Noël had never seen a house this big outside of a movie.
From the moment the gates creaked open and the black car rolled through the gravel driveway, it felt like he was crossing into a different world. The mansion stood tall, sleek and modern with wide glass panels, dark stone, and a quiet kind of authority. It didn't just say "rich." It whispered untouchable.
Inside, the air smelled like polished wood and something vaguely citrusy. Noël barely had time to take in the sweeping staircase and towering art pieces before a woman in crisp heels greeted him in the foyer.
"I'm Miss Reed," she said with a polite nod. "Mr. Avery's secretary you rememberme right?.
Noël nodded before she continued.
"He's not home yet, but I'll be showing you around."
She didn't waste time. Within minutes, Noël was handed a house map, a schedule sheet, and a keycard that opened all common areas of the house except two: Avery's bedroom and his office. Those were off-limits.
"Even if he leaves the door open," Miss Reed added with a sharp glance, "you don't go in."
Noël nodded quickly, clutching the keycard like it was a lifeline.
The tour swept through a maze of sleek rooms. A library, gym, rooftop garden, indoor pool. His assigned room was on the second floor. It was simple, clean, and way nicer than any place he'd ever slept. There was even a little window nook with a view of the city skyline. Noël sat on the bed for a second, unsure whether to cry, nap, or run away.
"The job itself is manageable," Miss Reed said as she handed him a printed schedule. "Mr. Avery only expects breakfast during weekdays. On weekends, you'll prepare breakfast and dinner. Lunch is handled by his workplace."
She paused.
"He works late, very late. On weekdays, he's usually home by eleven. Weekends, it's around eight. You probably won't see him much. Keep the kitchen stocked, meals labeled and reheated if necessary. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Noël mumbled.
"One more thing," she added, suddenly businesslike. "You're still on trial. A one-week probation period. You'll be paid weekly—the average domestic worker's wage. It's not much, I'm aware, but it's standard for first-time hires."
Noël hesitated. "A week isn't enough. I need more time. I barely know the house, and I don't know what Mr. Avery likes to eat. I want to do this properly."
She blinked at him.
"Please," he added. "Just give me more time to adjust."
Miss Reed raised a brow but didn't argue. Instead, she took out her phone and typed something in.
"Avery says fine. You've got one month. But—" she looked at him directly, "he'll score you weekly. Points based on performance. Cleanliness, timing, taste, presentation. Everything. He'll decide if you stay."
Noël swallowed hard. His stomach curled. Points? Judgement? He thought to himself.
"Understood," he said quietly.
Miss Reed turned to leave. "Good luck, Noël. You'll need it."
And just like that, he was alone again. In a house too big. In a job he barely understood. But he was here.
And he had a month to prove he belonged.