Chapter 4

"Ouch, Mom! Let go of my ear—it’s getting swollen already! Don’t you have mercy on your most beautiful daughter? My future as an actress might get ruined!"

Roxane’s lips twitched as she tried to move her head away from her mother’s tough grip, but even with the pain, the mischief on her face didn’t fade.

"My God, Roxane!" her mother scolded. "How do you expect the Vellamontes to hire you as a maid after that ridiculous street drama you and Lyka pulled earlier?! You two looked like you were filming a soap opera in the middle of the road! I thought you were our lucky chance—especially now that we need money for your father’s and brother’s treatments!"

"Oh, come on, Mom, don’t lose hope!" Roxane chirped. "If Lyka’s got the guts to block cars, I’ve got the charm! With all the girls trying to get noticed at the gates of that mansion, I think I’m the only one with the real X-factor. Besides, Mom, they’re hiring thirty maids! Who knows? Maybe I’ll get the job of ‘toilet tissue arranger’—it’s still work!"

Her mother sighed but couldn’t help laughing.

"Oh, child… I really hope you get in, even if it’s just as their laundry girl. The salary’s thirty thousand a month!"

Roxane’s eyes widened in shock.

"THIRTY THOUSAND?! Mom, I might faint from excitement! I’m applying tomorrow—even if they make me sweep the roof!"

"What do you mean tomorrow, Roxane?! The hiring’s today! If you go tomorrow, there won’t be anything left!"

Before her mother could finish scolding her, Roxane bolted out of the house like a rocket—no more talking, just pure speed, as if a ghost was chasing her!

"Oh, that girl!" her mother shouted behind her, holding a washbasin, shaking her head in disbelief.

While running...

"Where’s that Lyka?! She left me behind and went to apply without me!"

After several minutes—and almost running out of breath—Roxane finally reached the grand entrance of the Vellamonte mansion.

Her jaw dropped at the size and shine of the gate. It looked like the doorway to heaven—but for rich people only.

And not only that—the long line of women outside didn’t look like they were applying for jobs. They looked like they were auditioning to be beauty queens or wives of the mansion’s owner.

"Oh my gosh! What is this? A pageant?"

Roxane muttered while wiping the sweat off her neck. She glanced at herself—T-shirt with a rip on the side, faded shorts, and slippers with a rat bite mark on the corner.

"Unbelievable! Why are they dressed like that? They look like they’re trying to seduce someone or win a fashion show—we’re just applying for a job! HAHAHA, ridiculous!"

She turned when she spotted Lyka in line—wearing a sexy outfit, a tight top, and what looked like every bit of makeup from her pouch.

"Good grief! Lyka, what did you do to yourself? You’re caked in foundation—I barely recognize you! She looks like a celebrity, but we’re just applying as service crew!"

Roxane shook her head, smirking, as she took her place at the end of the line.

"Go ahead, all of you—doll yourselves up. But in the end… charm is my weapon! And self-confidence, even if I’m only armed with slippers!"

She stood in line, still catching her breath—but not done complaining.

"Ugh, that girl really ditched me! And she’s right up front, too. Wow, I really admire her nerve! If I don’t get accepted here, I’ll make her pay for my breakfast!"

The atmosphere grew tense and heavy. Some women fixed their hair nervously, others tried to hide the fear in their eyes. But everyone fell silent when the grand doors of the Vellamonte mansion opened.

Two of the family’s butlers—or rather, head housekeepers—stepped out. They were tall, composed, and intimidating, with eyes so sharp it felt like they could see through one’s soul. There was no trace of mercy or hesitation on their faces—they were clearly used to authority and discipline.

They sat on opposite sides of the grand receiving area, each with a desk before them. On the desks lay stacks of papers—biodata forms that looked ordinary, but for the women there, they held the weight of their future.

One of the housekeepers stood and began to speak—her voice cold but firm, full of authority.

“Listen carefully,” she commanded. “Each of you will come forward, take a form, and fill it out truthfully. After that, you will submit it to my colleague on the right.”

Silence followed. It felt like everyone’s heartbeat could be heard between her words.

“Do you see that trash bin beside her? And the folder she’s holding?” she continued, pointing at the two items—lifeless objects that suddenly carried the power of hope or despair.

“If your biodata ends up in the trash bin, it means you’re rejected,” she said firmly. “But if it goes into the folder… it means you start working tomorrow!”

A heavy silence filled the air. Even before the process began, some women were already trembling with fear and disappointment.

Everyone nodded quietly—including Roxane. Though she was nervous, she forced herself to stay strong. She couldn’t give up now. Not when her family’s survival depended on it—her father’s and brother’s medicine, their hospital bills, their chance at another month of life.

The screening began. One by one, the women came forward, eyes full of hope. Some smiled afterward—the lucky ones. But most left pale-faced, teary-eyed, and slowly wiping off their makeup as they walked away in defeat.

It’s my turn now. I’m the last one.

Roxane’s hands grew cold. Her heartbeat raced like thunder in her chest. Each step toward the table felt like a guillotine inching closer.

“Please… please let me pass,” she whispered, gripping her handwritten biodata tightly.

Thirty thousand pesos—that could pay for two weeks of her father’s treatment, and several days’ worth of medicine for her brother. She couldn’t fail. Not now.

When she finally reached the desk, she felt her knees wobble. She took a deep breath and gently placed her biodata in front of the housekeeper.

The woman showed no emotion. She picked up Roxane’s paper as if it were nothing—then raised her hand, clearly about to toss it straight into the trash bin.

“No… please, not yet…” Roxane pleaded silently, frozen in place.

But just as the woman lifted her hand to throw the paper—

the telephone on the other desk suddenly rang.

A sharp click! echoed through the tense air.

The two housekeepers glanced at each other. One frowned slightly and answered the phone.

Their employer was on the line.

"Put that one in the folder," a man’s deep voice commanded. "Unless you’d like to be the one fired."

The housekeeper immediately obeyed, assuming she was speaking with Mr. Berk Vellamonte, the master of the house—unaware that the voice on the other end belonged instead to his son, Dark Nathaniel.