Episode 6 : NO TIME TO BREATHE
998 Words
I didn’t even glance back—I sprinted out of his room and bolted down the stairs like my life depended on it. By the time I reached the ground floor, I skidded to a stop next to the trolley and clutched my chest.
I just stood there, completely dazed.
What the actual hell just happened? My brain felt like it got hit by a freakin’ tornado.
I jumped when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around and came face-to-face with a woman I didn’t recognize.
“You good? You look like you just saw a ghost or something.”
I pulled myself together real quick and tried to fix my posture.
“That was... worse than a ghost,” I muttered under my breath.
She raised a brow at me, clearly confused, so I just waved her off with a fake smile.
“No big deal. I just ran up and down the stairs, that’s all.”
She nodded like she bought my lame excuse.
“Where’s the tray?”
I blinked. Oh crap.
“The tray? Uh... I may or may not have left it upstairs,” I said with an awkward grin.
She sighed and motioned toward the trolley.
“Forget it for now. Just follow me.”
I pushed the trolley and followed behind her, silently praying I wouldn’t have to go back to that room again. That dude was weird.
But you were staring at his abs like a creep, Amara.
I shook my head like it would physically knock the thought out.
Get a grip, girl. He’s dangerous.
Dangerously fine and sinfully hot?
I pinched my arm hard. Nope. Shut up, brain.
But seriously... I swear I heard someone showering in the bathroom. So who the hell was the guy I saw behind the curtain?
I stopped walking, lost in my thoughts again, only to realize the woman I was following had stopped too.
“By the way, I’m Giselle. I work in housekeeping. I’ll be giving you the tour around the Servant’s Hall today—Miss Pen had something urgent to handle.”
We turned into the left hallway and entered the kitchen area. It opened up into a moderately-sized hall with three giant glass-door fridges. One was stocked with juices, another with desserts like cake and ice cream, and the last one had all sorts of spreads and cheeses.
There was a long buffet table covered in so. much. food.
Pancakes, hotdogs, longganisa, tocino, croissants, garlic shrimp, beef Wellington, bacon, bread rolls, pork loin, fried rice, adobo, menudo, glazed ham, cheesecake, pecan pie, cordon bleu, fruit and veggie salads, rice, brownies, and all kinds of fruit drinks.
My jaw almost hit the floor.
Was it somebody’s birthday? A fiesta?
Or maybe they were prepping for a royal banquet?
A chef came in holding a tray with a plate of fresh oysters and spices, and I nearly drooled. He took the trolley from me and walked off like it was just a regular Tuesday.
“These meals are part of our normal breakfast, lunch, and dinner service here at Castillian Mansion,” Giselle explained.
My eyes went wide.
Wait… this is normal?
“Our breakfast starts at 8, so we’ve got time to explore the rest of the hall,” she added.
We passed through a massive door—like, cathedral-level huge—and stepped into the main kitchen. It was buzzing with chefs and assistants, each with their own workstation. It felt like I’d accidentally stepped into a Michelin-star kitchen.
“Make sure every meat is tenderized, grilled to perfection, and cooked spot-on. Got it?!” a guy in a red chef uniform barked from across the room.
“That’s the executive chef,” Giselle said. “He’s the boss of the kitchen brigade. He handles everything—menu planning, food costing, staff schedules, purchasing, you name it.”
I nodded, super impressed. Then a woman in a pink chef’s coat walked over to him.
“And that’s the sous chef. She takes commands from the executive chef and manages everything in real time.”
I looked around, blown away.
“This place is insane. It’s like they’re running a gourmet restaurant, not just cooking meals for a mansion.”
“Well... most of the food prepared here is served in the restaurant owned by Master Ryou,” she replied.
Ahhh. That explains a lot.
Then she smirked. “Oh, right. I remember hearing you're not allowed to cook. You totally suck at it, huh?”
She started laughing, and I rolled my eyes internally.
Yeah, yeah. I can’t cook to save my life. But it’s not like I had to—back home, we had someone who did all the cooking anyway. Still... maybe I should’ve learned at least something.
Trying to change the subject, I pointed to a large stainless steel door. “What’s in there?”
“That’s the freezer. Don’t go in unless you wanna end up frozen solid like one of the steaks,” she said with a straight face.
She dragged me to the other side and opened a different door.
“This is the storage room. If you need cleaning supplies, come here. Each of us has a personal key—Miss Pen should give yours later.”
She then gestured toward the next room.
“And this is the laundry area. The machines on the right are for all of us. You can use them whenever you want. But the ones on the left—those are strictly for Master Ryou’s clothes.”
She walked over and tapped a box of detergent beside the machine. “Also, use this soap for his laundry. Nothing else.”
I nodded and forced a polite smile.
Seriously? That guy’s laundry has a whole VIP setup? I wanted to scoff, but I kept it in. A washing machine is a washing machine. And soap is just… soap.
Ugh. Rich people are built different.
- Writer
