Episode 4 : Don’t make mistakes
1997 Words
We stepped out of that weird-ass room in total silence. Me and Lorenzo, just... walking. No one dared to speak. Until—
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath, “Even the way Ryou cusses sounds expensive. Like... is that trademarked?”
Lorenzo glanced at me, confused. I looked back at him and raised a brow.
“Your friend’s kinda... creepy,” I whispered.
“Kinda?” he asked. His brows furrowed.
“His room was giving horror film vibes. Dark. Candles everywhere. Tell me he’s not part of a cult,” I deadpanned.
And for the first time ever, I saw Lorenzo smile. Like, real-life smile. Not a fake, PR-type smirk. His lips curled just a bit, no teeth—but still! Progress!
I pointed at his lips dramatically. “Bro. You do know how to smile.”
As if I jinxed it, his smile dropped instantly. He looked away.
“Tss. He’s not in a cult. Nagti-tipid lang sa kuryente.”
Translation: he's being cheap. Wow.
“He’s rich but stingy?” I mumbled, matching his pace as we walked. “What a combo.”
“You really made a scene, Amelia.”
Oh, he’s talking about that.
“Okay, to be fair, I didn’t mean to. I just got excited and totally forgot I had this—” I raised the snot-stained handkerchief. “Gross, I know.”
He clicked his tongue and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Not talking about that.”
He nodded at the hanky.
“I’m talking about how you cried in front of him. You sure you’re ready for this job?”
Honestly? Not really. But do I have a choice? Nope.
“Of course. This is literally my last resort.”
Ugh. I cringed the moment those words came out of my mouth. I sounded like I was auditioning for a drama series.
Lorenzo just sighed, stopped in front of the couch, and turned to me.
Then—he grabbed my wrist.
I flinched a little. “Dude—”
But he gently placed something in my palm.
A phone.
I blinked at it. “Uhm. What’s this?”
“My phone. You’ll need something to use while you’re here. Just call me if anything comes up.”
My jaw dropped a little. This guy just handed me his actual phone? Like, who does that?
“That’s yours though. What are you gonna use?”
“I have a spare in my car,” he said casually, then glanced at his watch. “I gotta bounce. Someone will show you to your room. Just wait here.”
I nodded, still trying to mentally process the kindness. He started walking away.
“You’ll be safe here, Amelia,” he said over his shoulder, like he just knew I was overthinking again. “As long as you stay away from Ryou.”
I blinked. Huh?
“What do you mean? He’s my boss. How am I supposed to avoid him?”
“Do your job. Stick to your tasks. Don’t get in his way. Don’t make mistakes,” he said without looking back.
Oop—okay, noted. I had questions, but he was already halfway out the door.
I sat down on the couch, staring at the phone like it was a cursed artifact. Lorenzo's giving "cold but soft" vibes, but I’m not letting my guard down yet. Trust no one in this house.
Still, can’t lie... I'm lucky I found shelter, even if it means kissing my old life goodbye. No school. No freedom. Just rules, secrets, and... creepy candle-lit rooms.
Better than being someone’s forced bride though. So yeah. No regrets.
My dramatic spiral was interrupted by the sound of someone crying.
I turned my head just in time to see a girl—probably in her twenties—stumble out of a hallway, tears rolling down her face, dragging a massive duffel bag behind her.
“I didn’t mean to burn the hotdog!” she cried. “It was just a small mistake!”
Behind her was an older woman with a composed face. She didn’t even flinch at the girl’s breakdown.
“I’m sorry, Bethany. Master’s orders. Greg will drive you home.”
Two men walked in like bouncers and gently dragged the girl out. I stood up in pure shock. Like—wait, what?!
She got fired... because of a hotdog?
The older woman turned to me. She looked kind—lavender sweater, long skirt, granny glasses. Classic but elegant.
“You must be Amelia.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”
“I apologize for the scene earlier. Another maid let go by Master… she broke one of the rules.”
I swallowed. “For real? Just ‘cause she burned a hotdog?”
She adjusted her glasses and smiled politely.
“Wasting food is one of his rules. Non-negotiable.”
Cool. So I could get kicked out for messing up a snack.
Note to self: Guard the food like your life depends on it. ‘Cause apparently—it does.
“Isn’t that kind of a shallow reason to fire someone?” I asked, brows furrowed. “She looked like she really needed that job…”
The older woman gave me a soft smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe that’s the reason, maybe it’s not. There are things only Master Ryoushin understands. I just follow orders.”
I stayed quiet after that. I mean… what else could she even do? She’s still a maid in this massive place, just like I am now. Sure, she seems to hold a higher rank than the rest of us, but in the end, she still answers to him.
Honestly, I was just glad I told them early on that I couldn’t cook. Might’ve just saved my whole career with that one confession.
