Chapter 4

The next morning, Mrs. Davis was a different person. She greeted me with a cheerful smile and a plate of freshly baked muffins, apologizing for being "a silly, old-fashioned woman."

"I' m just worried about you, dear, all alone in this big city," she said, her voice filled with practiced warmth. "I forget my place sometimes."

Her sudden reversal was disarming. I felt a pang of guilt, that familiar weakness she and Sarah both knew how to exploit. Maybe I had overreacted. I decided to give her another chance. It was a mistake.

She stopped with the direct commands, but her campaign of manipulation continued in more subtle ways. She started presenting me with long, itemized grocery lists.

"I know you' re too busy to shop, Chloe, so I' ve made a list of all the organic, premium things we need to keep you healthy," she' d say.

The bills were astronomical, far more than one person could possibly consume. I suspected she was buying groceries for her own family with my money, but confronting her felt exhausting. I just paid, hoping to keep the peace.

One afternoon, she found me balancing my checkbook at the kitchen table. She hovered behind me, her eyes scanning the numbers.

"Your parents are so generous," she said, a greedy glint in her eye. "That' s a lot of money for a young girl to handle all on her own. It must be very stressful for you."

I closed my laptop, feeling a prickle of annoyance. "I' m managing just fine, thank you."

She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret.

"You know, you' re so busy with your studies. It' s a huge burden. Why don' t you let me help you?" she proposed. "You can just have your allowance transferred to my account. I' ll manage everything for you-pay the bills, buy the groceries. I' ll give you a small stipend each week for your little expenses, and I' ll put the rest away in a safe place for your future. It will take all the worry off your shoulders."

I stared at her, speechless. The audacity of her proposal was breathtaking. She wanted to take control of my entire financial life. She wanted to put me, a grown woman, on an allowance like a child.

I took a slow, calming breath. "Mrs. Davis, what exactly are you proposing?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. I wanted to hear her say it all, to expose the full extent of her delusion.

Her face lit up, misinterpreting my question as interest.

"It' s simple!" she explained eagerly. "I' ll handle all the money. No more worrying about expensive laptops or fancy clothes. I' ll make sure it' s spent wisely, on practical things. On your future. A young girl like you needs guidance, a firm hand."

The condescension in her voice finally made me snap.

"That is the most insane, offensive thing I have ever heard," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "You are my housekeeper. You are not my mother, you are not my financial advisor, and you will never, ever touch my money. We are done. Do not speak of this again."

A strange, hard look came over her face. The mask of the caring servant fell away completely, revealing something cold and possessive.

"It is my duty to look after you," she said, her voice low and intense. "You are a lamb surrounded by wolves. You need a proper family to guide you, to protect your assets."

She took a step closer, her eyes gleaming with a fanatical light.

"My son, Kevin," she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "He is a good, strong boy. He would be a perfect husband for a girl like you. Together, as a family, we could manage your wealth. We could build a secure future."

The mention of her son, the unemployed freeloader, being my husband was so grotesque it made me feel sick. The entire scheme clicked into place. This was never about housekeeping. This was a calculated infiltration.

I felt a chill run down my spine. This woman was not just manipulative, she was delusional. And she was standing in my home.