Good Goblin Housekeeping Novels & Stories

However, Elizabeth and her new friends didn't care about their surroundings much nor what others thought and viewed them as. Elizabeth could feel herself grow more comfortable around her two roommates but she still couldn't shake off the scene she and Iris witnessed after coming from the fields that day. As soon as they reached the apartment, Anya had run towards the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door after her and they could clearly hear her vomiting before they heard the sound of the shower turning on. Confused and clearly worried, they reached the door only to find Anya trembling and her hands shaking as she stood below the warm water and rubbing her arm as hard as she could b

I am a billionaires wife, and I don’t even have a towel to wash my face. A sharp knock on the door made me jump. “Out! Get out now!” A woman screamed from the hallway. I opened the door to find the head housekeeper, Mrs Gable. She looked at my messy hair and my stained slip with pure hatred. “Mr. Silverton has guests for breakfast in the lounge room,” she said . “He instructed that you should be invisible. You are to stay in the kitchen and help the staff. If a single guest sees your face, you won’t eat a grain today.”

I feel my face flush a little. Leni will kill me if anyone finds out how much of a slob she is. She tries her best to clean up after herself, but she’s always in a hurry and leaves random shit all over the apartment. I tidy up as much as I can after her. It took some time to convince her to let housekeeping help us. Thank the Goddess she caved in. They have saved us from ourselves. Wait, today was cleaning day. There’s no way a hairbrush should be on the floor.

"Stay in school and stop smoking drugs; if you keep it up, they will taste like poo's in your mouth forever." Satisfied that he would be fine, the wolf grabbed his jacket to cover herself and began cleaning up her mess. The sign for The Gas and Gobble was closed temporarily as she cleaned up the blood and rearranged the grocery items that were scattered during her tussle with the rogues, secretly grateful for the menial labor giving her brain a chance to recuperate.

To teach me independence, my parents enforced a fifty-fifty rule from the time I was little. Half the rent for my room. Half the cost of a breakfast sandwich. Even when a high fever sent me to the ER, they added half the bill to my debt and reminded me, "Get a summer job. Don't make a habit of owing people money." I always believed they just wanted me to become independent. Then my younger sister, Chloe, was born. Whenever she broke something and owed Mom money, all she had to do was give her a kiss. "All right, sweetheart. Debt paid." When Chloe wanted piano lessons, she made Dad breakfast once, and he happily paid for an entire year. But every dollar spent on me went straight into the fami

I left my new long dark hair down. I got lost two times before I finally made it down to the kitchen. This house was too damn big. When I got there, a few women were doing various chores around the kitchen. One was sweeping the floor, one was putting away the dishes, and someone was even on a small step stool so she could dust a light fixture that was above the door. “Good morning, Gabrielle,” Valerie said from her seat at the kitchen table. “Breakfast is on the counter,” she told me with a smile.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching the old man deftly flip the eggs in the pan, his hands steady, almost graceful, as though he had been doing this for decades. The small kitchen was bathed in the warm, golden light of the early morning sun. It streamed through the windows, casting soft shadows on the worn wooden floor. The kitchen itself was simple but full of character, with shelves lined with mason jars of spices and preserves, each one labeled neatly in Mang Lope's careful handwriting. It felt like the heart of the house—filled with memories, stories, and the comfort of shared meals. "Would you like some coffee?" Mang Lope asked, his voice breaking through Alvin's reverie as he pl

“So?” “So…” she drew out, scowling at me impatiently. “She cleaned it rather well.” Eyeing Gabby suspiciously, she added, “I still haven’t discerned why she did it in the first place, or why she didn’t take anything of value when she left.” Gabby and I shared a quick, uncomfortable look. “But I’m constantly left dissatisfied by the cleaning staff that Preston Estates supplies. They never do a thorough enough job, and they all have a bad habit of nicking my favorite baubles when they go. But not you…” Narrowing her eyes as if she were displeased, she finished with, “Which is why I’m making you my personal maid.” “You’re what?” Gabby uttered, shaking her head.

Chapter 42: Gaining Witnesses As the morning sun gently filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room, Gabby and I sat at the kitchen table of my mother’s house, the day looming ahead of us as we struggled to make a difficult decision. The house had been a mess when we had arrived early in the morning, but Gabby and I had worked tirelessly to clean up all the broken shards and cleared the room of any debris. It looked spotless now, but several things needed to be disposed off since they had been broken beyond repair.

I said to the room. Good mornings came back, polite and thin, the kind that arrive when people are making their manners and nothing else. Mrs. Gable opened her agenda book with a snap. “The weekly household review,” she began. “First item: kitchen scheduling.” And just like that, I disappeared from the room. Not literally. She spoke past me rather than to me, eyes shifting between her notes and the kitchen supervisor farther down the table. Quantities. Supply shortages. Thursday’s council dinner. Delivery schedules. Dietary accommodations for visiting pack officials.