Novel & Cerita Surviving As An Obsessive Servant

Eliminated my only leverage. Created perfect control. And I'd walked right into it. Bringing Em with me. Morning came. No sleep. Just thoughts. Dark thoughts. About escape. About revenge. About survival. A knock on my door. "Yeah?" A servant entered. Young man. Nervous. "Mr. Moretti requests your presence. His study. Now." "Tell him I'll be there in ten minutes." "He said now, sir." Of course he did. I followed the servant. Through the mansion.

I stood, walking slowly around him, my heels echoing softly. “I have a task for you,” I said, my voice calm. “One that requires discretion.” He was listening. “Have you ever worked as a servant?” I asked suddenly. He frowned slightly. “No.” “You will,” I said simply. I stopped in front of him, my gaze sharp. “You will enter Luciano’s estate,” I said. “Not as a spy. Not as an assassin. But as a servant.” His eyes flickered, trying to understand. “You will observe,” I continued. “You will learn the layout, the routines, the weaknesses.”

Tessa knew that she had to find a way to confront her own insecurities and the looming presence of the new servant girl. I emerged from the imposing fortress. Servants scurried about, tending to the gardens, cleaning, and attending to various chores. Soldiers, trained vigorously under the relentless sun, their sweat-soaked bodies glistening as they displayed their skills. As I strolled through the courtyard, my thoughts were consumed by a singular vision—Fiona. Her beauty had struck me like a thunderbolt, a rare thing that had left me captivated. Though she was just a servant, her image had taken residence in my mind, a relentless obsession for her.

the first servant answered. “Do you think Sir Harris can survive?” another maid asked.

Adrien Cross stared at the mess of glass on the office floor, the scotch bleeding into the cracks like it wanted to sink all the way down. It looked like broken promises, nothing else. His hand clenched around the phone, the message stamped on him like a brand: Sleep well, Adrien. I’m watching. Lucian Vega’s voice in his head was taunting, too sharp, too smug. Someone had tried to end him tonight. And worse, someone close was feeding him out like scraps.

“But I never would’ve put her in his crosshairs.” Zoey swirled her drink. “Maybe she put herself there.” Before I could answer, the elevator pinged, and two of my crew stepped out, Nico and Ash. Nico had that permanent smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made everyone wonder if he was amused or seconds away from killing someone. Ash was quieter, leaner, a shadow that always saw too much. “Boss,” Nico said, nodding toward the mess on the floor. “Are you decorating or losing it again?”

I slipped in quietly, set my notebook on my desk, and tried very hard to look like I had been there for a while and was definitely not just now returning from lunch. *"I'm back,"* I said. *"I can see that."* Still facing the window. Okay. Mood: hostile. I sat down and opened my notebook. Looked busy. This was a survival skill I had developed over approximately the first three weeks of working for him and had refined into an art form since. He turned eventually. Eyes narrowed. *"You took your time."* *"One to two is my break,"* I said. *"So I wasn't at my desk. That's how break time works."*

The name moved through the cellar until Otsana Blackmoon looked less like a shadow heir and more like a woman being surrounded by ghosts she had saved. (Otsana Blackmoon POV) Every servant’s memory struck me harder than any blade, because I had survived by believing my mercy had stayed invisible enough to die. Adolphus had taught me that kindness was a weakness enemies could smell beneath skin, so I buried every soft choice under cruelty. I saved servants quickly, angrily, and with enough insults afterward to make sure they hated me enough to forget gratitude. Yet they remembered. That was the worst part. They remembered the bread, the passwords, the burned marks, the broken cups, and the gi

Apparently she was not able to notice that the unhappy man was still breathing. "He's not dead, he's still alive to haunt us," I corrected after picking up my knife. "We have to get out of here." Saying that I leaned on Paola and she helped me out of the house. The sun received us with all its splendor and I was able to thank heaven for staying alive, I sat on the main staircase and Paola ran to ask her neighbors for help. In a few seconds I was surrounded by strangers who put us both safe in a nearby house, everyone looked terrified when they heard our story and no one had the courage to look out to see the culprit. The patrol cars and the ambulance did not take long to arrive and the polic