When She Messes Up

I am a beauty influencer with millions of followers on social media. During the peak of my popularity, I achieved financial freedom.

Later, I met my husband, Carlos Houston, who was the CEO of a publicly listed real estate company. By the time I was 30, I had settled down and became a housewife.

For my whole life, I'd always been blessed with luck—that was until we hired a live-in housekeeper for our home.

One day, I came across a live stream of my own house while scrolling through social media.

"Check this out, guys. These are premium quality saffron. Look at the color of them! And I've got freshly caught cuttlefish here. Its tentacles are still moving. Let me show you how to kill this thing.

"Today's challenge is cleaning the windows in a house that costs 2 billion dollars. Thank you for the gifts, guys!"

Lilian Sherman was our housekeeper. She came from a rural village and had a hobby for livestreaming. Every day, she documented her life as a housekeeper working in a wealthy household.

I reminded her, "Lilian, please avoid including any neighborhood landmarks or identifying features in your videos. "

I had nothing against her livestreaming, but I was concerned that she might accidentally leak information about us.

"Don't worry, Alaina. I'm only showing the inside of the house, never the outside," she said, bringing me a bowl of soup. "With the income from streaming, I can earn up to 20,000 dollars a month. I want to save enough to build a house in my home village."

Just then, Carlos came in. "Lilian, make me some supper."

"Sure, Mr. Houston. Ah!"

Lilian was showcasing my luxurious makeup vanity to her audience when Carlos came in abruptly. She had just opened the cap of an expensive bottle of toner and was sniffing it. Startled, she dropped the bottle, spilling its contents.

"What are you doing?" I frowned unhappily.

Lilian scrambled to wipe the table. "I'm so sorry, Alaina. I'm really sorry…"

I grabbed a napkin and began to dab impatiently at the toner that had splashed on my foot. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Carlos still lingering at the doorway. His ravenous gaze was fixed on Lilian.

Lilian was wearing a low-cut T-shirt that contrasted well with her fair skin. The sticky liquid from the spill glistened on her neck and slowly dripped down her bosoms, leaving a visible trail.

I cleared my throat loudly and glared at Carlos.

"Here, Lilian, let me help you." I grabbed another napkin and wiped her collarbone. The motion made her chest jiggle lightly.

Sure enough, Carlos' eyes brightened. His ears turned pink.

Lilian looked up and met with Carlos' gaze. She immediately looked away, flushing with embarrassment. "Mr. Houston, let me go get you some supper," she stammered, then left the room quickly.

"Do you really need to linger here for so long just for some food?" I asked jealously.

Carlos coughed uneasily. "I saw you two livestreaming and wanted to see what's new," he said. He turned to leave, but not before sneaking another glance at Lilian's back.