had stripped away those simple ideals. Life wasn't rewarding. Life was indifferent, and it could just as easily crush you if you weren't careful.
I was never one to dwell on pity or excuses, though. I'd grown up in a modest household in Lyon, in a neighborhood where everyone knew each other's names. My parents weren't wealthy by any means, but they worked hard to give my sister and me the best they could.
My father, Jean-Luc Beaumont, was a proud, simple man who worked as a mechanic. He had grease-stained hands but a heart full of love for his family, and my mother, Sophie, was a schoolteacher who somehow made ends meet even when times were tough. They were everything to me, my roots, my foundation.
On the surface, I suppose I was lucky. I had always been good at school. Not just good—exceptional. My teachers often commented on how quickly I picked things up, especially when it came to language. Words, dialects, syntax—they fascinated me.
While other children were content playing outside, I was always drawn to books, particularly the ones that transported me to other worlds. By the time I was a teenager, I was already fluent in French and English, and I spent my free time teaching myself Spanish and German.
My parents encouraged my passion, though they worried, too. Lyon wasn't the kind of place where people expected their children to go off and become academics or scholars. But I had my sights set beyond Lyon, beyond France even.
I wanted to see the world, learn its languages, understand its people. By the time I reached my final year of secondary school, I had secured a scholarship to the Sorbonne University in Paris, where I would study Linguistics and International Relations. It felt like my dreams were finally aligning with reality.
Paris was a world of its own. The energy, the culture, the constant stream of people from every corner of the globe—it was exhilarating. I threw myself into my studies, and by the time I finished my first year, I was proficient in five languages.
But it wasn't just the languages that intrigued me. It was how people communicated, the nuances in their behavior, the subtleties of culture that influenced every interaction. My time at the Sorbonne opened my eyes to the vast complexity of the world, and I knew that I wanted to dedicate my life to bridging those divides.
But life, as it tends to do, had other plans.
I was in the middle of my final exams when I got the call. My parents had been in a car accident, a head-on collision with a truck on a rainy night just outside of Lyon. The doctors said they didn't suffer, that it had happened too quickly for them to feel any pain.
I didn't believe them. I couldn't. My world collapsed in that moment. One minute I was on the cusp of graduating from one of the most prestigious universities in Europe, and the next, I was at my parents' funeral, numb and hollow, wondering how everything had changed so fast.
Chloé was only fifteen at the time, too young to lose her parents, too fragile to carry the weight of such a tragedy. It fell on me to be her protector, her provider. I did my best to step into the role, even though I was barely keeping myself together.
I finished my degree, but it didn't feel like an accomplishment anymore. It felt like an obligation. I moved back to Lyon to be closer to Chloé, and for a while, we managed. She was doing well enough in school, and I found a series of odd jobs that kept us afloat.
But then Chloé's health started to decline.
At first, we thought it was just fatigue, a result of the emotional toll the loss of our parents had taken on her. But soon it became clear that something more serious was at play. After months of tests, doctors' visits, and sleepless nights, we finally had a diagnosis: a chronic illness that would require long-term care and expensive treatments. The medical bills piled up quickly, and even with the insurance, the financial strain was unbearable.
I tried everything. I applied for jobs in France, in Europe, even overseas, hoping that my education and multilingual skills would set me apart. I spoke French, English, Spanish, German, Italian, Russian, Mandarin, Arabic, Japanese, Portuguese, and Dutch fluently. Surely, that had to mean something. But the global job market was unforgiving. Employers wanted experience, connections, stability. I had none of those things, only a degree, an ailing sister, and a mountain of bills that kept growing by the day.
I didn't mind the idea of working hard—I had always been a hard worker. But no matter what I did, the rejections kept coming. Every email I received seemed colder than the last, and the desperation that clung to me was palpable. Chloé's condition worsened, and I couldn't bear the thought of failing her. I was all she had left, and I had promised her I would take care of her.
That's when I started considering other options, ones I never would have thought of before. I had once dreamed of working for an international organization, traveling the world, and making a difference through diplomacy and cultural understanding. But now, I would take any job that offered stability. Even if that meant servitude.
It had been a hard pill to swallow, the idea of becoming someone's servant. But when I thought about it in practical terms, it wasn't so different from what I had studied. Serving in a household, especially a high-profile one, required the same skills I had been honing for years—multilingual communication, cultural sensitivity, discretion. And more than that, it offered something I desperately needed: a secure living arrangement and financial stability.
I had seen listings for butlers and personal assistants in exclusive households, positions that catered to the ultra-wealthy. It wasn't exactly what I had envisioned for myself, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.
With my linguistic skills and understanding of international cultures, I could be an asset to anyone looking for a personal attendant. I was meticulous, detail-oriented, and, most importantly, desperate. The kind of desperate that made you willing to set aside your pride, your dreams, and your old life for the sake of survival.
The idea of those type of jobs wasn't humiliating to me anymore; it was practical. If it meant I could provide for Chloé and ensure she got the care she needed, then I would do it. I would do anything for her.
Weeks passed, and I began to immerse myself in learning everything I could about high-end service. I trained myself in etiquette, studied the subtleties of culinary preferences, and even brushed up on my knowledge of technology and smart-home systems. If I was going to take on this role, I would do it with the same dedication and excellence I had applied to my studies. It wasn't glamorous, but I told myself it would be enough.
And then, just when I thought I had exhausted every avenue, I received a strange message.
I was sitting at my old desk in our apartment, the familiar glow of my computer screen illuminating the dim room. Chloé was asleep in the next room, her breathing soft and steady, a rare moment of peace for her. I had just finished another round of job applications and was about to shut everything down when an email notification appeared on the screen.
It was an encrypted message, something I hadn't seen before. My first instinct was to ignore it, assuming it was spam or, worse, some kind of scam. But curiosity got the better of me, and I clicked it open.
The message was simple, but the words sent a shiver down my spine.
"I have a position for you, if you're interested."
That was it. No details, no signature, just a line of text that felt more like a whisper in the dark. I stared at the screen, my heart pounding in my chest. Who the hell? And how did they know I was looking for work?
I leaned closer, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. A thousand thoughts raced through my mind—this could be an opportunity, but it could also be a trap. I had heard stories of people getting caught up in dangerous schemes, lured in by vague promises and desperate hope. But something about this message felt different, almost... personal.
I typed a quick response.
"Who are you?"
I didn't expect a reply, but almost instantly, another message appeared.
"That's not important. What matters is that I know your situation, and I can help. The position I'm offering will provide you with everything you need—financial stability, security for your sister's care, and most importantly, a purpose. Meet me at the address below if you're interested."
Below the text was an address, one I didn't recognize. My pulse quickened as I read the words again and again. This could be a turning point. A chance to regain control of my life, to help Chloé. But it could also be something dangerous, something unknown.
I had nothing left to lose.
I stood from my desk and glanced at the door leading to Chloé's room. I couldn't let her down. I wouldn't. Whoever this anonymous sender was, they had offered me a lifeline, and I was going to take it. I grabbed my coat and headed for the door, my heart racing with both fear and hope.
As I stepped outside into the cold night air, I cast one last glance at the encrypted message glowing on my screen.
"I have a position for you, if you're interested."
I was interested.