Chapter 9: The Servant’s Day

The next day passed like a sequence of endless tasks that left me no time to think. I had barely finished taking the damn "vitamins" that Brooke had given me (which, to be honest, I wasn’t sure what they really were) when she started giving me instructions on what to do.

The idea of going home had completely disappeared. My life, for the time being, was no longer in my hands. Although the contract didn’t explicitly mention it, it was understood that I was to stay at Brooke’s house until everything was over. I had to follow her orders without question, as if my life were nothing more than a series of tasks to complete.

My day started as soon as I arrived at her house. After a quick breakfast, Brooke assigned me my first task: to clean her study, which was full of papers, books, and a mountain of folders that no one in their right mind would leave in that condition. With a satisfied smile, she told me not to leave even a speck of dust. There wasn’t a single expression of gratitude, just orders and more orders.

I felt as though I were trapped in a servant’s nightmare. I cleaned, I picked up, I organized. I spent hours on my feet, folding clothes, tidying the kitchen, vacuuming the hallway carpet, and even organizing her beauty products in the bathroom. For every task, Brooke just observed me from the couch, as if it were some sort of game. _"Do it right," _she’d say, snapping her fingers as if supervising a dog.

For lunch, she asked me to make a salad. The recipe seemed simple enough, but what surprised me was the level of detail she paid to how I prepared it. If a tomato wasn’t cut into perfect thin slices, she noticed immediately. Every step had to follow her exact protocol, no room for improvisation. When I finally finished, she didn’t even thank me with a "well done." She just gave me a quick glance and told me to clean up.

The rest of the day went the same way: seemingly simple tasks but incredibly detailed. Every task I performed was under a silent yet relentless judgment from Brooke. Everything I did, even if it wasn’t necessarily bad, always had something that could be improved, something she could criticize. It wasn’t a day of rest by any means; it was as if she were training me to be her personal servant, teaching me to do things her way.

In the afternoon, after what seemed like an endless list of responsibilities, Brooke took me to the guest room. Or at least, that’s what I thought. It was a small room, but with an air of "functionality" that made me question whether I was really being treated as a guest.

When the door opened, I froze. What I saw was the complete opposite of what I had imagined. The room was decorated entirely in pink. Everything, from the walls to the furniture, had a soft, feminine hue. The bed, the sheets, the pillows, even the desk... all in shades of pink that made me feel uncomfortable from the first glance. There were stuffed animals on the bed, even some of those bunny and teddy bear plush toys, and a closet full of clothes that weren’t mine but seemed like they could be if I kept playing along.

The desk was also there, completely pink, with some books, notebooks, and a laptop that seemed to have been left there for me to use to do my schoolwork. I had no idea how all of this had come to be part of my "room," but the fact that it was there made it clear that this wasn’t just a simple space to sleep.

Brooke, seeing me gaze at everything with a mix of disbelief and frustration, smiled smugly.

"It’s so you can get used to it better, Evan," she said with a mocking grin. "You know, so the process is more effective. At first, all of this might seem strange, but you’ll get used to it."

The "subtle" joke wasn’t funny. I felt completely out of place, as if everything I had experienced up until now had been a poor judgment call. I had signed the contract without thinking, without actually reading the clauses, and now I was stuck in a little girl’s room, surrounded by stuffed animals and pink decorations. It was a physical reminder that in this house, I was nothing more than a servant, not a guest.

Without saying a word, I just stood there, looking at the environment that had nothing to do with me. I knew I had ****. I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t question what Brooke decided for me. All that was left to do was move forward, even though what I really wanted was to escape all of this.

As night fell, after fulfilling all of Brooke’s orders, I headed to bed in that horrible pink room. I settled between the sheets, which still smelled of fabric softener and artificial flowers. The place had no connection to my previous life, the life I had before signing this contract. Now, everything revolved around Brooke’s control, everything centered on her.

As I tried to fall asleep in that alien bed, one thing was clear: the more time passed, the more I realized I wasn’t going to be able to escape this easily. I wasn’t just trapped in a house full of pink and stuffed animals. I was trapped in her life, in her rules, in her game. And if I didn’t do exactly what she wanted, I knew the consequences would be far harder to face.