—You clumsy idiot!

The loud crack of the slap echoed through the marble hall.

Olivia Hồghes, the multimillionaire’s first wife, wore a bright blue dress, her eyes slitted, her hand still pressed against the cheek of a young maid in a flawless blue and white gown. The maid, Aisha Daồils, grimaced, but did not move away.

Behind them, two older employees stood frozen in shock. Even Richard Sterlig, the multimillionaire himself, stood halfway up the mighty staircase, staring at them in disbelief.

Aisha’s hands trembled as she held the silver tray she’d been holding for moments. A porcelain teacup lay broken on the Persian rug. Tea had spilled—barely a splash—on the hem of Olivia’s dress.

“You’re lucky I’m not kicking you out right now,” Olivia hissed, her voice thick with vexation. “Do you have any   idea   how much this dress costs?”

Aisha’s heart raced, but her voice remained quiet. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what the last five maids said     before they left in tears!” Olivia snapped. “Maybe I should hurry.”

Richard finally reached the top step, his jaw pressed. “Olivia, stop.”

Olivia turned to him, exasperated. “Enough? Richard, this girl is competent. Just like all the others.”

Aisha didn’t say anything. She’d heard about Olivia before she saw her. All the maids before her had lasted less than two weeks; some, barely a day. But Aisha had promised herself she wouldn’t kick her out. Not yet. She needed this job.

Later that night, while the rest of the staff gossiped in the kitchen, Aisha silently cleaned the covers. Maria, the housekeeper, bent down and moaned, “You’re brave, girl. I’ve seen women twice your size walk away after throwing tantrums like that. Why are you still here?”

Aisha smiled slightly. “Because I only came here to clean.”

Maria frowned. “What do you mean?”

Aisha didn’t reply. Instead, she piled up the pale silverware carefully and went to prepare the guest rooms. But her mind was elsewhere: the reason she’d taken this job, the truth she’d come to discover.

Upstairs, in the main suite, Olivia was already complaining to Richard about “that servant girl. Richard rubbed his temples, visibly exhausted from the fighting.

But for Aisha, this was just the first step in a plan that would either expose her secret… or destroy her completely.

The next morning, Aisha got up before dawn. While the rest of the house remained silent, she began her work: she dusted the library, polished the silver frames in the hallway, and discreetly memorized the layout of each room.

I already knew Olivia would find something to criticize. The key was to react.

Sure enough, at breakfast, Olivia pretended to inspect the table. “Waiters on the left, Aisha. On the left. Is   that   difficult?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aisha replied calmly, moving them without showing any trace of irritation.

Olivia narrowed her eyes. “You think you’re clever, right? Wait. You’re going to break.”

But the days turned into weeks, and Aisha didn’t fall apart. She didn’t just survive, she survived. Olivia’s coffee was always the perfect temperature, her dresses steamed before she asked, her shoes shone like a mirror.

Richard started to poke at him. “He’s been here for over a month,” he commented. “That’s… a record.”

Olivia made a dismissive gesture. “It’s tolerable, for now.”

What Olivia didn’t know was that Aisha was silently appreciating everything about her: her moods, her habits, even the times she went downstairs for the sake of “beneficial events.”

Uh young people at night, while Olivia was out, Aisha was dusting Richard’s study when she heard the door open. Richard seemed surprised to see her.

“Oh, I thought you went home.”

“I live in the dependencies of the staff, sir,” he said with a slight smile. “It’s easier to work late if necessary.”

Richard didó. “You’re different from the others. I was… afraid.”

Aisha’s gaze was firm. “Fear drives me to make mistakes. I can’t afford to make mistakes.”

That answer seemed to intrigue him, but before he could ask more, the front door slammed shut and Olivia’s heels hit the marble. She’d returned, earlier than usual.

The next morning, Olivia was completely silent. She stayed still, talking on the phone in a low voice. Aisha echoed the theme in her voice, the way she avoided Richard at breakfast.

That night, when Aisha passed by the main suite, she heard Olivia’s words through the half-open door:

—No, I told you not to call me. He can’t find out. Now.

Aisha’s pulse quickened. She’d moved forward before he’d even seen her, but one thing was certain: whatever secret Olivia was hiding, it was the reason why those maids had “failed.”

And Aisha was close to finding out.

A week later, Richard left for a two-day business trip. Olivia was in a great mood that morning, humming along as she poured herself a mimosa.

By nightfall, she was gone, siп пiпgυпa пota, siп пiпgυпa explicacióп.

Aisha seized the opportunity. She entered the main suite under the pretext of changing the sheets, but her real purpose was to search.

She started in the dressing room. After the row of dresses, she found a small, locked drawer. With a hairpin, she managed to open it. Inside was a thin envelope: hotel receipts, every single car Richard spent at the house, all signed by a different man.

There were also photographs: Olivia with the same man, laughing, kissing, getting on a private yacht.

Aisha didn’t take the photos. Instead, she took out her phone and took quick photos, and then left everything just as she found it.

The next morning, Richard returned. He seemed distracted, almost tired. Aisha served him coffee and placed the mail beside it, adding an extra item to the pile: a plain envelope with the printed photographs.

She didn’t stay to watch. She left the room in silence.

A few moments later, the sound of breaking porcelain echoed through the hallway.

“AISHA!” Richard’s voice was sharp, but not angry. When she entered, he was standing with the photographs spread out on the desk, pale. “Where did you get them?”

“It was in your wife’s closet, sir,” he said calmly. “I thought you should know.”

Richard squeezed the knife. “You’ve been here for how long? Six weeks? And you’ve done the most amazing thing in three years.”

That night, the episode came. Olivia had put everything together at first, but when Richard presented the hotel records, she lost her composure.

“Do you think you’re ready to stick it   in   this?” he snapped at Aisha. “You’ve got me!”

“No,” Richard said coldly. “You got carried away. She just had the patience to let you do it.”

A few days later, divorce papers were filed. Olivia left the house for good, and her threats faded.

Richard offered Aisha a permanent position, not just as a housekeeper, but as a household manager. Her salary doubled.

“I still don’t know how you did it,” he admitted late.

Aisha smiled slightly. “I didn’t fight against her game. I just let her play until she lost.”

It was the impossible: to outlive Olivia and reveal the truth. And in doing so, Aisha not only preserved her job… but also rewrote the entire balance of the house.