The Housekeeper Who Tried to Marry Me Off

"Pack your things. Take him and get the hell out. If you're still here when I get back, I'm calling the police."

I hurled the warning at them before storming out, unable to stand the sight of them a second longer.

By afternoon, the morning's chaos felt like a bad dream. Sitting at my desk, I pulled up the home security feed, expecting an empty house.

Instead, rage clawed at my throat.

Violet and Isaac hadn't left. They'd multiplied.

My living room was packed—at least eight strangers crowded around my custom mahogany dining table, treating my home like a banquet hall. They gorged on my food, shouting over one another.

"You've hit the jackpot, Violet," a woman cackled, spraying crumbs. "This place must be worth millions."

"Tell me about it," another chimed in. "I snooped in the walk-in closet—you should see the jewelry. None of it looks cheap."

"I heard she started her own company. She must pull in a fortune every year."

Violet sat at the head of the table, preening under their flattery.

"She makes decent money, I'll give her that." She waved dismissively. "But her temper? Terrible. Young and naive. I'll have my work cut out for me, teaching her how to behave."

Isaac grabbed a fistful of meat and shoved it into his mouth, grease coating his chin. Food debris flew as he spoke.

"Don't worry, Mom. I know how to train a woman." He chewed noisily, eyes gleaming. "She's just flighty because she's unmarried. Once she's my wife, I'll break those bad habits. I have plenty of ways to deal with a disobedient woman."

The relatives cheered.

"Exactly! Just wait until you're living the good life, Violet. Isaac is such a filial son."

"Once they give you a big fat grandson, your life will be complete."

"Don't forget us poor relations when you're rich, Isaac! We're counting on you."

I couldn't watch another second. My fingers trembled as I dialed the police to report a break-in, then ordered my driver to speed back.

On the way, I forced myself to check the feed again.

Empty liquor bottles littered the floor. The relatives were pouring yet another round for Isaac.

"Isaac, you need to tighten the leash," an older man slurred. "Look at the time. A good wife should be home by now."

"Yeah, that won't fly," someone agreed. "Back in our village, no woman would dare stay out this late with guests in the house. She doesn't even know how to entertain properly."

"So what if she makes money? Men are the sky. The husband is the law."

Isaac let out a long, wet belch, face flushed.

"Don't worry, Uncle. I know what I'm doing." He leaned back, pleased with himself. "I heard her on the phone earlier—some client meeting. Dressed up like a whore just to go out."

He slammed his glass down. "When we're married, I'll handle the business. She can stay home, serve my mom, and raise the kids. I'll hire all you cousins to run the company. We're family. If I make it big, I won't forget you."

My nails dug into my palms, piercing skin. I focused on the pain to keep from screaming.

"Miss Swanson, we're here."

I didn't wait for him to open the door. I yanked it open and stormed toward the entrance.

The reality was worse than the video.

Muddy footprints tracked across the cream carpet and stained the sofas. My porcelain figurines lay shattered across the living room floor.