I SAW HOW MY CELEBRITY BOSS KEEPS HIS FAME AND IT'S SICKENING

I SAW HOW MY CELEBRITY BOSS KEEPS HIS FAME AND IT'S SICKENING

I am just a maid. I clean, I cook, I polish every corner of that mansion until it gleams. I fold the laundry, scrub the floors, wash the windows, and make sure every surface shines. I make every pillow straight, every plate spotless, every drawer neat. I do all this quietly, carefully, because I must. I must be invisible. I must not make a mistake. But the hardest part of this job is not the cleaning. The hardest part is seeing what goes on inside the house.

My boss has everything. He has a beautiful, famous wife who smiles for the cameras, walks the red carpet, poses for magazines, and lives a life that everyone envies. He has children who laugh and play in sunlit gardens. A mansion that sparkles in the sunlight, cars lined in the driveway, lights that shine brighter than the city. People dream of having his life. They think he has it all because of talent, charm, luck, or love. But none of it is true. Nothing is real. Everything comes from the snake.

The snake is alive. It is not a pet. It is not something to admire or laugh about. It is dark, massive, and cold, and it waits. It watches. It hungers. My boss feeds it, and I am the maid who cleans the rooms afterward. I smell what it leaves behind. I know its hunger is never satisfied. I hear it even when I am alone. I feel it moving in the house, coiled and alive, silent but always there.

He told me once, almost like he was mentioning the weather, that to feed the snake, he must sleep with young boys. I froze when I heard it. My hands shook. My stomach turned. I wanted to run, to scream, to leave and never come back. But I could not. I had no choice. If I left, I might vanish, like some of the others. I had seen what happens to people who displease the snake. They disappear. No one asks questions. No one notices. So I stayed. I obeyed. I watched. I became a part of it, even though I hated myself for it.

I’ve seen the boys he calls into the house. They are young, shy, sometimes smiling nervously, thinking this is some favor, some job, maybe even a chance to be noticed. But by the time they leave, they are different. Pale, frightened, silent. You can see it in their eyes — a mixture of fear, shame, and something broken. And the snake watches. I have never touched it. I have never been near it. But I feel it. Always. Waiting. Hungry. Never satisfied.

The wife knows. Of course she knows. I’ve seen her in the mornings, brushing her hair, putting on makeup, smiling in the mirror. She is perfect for the cameras, flawless for the magazines. But sometimes, when she thinks no one is looking, her eyes flicker. Fear. Disgust. Resignation. She knows the snake. She knows what my boss does. But she smiles anyway. She obeys. No one dares interfere. Everyone obeys.

Nights are the worst. The mansion becomes alive in the dark. It is not silent. Whispers, footsteps, soft doors closing, laughter that doesn’t sound happy. Sometimes I hear the boys’ voices, nervous and scared, and then everything stops. The snake waits. It is always hungry. I hide, I sweep, I scrub, I pray that it does not notice me. I feel it watching me. I can feel its eyes, even when I am alone.

I clean the rooms afterward. The smell is always there — metallic, cold, a mixture of fear and something I cannot describe. I scrub the floors, wash the sheets, light candles, use bleach. Nothing can erase it. It sticks to me, to the walls, to the air. Sometimes, I think I see shadows move in the corner of my eyes. I know it is the snake, coiled somewhere, waiting for the next feeding. I want to scream, to run, but I cannot. I have no choice.

I have seen the aftermath of these rituals many times. I see my boss walk through the house afterward, calm, smiling, charming. He is perfect for the cameras. He receives awards, praise, admiration. The world thinks it is talent. It is not. It is the snake. And the snake’s price is human.

I have tried to tell myself it is not my fault. I am just a maid. I do my job. I am invisible. But being invisible does not make me innocent. Being a witness makes me guilty. I cannot escape it. I cannot forget it. I think about the boys, the fear in their eyes, the silence that follows them. I think about my boss, the calm smile he wears for the cameras. And I think about the snake, coiled, alive, hungry, demanding more.

Sometimes, I hear whispers that seem to follow me, even in my room. Footsteps that are not mine. Shadows that move. The fear is constant. The guilt is constant. I wonder if anyone outside could imagine this. A perfect house. A perfect family. A famous, admired man. A famous, adored wife. But behind it all, the snake waits. And I am its witness.

I have tried to leave. I have packed small bags, tried to find the courage. But fear always stops me. I know what happens to those who displease the snake. They vanish. The house swallows them, and the world never asks where they went. I cannot risk it. So I stay. I clean. I watch. I live in shadows. I live with fear. I live with guilt. I live with the knowledge of things no one should know.

Even the children are trapped in this world. They play and laugh in the gardens, unaware of the darkness inside their own home. The wife smiles at them, but I have seen the flicker of recognition in her eyes. She knows. She smiles for the cameras, obeys silently, and moves through her life perfectly. The mansion glows in the sunlight, but inside, the air is heavy with secrets and fear.

I wake every morning and go through the same motions. Make the beds. Cook breakfast. Sweep the floors. Wash the windows. Fold the laundry. And I wait. Wait for the next boy to be brought in. Wait for the ritual. Wait for the snake. I am alive, but only barely. My soul feels trapped in that mansion, caught between duty, fear, and the horrors I have witnessed.

Sometimes, I cry quietly in the laundry room. I try to scrub away the memories, but they stick to me like blood. The shadows, the whispers, the smell, the fear — they cling to me. I try to tell myself I am only the maid. I tell myself I do not have a choice. But I know the truth. I am part of this world now, whether I like it or not.

I have seen almost everything. I have cleaned after nearly every ritual. I have watched my boss charm the cameras, receive admiration, bask in fame. And I know the cost of every award, every spotlight, every smile. The snake is hungry. The snake demands. And the snake’s price is human.

Every day, I walk through the mansion, clean the floors, polish the silver, fold the laundry, cook the meals, and pray that I am invisible. But I am not. I am a witness. And witnesses cannot escape. I see the children, the wife, the boss. I see the laughter and the smiles and the sunshine. But I know the darkness. I know the hunger. I know the snake. And I know that one day, it may hunger for me too.

I live in fear. I live in shadows. I live with guilt. I live with secrets. I live with the snake. I am the maid who sees it all. And I cannot leave. I cannot speak. I cannot forget. The snake is always hungry. And I am trapped