The word on the street was that the playboy CEO, Matthew Cooper, had a new taste in women. He’d apparently fallen for a little drama queen. I was dispatched to his mountaintop villa to manage her daily life. The moment Vivian Shaw saw me, her face soured with displeasure. “In the novels, a pretty housekeeper like this is always the boss’s canary—managing his affairs by day and warming his bed by night. Is that what she is?” The professionally trained smile on my lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. Fantastic. My reputation as a top-tier private butler with a seven-figure salary was, for the first time, being maliciously questioned based on the plot of a trashy romance novel. 1 Matthew was clearly caught off guard by her opening gambit. He shot me a quick glance. Then, he wrapped an arm around Vivian’s shoulder, his voice laced with its usual languid drawl and a hint of playful amusement. “Darling, what goes on in that head of yours? Miss Quinn earned her position through top-tier professional skill. With her here, my life is a world of a lot simpler.” He paused, adding with a meaningful look, “My ‘canaries’ are never tasked with such troublesome work. Besides, I wouldn’t dare keep Miss Quinn as one.” Vivian let out a vague “Oh,” though her gaze on me grew even stranger, filled with a certainty that screamed, I see, you’re the deep-cover, scheming female rival. She pouted, a mix of petulance and challenge in her tone. “But that’s how it’s always written in the novels! The beautiful, capable housekeeper is never just a simple housekeeper…” As she spoke, she sized me up with an expression that said, You can’t fool me. My seven-figure salary afforded me a high degree of professionalism and tolerance for this famously fickle CEO. After all, the women on his arm rotated faster than my phone’s operating system updates, with an average shelf life of three months. My professional code was simple: serve the boss, ignore the companion, and prioritize the boss’s actual needs above all else. I resumed my standard smile and gave a slight bow. “Indeed, Miss Shaw. I am simply Mr. Cooper’s household manager. Please do not question my professionalism.” My polite but firm response seemed to irk her, and a flicker of annoyance crossed her face. She lifted her chin and huffed. “Who knows what your ‘professionalism’ is used for. Matthew, look at her! Her attitude is so cold. Doesn’t she welcome me here?” Catching my eye, Matthew discreetly made a ‘one’ sign with his finger behind Vivian’s back. I understood instantly. A hundred-thousand-dollar bonus this month. The flat line of my mouth curved back into a serene, accommodating smile. Matthew playfully tapped her nose and guided her toward the bedroom. “Alright, stop overthinking. Let me show you your room. If there’s anything you don’t like, just let Miss Quinn know.” Vivian opened her mouth, but ultimately decided against continuing her performance. Once they disappeared from view, I turned away silently. The things you do for money. I had hoped this was just a minor hiccup, but Vivian’s “Billionaire Romance Novel Syndrome” went into full effect the very next day. At breakfast, I was placing Matthew’s customary Blue Mountain coffee and the financial paper at his preferred spot. Vivian, draped in a silk robe, glided over and frowned at the glass of perfectly warmed milk set out for her. “Miss Quinn,” she began, drawing out my name in a tone that brooked no argument. “This milk is wrong. I want milk from a cow in Australia, milked at dawn this very morning, bathed in the first rays of the southern hemisphere’s sun. And it must be warmed to precisely 37.5 degrees by the hands of an 82-year-old virgin. Not a degree more, not a degree less.” I was speechless. Matthew, who was reading a report, didn’t even look up. “The cows in Australia are currently asleep, and I highly doubt an 82-year-old virgin has precise temperature control.” “Vivian, this milk is air-freighted from Hokkaido, Japan. It’s excellent quality. Drink it while it’s warm.” Thwarted, Vivian shot me a resentful glare, as if it were my personal failing that I couldn’t procure such a fantastical beverage. Later that afternoon, while I was instructing the gardener on pruning the roses, she insisted on trying it herself. The moment she reached out, a thorn lightly pricked her index finger, drawing a bead of blood smaller than a pinhead. She held up the finger as if she’d been poisoned, and, with tears streaming down her face, burst into the study where Matthew was reviewing his schedule with his assistant. “Matthew! It hurts so much! I feel so dizzy!” 