The Secret History Of Home Economics

*****Warning***** This book contains a lot of steamy scenes, and explicit contents which is strictly not for people under 18. “We shouldn't be doing this, you are my student, it should remain that way.” Lyon blurted with ragged breath as he stared at the petite girl under him. He was just a step away to tearing the barrier between them, and he would rather not stop, as he wanted to fuck her until she begged for mercy. “Then no one has to know, let's this be our little secret..be my little secret, professor.” Jennifer whispered as she crashed her lips on his. Everything sets them apart. He is her professor, she is his student. He is the richest man in the country, and she is a poorest of them all…but they both have an attraction they both can't deny. ***************************** Jennifer Kendrick is a final year student who is about to lose her studentship because of her college fees, and when she thinks all hope is lost, she gets help from the least person she expected, Him. She got help from Lyon Sander, one of the richest men in the country, and her hot professor who she had a longtime crush on. The offer is simple, in exchange for paying her tuition she has to be a housekeeper in his house. But do you think that's simple for Jennifer. Do you think she will be able to tame her desires around him? Or will she give in to the temptation of her hot Professor?

My mom decides to implement an income-based rationing system. Everything at home is delegated to everyone based on their income. At a holiday dinner, I decide to grab myself an extra helping of pasta. As soon as I fill up my plate, my mom snatches it from my hands. "Hold on. Just look at the spread on the table. The sea bass is already worth 180 dollars. The scallops are worth 200, whereas the lobster goes for 300 dollars. "You only earn 3,000 dollars per month. If you want a second serving, you must pay up first. I'll charge you based on the family rate. It'll be three dollars, thank you very much." My mom sticks out three fingers while smiling at me.

Even though I knew cows were sacred to the Indorians, I still supported their biological daughter in her plan to serve beef at the dinner table of Indoria's wealthiest man. In my previous life, the wealthiest man in Indoria had held a nationwide contest to choose a wife. My sister had fought her way to the final round and planned to make a beef and veggie stew for the ultimate cooking challenge. I rushed to stop her, warning that in Indoria's religion, cows were considered holy, and eating beef could have serious legal consequences. However, my sister thought I was deliberately humiliating her for being "uncultured." In a fit of anger, she ran out, only to be struck and killed by a car. My adoptive parents tried to console me, telling me it was not my fault, that it was simply bad luck. Later, thanks to my exceptional cooking skills, I became the wife of Indoria's wealthiest man. Yet on the very day of my wedding, my adoptive parents sold me to the slums. That night, as eight men assaulted me one after another, I cried and demanded to know why. They kicked me viciously and spat: "If you hadn't made things difficult for Janet, she wouldn't have died. You owe her this!" By the end of that night, I had bled to death. Meanwhile, my adoptive parents used the money given by Indoria's wealthiest man to build a lavish tomb for their biological daughter. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my sister was about to serve her beef and veggie stew to Indoria's wealthiest man.

The male housekeeper turned our entire home upside down. Every woman in the house—my mother, my sister—fell completely under his spell. They gave him everything, even the business my dad had built from the ground up. The betrayal went deeper. My own girlfriend turned on me, stabbing me in the back to win his favor. Their schemes finally went too far. They arranged a "car accident" that took my dad's life and mine. But fate had other plans. We were reborn.

At the ceremony where my mother, Helena Marlow, received the Best Homeroom Teacher award, the parents wept with gratitude. They praised her for nurturing the students successfully without ever resorting to harsh discipline, and for helping them all to excellent results. But no one knew that the path to their children’s success had been paved by Mom, using me as a warning to others. When someone in the class stole money, cheated on an exam, or got into a romantic relationship, I was the one punished. During the ceremony, the principal, Ms. Wanda Ambrose, stepped onto the stage to present her award. She asked, “Ms. Marlow, you have so many outstanding students in your class. Which student are you most proud of?” Mom smiled with quiet pride. “They are all like my own children. I love every one of them.” Then she let out a small sigh. “Except for my daughter. She alone fails to live up to expectations and disappoints me every time.” Laughter and applause rose from the audience below the stage. They nodded in understanding and praised her for being so modest. I drifted to her side and looked at the satisfied curve of her lips before speaking softly. “Don’t worry, Mom. From now on, I won’t disappoint you anymore.”

On my eighteenth birthday, I finally got the first key that had ever belonged to me. The mattress, desk, space heater, and blinds in my bedroom had all been paid for with tips from three summers of waiting tables at a restaurant by the harbor. Then my brother brought his fiancée home for Christmas. To impress her, my parents dumped my clothes in the basement and announced that my room would become the newlyweds' room after the wedding. Dad said, “Madison’s never stayed with us before, and your room gets the best light. Sleeping in the basement for a few nights won’t kill you.” My married sister leaned against the kitchen island with a nasty little smile. “Quit acting like somebody stole your crown. You’ve always been good at turning nothing into the end of the world.” Mom reminded me that Carter’s marriage mattered to the whole family. My only job was to keep my mouth shut and not ruin Christmas. The truth was, it had never been about one room. It was about the fact that, to them, I had never really belonged in that house. I finally stopped trying.