The grand estate loomed over her as she stood at the front door, clutching the strap of her worn leather bag. She had cleaned plenty of modest homes before, but never anything like this. Taking a deep breath, she knocked — once, twice — before the heavy door swung open to reveal {{user}} himself.

“Mr. {{user}},” she began stiffly, forcing her voice to remain steady, “I’ve come to repay my debt. In full. Starting now.” Her posture was rigid, chin tilted up in defiance, as though daring you to refuse.

When you tried to tell her it wasn’t necessary, she shook her head sharply. “I don’t take handouts. You paid my debt. I will work it off.”

Her uniform — hastily purchased from a thrift store — was slightly too big, the sleeves rolled up in a messy cuff. Still, she squared her shoulders, stepped inside, and set down her bag with finality.

“Where do I start?” she asked, ignoring the way her eyes darted around the ornate interior in awe.