The Housekeeper Who Tried to Marry Me Off

I was buried in work at my desk when a shadow fell over me. Violet Lawrence, my new housekeeper, loomed uncomfortably close.

"Zoey, look at you," she clucked. "All day long, you're either glued to that phone or playing on the computer. Your room is a pigsty. If you have time to sit around, you should be cleaning."

My fingers froze over the keyboard. I turned to look at her, incredulous.

"Isn't that exactly what I hired you to do?" I asked, my voice cool. "If I have to clean my own room, why am I paying you?"

Violet pursed her lips, adopting a look of martyred patience. "I'm only saying this for your own good. No matter how rich a woman is, she still has to get married eventually."

She shook her head disapprovingly. "Look at you—lazy. You can't cook, you can't do laundry. How will your future in-laws ever respect you? Just listen to me. I wouldn't steer you wrong..."

I raised a hand, cutting her off.

"Even if I get married, I won't need to scrub floors. And Mrs. Lawrence, let's get one thing straight: I hired a housekeeper, not a mother-in-law."

——

Violet opened her mouth to argue, but I didn't give her the chance. Snapping my laptop shut, I stood.

"Is dinner ready?"

She choked on her next words, then nodded awkwardly.

Ignoring her visible annoyance, I walked past her toward the dining table.

Violet had only been working for me for a week, hired through a high-end agency. Her cooking was exceptional, I had to admit. Since I spent most of my days at the office and barely saw her, I tolerated the excessive chatter for the sake of a good meal.

The moment I sat down, Violet pulled out a chair and planted herself directly across from me. Her lack of boundaries grated on my nerves, but I let it slide.

"Zoey, I saw you carrying a big bag today. What did you buy?" Her tone was overly familiar.

"A handbag," I replied curtly, nodding toward the sofa. "Mrs. Lawrence, please put it in the walk-in closet. Be careful not to scratch it."

She stood reluctantly, muttering under her breath as she trudged over.

When she emerged from the closet ten minutes later, her eyes were wide.

"I just looked it up—that bag costs over two hundred thousand!" She stared at me, face twisted in disbelief. "My god, how can you throw money away like that? In my village, that much money builds a whole house!"

She leaned against the doorframe, shaking her head. "You spend money like water—what man will ever be able to afford you?"

The irritation I'd been suppressing all night finally snapped.

I slammed my bowl onto the table.

"Mrs. Lawrence! I will say this once: You are an employee. Not my mother. Not my elder. You have no right to lecture me."

I glared at her, voice rising. "I spend my own money on what I please. And frankly—do you really think I need a man to support me?"

Violet flinched, her face flushing, but she wasn't done. "Once you're married, that money belongs to your husband's family. Who would allow a wife to spend like this? You young people never listen. I'm doing this for your own good..."

My appetite vanished. Rage burned in my chest. I was seconds away from firing her on the spot.

But then my gaze drifted to the balcony.

There sat Mochi, my reddish-brown Alaskan Malamute—a hundred-pound giant, quiet in the evening light. To me, he wasn't just a pet. He was family. I'd raised him for six years. He was my heart.

Catching my eye, Mochi panted, tongue lolling out in a goofy, adorable grin.

The tension in my chest loosened. My heart softened, and the words of dismissal died in my throat.