2 She held the finger, the wound now invisible, practically under Matthew’s nose. Matthew put down his documents, examined her finger for a long moment, and then sighed in relief. “It’s fine, the cut is tiny. Have Miss Quinn get you a bandage.” “A bandage?” Vivian’s voice shot up an octave, dripping with disbelief. “Matthew! Don’t you love me anymore?” As Matthew and I exchanged bewildered looks, she pointed a finger at me. “How could you just dismiss me with a bandage? Your woman has been injured, and the culprit is this butler!” “As a domineering CEO, aren’t you supposed to make her immediately draw 800cc of her blood as an apology to prove her loyalty and my importance?!” I took a deep breath, keeping my expression placid while my mind reeled. Eight hundred cubic centimeters? For a paper cut? Do you want me to check into the ICU to entertain you? And I’m the culprit? You’re the one who insisted on touching the roses! Matthew’s brow finally furrowed. He let go of Vivian’s hand, his tone laced with clear disapproval. “Vivian, first, Charlotte is a butler, not a mobile blood bank. Second, your blood types don’t even match.” He pointed at the nearly invisible mark. “And third, if you’d waited any longer, it would have healed on its own. What would you do with her blood? Water the flowers with it?” Vivian’s face flushed red and white in turns. She stomped her foot. “You! You’re not following the script! You’re not acting like a domineering CEO at all!” She then shot me a venomous look. Matthew rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m just a normal businessman. Quinn, get the first-aid kit. And while you’re at it, please brief Miss Shaw on basic medical facts and the Blood Donation Act.” “Yes, Mr. Cooper.” I fought to keep the corners of my mouth from turning up as I gracefully excused myself. After that, similar dramas played out almost daily. Vivian would throw a tantrum because the slippers I prepared for her weren’t made of crystal. Rational Matthew would say: “Crystal slippers are uncomfortable. These are silk-embroidered. They’re much better.” She would demand that Matthew order a city-wide blackout just to create a romantic atmosphere for stargazing. Rational Matthew would say: “The municipal power grid doesn’t belong to me. That would cause mass panic, economic loss, and is highly illegal.” Naturally, I wasn’t spared either. When I handed her a towel, she would intentionally let it drop to the floor, expecting me to kneel and pick it up. I would simply ignore it and signal to Mrs. Davis, our head maid, who would expressionlessly pick it up and toss it in the laundry hamper. Her most frequent question to me was: “Miss Quinn, why don’t you tell me, ‘Miss Shaw, you’re the first woman Mr. Cooper has ever brought home’?” “Are you jealous of me? Jealous that I have Matthew’s affection while you’re just a pathetic servant who has to work all day and then ‘service’ him at night?” Every time I heard this, I had to resist the urge to retort. Miss, do you have some kind of misunderstanding about Mr. Cooper? This year alone, including you, I’ve already welcomed four ‘first women’ he’s ever brought home. The guest room on the left housed a Miss Lee, the one on the right a Miss Wang, and the master bedroom… well, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve changed the sheets. Mr. Cooper’s reputation as a playboy was well-earned. His interest rarely lasted longer than three months. The value of being his “first” was, frankly, not very high. As for “servicing him at night”? Please. My overtime rates are exorbitant, and strictly for professional matters. On the surface, however, I maintained my standard butler’s smile. “Miss Shaw, Mr. Cooper’s private affairs are not my concern. My duty is to ensure your comfort during your stay.” She was never satisfied with my answers, convinced I was harboring ill intentions, ready to enact the role of the “vicious, scheming rival who torments the innocent heroine.” Initially, Matthew found her antics novel and amusing, even playing along with her “domineering CEO falls for me” fantasy for a couple of days. But his patience quickly wore thin. He was a successful