The Housemaids Secret Reviews นิยาย & เรื่องราว

She has to be the mother of the other boy the secretary was asking for. “Please, come with me!” Needless to say Rebecca couldn’t help but think about what was going on. The woman who had entered in the school and passed by Rebecca’s side was such a was a suck-up. Rebecca didn't need to be a genius to know that because, as soon as she was called with Rebecca as well, the woman continued her way ahead to catch up the secretary –an old woman who had been working at that school for years– and start talking about her day. What the hell did she care about the day of the secretary?

In Love With The Maid Onyido, Joy Ijeoma THE MAID SERIES (Book 1) This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental. DEDICATION

The tall columns of the mansion loomed above us, shrouded in the golden glow of lanterns. The front door was open. We sneaked in unseen, through the black entrance hall. The room was thick with the smell of wood and sickly perfume. And then we heard them. Coming from the study. Nicholas motioned, and in we went. When we strode into the room, I had my heart jammed inside my throat. There, ensconced in a carved mahogany desk chair, was my mother. Elaine Rothschild. Alive. Elegant. Eternal. And framed before her, against the fire mantel and wearing a dirty grin—Victor.

A gentle knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. "Come in," I called, towel pressed to my face. One of the housemaids peeked in. "Ma'am, breakfast is ready." "Just bring it up here. I'll eat in my room." "Of course, ma'am," she said before disappearing. Ten minutes later, a tray of warm croissants, fresh strawberries, poached eggs, and orange juice was wheeled in. I ate slowly, savoring each bite. Letting myself feel again. After breakfast, I dressed in something soft and pretty - pastel linen pants, a white camisole, minimal makeup, hair up in a claw clip. When I came downstairs, Mom was already waiting, a vision of elegance and sass in her fitted jumpsuit and oversized sunglasses.

I watch him leave, amused and slightly bemused. As I sip my wine, contemplating my cousin’s mysterious crush, I feel a sudden urge to visit the washroom. Getting inside the washroom, I encounter a tall, muscular woman with long hair obscuring her face. Her presence is imposing, yet she seems to cower as if hiding from something. I pay her little mind as I go about my business and pee, but after I finish, I notice her again. Her rough appearance and the way she struggles to stand catch my attention. She looks terrified, her face hidden behind her hair, and I feel a pang of concern.

Her voice is low and quiet. She’s Amanda, 49 years old and our one and only maid, she’s been working with us for 5 years already. “Shhh... just go to Elizabeth’s room. Make sure that she doesn’t come out.” I whisper and waited for her to leave completely. My hands are shaking. I touch the doorknob. I could hear a strange noise as I listen carefully. I swallow nervously. I was surprised when I opened it and saw them both naked. A blonde young woman was on top of him...

She barely had time to hide it behind her when the door creaked open, and one of the maids stepped into the room. “Mrs. Stone, I—” The maid’s voice faltered as her eyes widened, taking in the sight before her. Ava stood frozen in place, her hands clutching the discarded bump behind her back, but the maid had already seen everything. Her gaze flickered between Ava’s flat stomach and the empty spot where the fake bump had been resting just moments before. Time seemed to stop for a split second as the weight of what had just happened sank in. The maid, a young woman in her early twenties named Claire, looked as if she didn’t know what to say or do. Her eyes filled with confusion, and then, slow

- From the look of things it seems she had company too. Sienna halts her approach and watches from the darkness as another woman leaves the kitchen carrying something on a tray. From the uniform, she could easily tell it was a maid. A mere maid?! Has everyone suddenly grown balls of steel to break the rules of the mansion so carelessly?! - Sienna fumes within. She blends with the darkness and silently follows the maid to the upper floor, far from the kitchen. "Stop right where you are!" She commands and the maid freezes. Sienna gets closer and that's when she realizes how much the maid was shaking, her face full of guilt.

A long hall stretched ahead to the giant glass doors at the other end of the house, and through them, I glimpsed a second garden, grander than the one out front. We entered the left wing of the house where I saw a maid come in to light up. I thought this woman was one of the most fascinating I had ever seen. She had a long thin face, dead white, or powdered dead white. Her hair was black and lively under her cap, her eyes so small that the first time I saw her I thought she was blind. But wide open, they were the most astonishing blue, cornflower blue, no, more like sparks of blue fire.

We used the total, unmitigated chaos of Thorne's violent coup to quietly slip away from our grueling labor assignments. We blended seamlessly into the deep shadows of the stone walls, moving in the opposite direction of the panicked crowds rushing toward the armories. As we cautiously skulked through the grand, vaulted corridors of the main residential estate—trying to make our filthy burlap blend into the dark corners—we stumbled upon three high-ranking housemaids huddled inside a covered stone archway. They were packing silver into bags, frantically gossiping about the unfolding madness. I pulled Elara back, pressing our spines completely flat against the cold stone wall just a few feet aw