She motioned for me to follow her, so I did. We walked through the same entrance that the crying girl had been dragged out of earlier.
A huge, empty hallway greeted us—bare, except for a porcelain vase and a giant monstera plant standing like a proud bodyguard in the corner. Straight ahead, two separate paths stretched out in opposite directions.
“From here starts the Servant’s Hall,” she explained. “To the right is the kitchen, laundry area, and storage room. That’s where we keep everything we need to keep the mansion clean and running. To the left,” she pointed as we walked that way, “is the maid’s quarters. That’s where we rest and sleep.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the right wing so you can get familiar with the layout.”
“This house is so big, I feel like I’ll get lost in here,” I said, my head doing a full 360 while I tried to absorb everything.
She chuckled softly. “You won’t get lost if you follow the rules, Amelia.”
I looked at her curiously. “What kind of rules?”
“This entire first floor is for us servants—except the studio room. Do you remember the room you entered earlier?”
I flinched. “The creepy one with the candles?”
She nodded, and I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down my spine. That room had weird vibes. Definitely not stepping foot in there again. That’s his domain now. Good riddance.
“The second floor is where his room is, along with the guest rooms. The third floor is completely off-limits—it’s exclusive to him only,” she said with a firm tone.
Damn, I thought. He really said “I own every floor” like it’s no big deal. Still, I just nodded. No plans of sneaking up there anyway.
“Your job’s simple,” she continued. “Clean Master’s room and deliver his meals there. He already told me you can’t cook, so to avoid disaster, you’re not allowed in the kitchen.”
News sure travels fast around here. Did they install CCTV in my brain or something?
I nodded silently and tried to take in the rest of the hallway.
The corridor stretched long, with about a six-foot gap between the walls. Lamps were mounted on each side at even intervals, casting a soft glow. The floor was tiled with deep blue ceramic, and the walls were painted clean white. Doors lined both sides—closed and mysterious.
The whole place looked like a hotel. Even the ceiling lamps were fancy AF.
“This first room’s mine,” she said, pointing to a door. “The rest are for the other house staff. Yours is at the very end.”
A few steps later, we stopped at the last door. She pulled a key from the pocket of her skirt and unlocked it.
I peeked inside.
The room was a whole vibe—elegant and warm. White classic walls, herringbone parquet floors, and everything looked Pinterest-worthy.
The bed was to the right—golden wrought iron, placed against the wall. At the head, under the window, sat a classic white nightstand with a vase on top. At the foot of the bed? A cute little fabric stool.
On the left side of the room was a walnut TV stand with a 22-inch television. A matching walnut coffee table and a brown single-seater sofa sat nearby. Next to a cherry blossom wardrobe was a door I guessed led to the bathroom.
It was… honestly, really nice. Cozy, clean, and comfortable.
“You’re free to use everything in this room,” she said. “There’s Wi-Fi too. You can turn on the TV anytime, but keep the volume low.”
I nodded and walked to the wardrobe. I opened it—there were a few clothes inside.
“We’ll replace those with ones that actually fit you tomorrow. Also, that phone on the table is connected to my room. If I need you, I’ll call you through that.”
“What time does work usually start?” I asked, closing the wardrobe doors.
“You should be up by five in the morning. Master’s breakfast is at six, lunch at eleven. You’ll also clean his room every Saturday.”
There were so many things to remember, I was already mentally glitching. Before I could even stress too much about it, my stomach growled—loudly.
She glanced at her wristwatch.
“I’ll send up some food and clothes for you,” she said with a polite nod.
“Thank you,” I said quickly, slightly embarrassed.
“No problem. It’s still early enough to get something arranged,” she added. She placed the room key on the nightstand.
Before she left, she turned back to face me again.
“One more thing, Amelia. There’s a curfew in this mansion. After 10 p.m., you’re not allowed to leave your room.”
I blinked. “Wait, what—?”
But she’d already closed the door behind her before I could ask anything.
I stared at the door for a moment, then sighed deeply.
My eyes landed on the wall clock. 9:45 p.m.
I walked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside. It was glass. Through it, I could see the mansion’s front garden—the one filled with flowers I’d passed earlier.
Two cars were pulling out of the property. One was sleek, all-black, obviously expensive. The other looked more normal—like the car we had back home.
The giant gate opened automatically. Once they left, it closed just as smoothly.
I closed the curtain and flopped on the bed. My eyes stared up at the ceiling.
This whole place… it’s like another world.
Huge mansion. Automatic gates. Creepy rules. And a Master who literally lives like a ghost.
Nothing about this place feels normal. Especially not Ryoushin Castillian.
I let out a long exhale, knowing tomorrow was another mystery waiting to unfold.
Hopefully, I survive it.
- Writer
