The house of robert
As Sarah was wiping the dust of the chairs in the siting room Mr Bill Robert
her well known boss who is wealthy and own his establishment walked pass and
she said 'Good morning Sir' but no respond instead he gazed at her and walked by
so she continued.
Jack the boss child who is 27 works for his dad trying to impress his dad, the mum is a
kind of woman that goes for shopping all the time, the younger daughter whom is
20 years old is a spoiled kid.
The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the Robert estate, casting long
golden streaks across the marble floor. The mansion, perched on the hills of the upper
district, was a testament to wealth, legacy, and the silent weight of a name too in
portrait to ignore.
The Robert family estate wasn't just a house it was a symbol and it's ground echoing
halls, lived a family just as complex as the shadows it cast.
Sarah adjusted the collar of her navy-blue maid uniform and stepped out into the
corridor.
The house was already awake.
She could hear the distant clatter of breakfast being laid out in the formal dining room,
The scent of fresh croissants and roasted coffee beans swirling in the air.
For most people, working in a place like this would feel like success for Sarah, it was
survival a holding place between who she had to be,
and who she was trying to become.
At the head of the house was Mr Robert, a man with iron-gray, square shoulders, and
eyes that saw straight through you.
His voice could fill a room when he whispered.
He ran Robert holdings, a multi-dollar chain of hotels and real estate ventures that had
shaped the city skyline.
But at home, his power was quiet more ominous.
His presence alone commanded attention.
He spoke little at the breakfast table but expected silence when he did.
Bill was a man of discipline and precision the slightest mistake didn't just disappoint
him.
It insulted him.
And his son, Jack, seemed to live in a permanent state of apology,
Jack Robert the only son and supposed heir, was everything his father
disapproved of.
Handsome in a rough edged.
Careless way, Jack was thirty, tall , broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that hinted at
charm and a troubled soul.
He wore expensive suits like they were thrifted, collars undone, hair tousled, with the
whiff of whisky trailing behind him before noon.
He smiled too much at strangers and not enough at his father.
Jack tried .
Lord, he tried.
He owned up to meetings when it mattered, made suggestions in board rooms he
barely understood.
And even once bought his father a binder of new project ideas.
Bill Robert hadn't even looked up from his new paper.
Then there was Clara.
Clara was twenty-four, stoning, and completely untouched by struggle.
She had grown up in designer shoes and private jets, her birthdays broadcasted
in society magazines.
Clara had a way of making of making every room feel like it belonged to her.
Her voice was soft but manipulative,
her smile sweet but knowing.
She had never spoken to Sarah by name.
Miss Charlote Robert, on the other hand, was a different breed.
Tall elegant, and always dressed in sulk and pearls, Charlotte moved with a grace that
belong in another century.
She had married Bill Robert when she was barely twenty-two, a beautiful girl.
From a modest family whose charm had won the city's most powerful man.
Over time, she had learned to fit into the world of money and silence, through her eyes
often betrayed her loneliness.
Despite everything, Charlotte was kind in a distant way.
She never raised her voice, never barked orders.
When Sarah passed her tea, She whispered' Thank you'.
Sarah, now twenty-five, had only been in the Robert household for eight months.
She had come to the city with a suitcase, a dream, and a voice that could shake the
air.
She had grown up singing in church choir.
She had dreams tucked inside her like folded letters of music studios, flashing lights,
and standing lights, and standing on a stage where people listened.
As Sarah carried a silver tray toward the dinning room.
That morning, she could already hear clara complaining about the croissants being
too flaky .
Clara rolled her eyes and returned to scrolling through her phone.
Back in her tiny room above the servants quarters.
Sarah finally allowed herself a breath.
She leaned against the door, eyes closed, hands trembling.
Just slightly.
But then she opened her eyes, and they landed on the single photograph on the dresser.
I'm still her, She whispered to herself,
I'm still her.
She walked over to the window and looked out at the vast garden, where marble statues
stood guard like forgotten angels.
In the distance, she was Jack walking toward the garage, lightening a cigarette with
shaking fingers.
Clara was on a lounge chair by the pool, snapping selfies and sipping something green.
Charlotte sat beneath the gazebo, alone holding a book she hadn't turned a page
in a fifteen minute.
And somewhere inside, Bill was already on his second conference .
Call of the day, building empires, brick by brick.
They were a family built on wealth and reputation but behind the curtains, Sarah saw
the cracks, she saw the quiet pain, the longing, the disappointments no one dared
speak of.
And yet, somehow, she felt drawn to them.
Because in all their brokenness, the Roberts reminded her of herself.
And maybe just maybe she was meant to be here for more than just dusting silverware
and streaming expensive dresses.
Maybe she was here for something bigger.
Something life-changing.
Something like love or music.
or both.
She didn't know yet.
But she was ready to find out...