businessman; time was money. He had little tolerance for trouble and baseless tantrums. Many of Vivian’s actions were beginning to cross his “trouble” threshold. He started spending more time in his study or using business dinners as an excuse to come home late. Vivian seemed to sense his growing distance, but she predictably blamed it all on me. 3 She ramped up her efforts to make trouble for me, trying to undermine me in front of Matthew and cement her status as the female lead. “Miss Quinn, the vase in my room is angled incorrectly. It’s affecting my fortune. Reposition it a hundred times until I’m satisfied.” “Miss Quinn, for dinner, I want white truffles from Alba, France. I want them now. If you can’t have them flown in, it just proves your incompetence.” “Miss Quinn, I don’t like the scent of your perfume. You are forbidden from wearing it from now on.” The only thing I ever wore was unscented, sanitizing hand soap. I dodged these absurd demands whenever possible. If a request was too outrageous, I used Matthew as a shield. “Mr. Cooper has stipulated that all such procurements require his personal signed approval.” “Mr. Cooper is in a meeting and cannot be disturbed to confirm this matter.” Her glares grew more venomous, as if I were truly the greatest obstacle on her path to love. I knew the peace wouldn’t last. This drama queen was gearing up for a grand finale. One day, during a torrential downpour, Matthew had a crucial overseas video conference and had given strict orders not to be disturbed. Vivian, inspired by some novel, appeared at his study door dressed in a soaking-wet white dress, shivering dramatically, insisting she had to go in to “bring him warmth.” Naturally, I blocked her way. “Miss Shaw, Mr. Cooper is in an important meeting. His orders were that no one is to disturb him.” “Not even me?” she asked, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m the woman he loves most! Look at me, I’m soaked! He’ll be worried sick! Or are you just stopping me so you can sneak in and ‘perform’ for him yourself?” “Mr. Cooper will certainly check on you the moment his meeting is over. Please return to your room and change into dry clothes to avoid catching a cold.” My voice was calm and unyielding, filtering out her slander. Suddenly, she lunged, trying to force her way past me. I sidestepped, subtly positioning myself in front of the door. She stumbled into empty space and, with theatrical grace, collapsed to the floor. She covered her face and began to sob. “Oh… Miss Quinn, why did you push me? I know you’re jealous, but I was just worried about Matthew…” I was at a complete loss for words. Just then, the study door opened. Matthew, on a short break, had clearly heard the commotion. He looked from the sobbing Vivian on the floor to me, standing impassively beside her, and his brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” Vivian immediately launched into her act, tears flowing on command. “Matthew, it’s not Miss Quinn’s fault! I just lost my balance. She only wanted to stop me from bothering you, so she gave me a little push. It was really gentle, I’m just too fragile. She probably didn’t mean it, she’s just so… ‘concerned’ about you…” Her manipulative performance was truly masterful. Matthew looked at me, his eyes questioning. I bowed slightly. “Mr. Cooper, I only blocked Miss Shaw’s path. There was no physical contact.” “Miss Shaw may have slipped and fallen on her own.” I gestured to the ceiling. “There is a security camera in the hallway. You can review the footage.” At the mention of a camera, Vivian’s face went white. Matthew’s gaze flickered between us. Finally, it settled on Vivian, his tone unreadable. “Vivian, I told you the meeting was important. Go back to your room. Stop making a scene.” He hadn’t immediately believed her, but he hadn’t reprimanded her either. This neutral stance seemed to fuel Vivian’s insecurity and resentment. As she was helped to her feet, she shot me a venomous look that promised this was far from over. Sure enough, a few days later, Matthew left for an overseas business trip to negotiate a major project. Before he left, he gave me a rare, specific instruction. “Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her cause any trouble.” I nodded. “Understood, Mr. Cooper.” However, the day after he left, trouble arrived.
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