Marimar Oquendo's Point of View
"What? You're so slow, Mara! My friend has been waiting for ages. You're always acting so high and mighty, you little brat!"
I heaved a long sigh as Aunt Cris's booming voice thundered through the house. Why did my aunt have to be this way? She was infuriating. I had been so close to finally relieving myself moments ago, but her shouting had startled me right back.
"Auntie just can't wait a minute! Now I can't go—my bowels were ready to move before she started yelling!" I shouted back before hurrying to the bathroom.
"I think this will be the last time I'll ever use you," I said to the clean toilet bowl, pointing at it. "I hope their toilet at that mansion is decent. What if I get homesick and can't go at all?"
At Aunt Cris's insistence—and mine as well—I was about to venture to her friend's supposed mansion. The twenty-thousand peso monthly salary was more than decent; it would make perfect seed money for my business.
I grabbed the bag I had packed the night before. I still could not believe I was finally leaving this house. Please let this job be the one to make me rich, Lord! I promised myself I would help anyone in need once I had money to spare.
"Are you done yet? Good, it's about time." My aunt's voice was sharp as always—she had been heartbroken for years. "Don't forget to send us money. Actually, send us your entire first paycheck."
My jaw dropped. Good heavens, where did she get the nerve to say something like that?
"What? Do you have a problem with that? You seem to forget you owe me everything for getting you this job, Marimar. If you have any decency left, you will send us your first salary. Especially since Yna has so many school bills to pay." She raised an eyebrow as she spoke.
I scratched my head in frustration. Did she feel no guilt for how harsh she had always been to me?
"Okay, Auntie," was all I could say before walking out our wooden house. I crossed the rickety footbridge that led to other homes just like ours—all built from wood.
I had grown up in this kind of neighborhood. Simple houses, simple families, simple lives, as they say. But ever since my parents died, nothing about my life had been simple. It felt like I was living in a soap opera, struggling through one hardship after another.
Still, they say we are the heroes of our own stories. Like the protagonists in those dramas, it was not impossible that my dreams might one day come true.
I lifted my hands and bumped fists with the air as I looked up at the sky—my way of shaking hands with the Lord.
"Lord! I'm putting my life in Your hands! Make me rich!" I said with a giggle.
"Marimar's gone crazy," I heard some neighbors mutter. My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I ducked my head and hurried down the street. What was I thinking? I must have lost my mind.
"Marimar!" A woman waved as I reached the main road—she was Tita's friend. A large white van sat parked in front of me.
"I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting," I said. I had been so excited I almost had an accident earlier, but my aunt's shouting interrupted me.
"It's alright, dear. Come on in—we should get going now. Just be yourself. You can do this!"
Why did I suddenly feel so nervous? "Just be yourself"? What did that mean?
I nodded hesitantly and climbed into the open door of the van. Inside, a few other people sat quietly—they must have been applying for the same househelp position as me. I was the last to arrive, so I took the only seat left at the back, next to a well-built man whose biceps strained against his sweatshirt. He wore sunglasses and seemed to be asleep, so I sat down as carefully as I could.
I squirmed in my seat, shifting back and forth as the van pulled away. The others looked ready to nap, but I could not sit still. It was not because of the man beside me—though his strong cologne filled my nose no matter how far I tried to move. He was incredibly handsome.
I stole a glance at him. His sweatshirt clung perfectly to his frame. My eyes drifted down to his stomach. Good heavens—were those abs? They looked just like pan de sal rolls, round and firm.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to get a better look. I fanned myself with my palm, feeling inexplicably warm.
Why was it so hot in here? The van had air conditioning.
I squirmed again, my nerves getting the better of me. Oh Lord! Did I get into the wrong van? He looked like a celebrity.
I bit my lip and snuck another look at his face. Perfect jawline, fair skin, muscular build—and those abs. What was he doing here? Was he applying to be a bodyguard? Or was this some kind of TV show set?
I sat up slightly and peered toward the front of the van, searching for hidden cameras. When I found none, I let out a small breath of relief.
I turned back to him and slapped my own cheek lightly. Get a grip, Marimar! You are here for a job, not to ogle some man.
It took all my strength to keep from looking at him again. After fighting the urge for what felt like hours, I finally grew tired and drifted off to sleep.
"Ahh! Please don't!"
"Have mercy! Please don't!"
I jolted awake at the sound of chaos around me. Why was it so loud? I was not at home anymore. What was happening now—
"Good heavens, Marimar!" I screamed when I opened my eyes.
A gun was pressed against my forehead. The other passengers scrambled to escape the van, but I was frozen in place, staring down the barrel of death itself.
"P-Please don't!" My voice trembled as I raised both hands slowly. This was what people did during holdups, right?
The two men left in the van had their faces covered. One drove while the other held the gun to my head.
"Hand over that man," he said, nodding toward my seatmate.
My eyes widened. "W-What do you want with the man next to me? The one with the abs?" I stammered. I was being held at gunpoint and I was asking questions. How stupid could I be?
He pressed the gun harder against my forehead. "You are asking questions now? Is that how you act when you are being robbed?"
"Oh my god! No! I'm sorry! I just want a job!" I cried out in terror.
Lord, I thought this would be the start of my wealth. Instead, I was about to die.
"I see. Then hand him over—or kill him."
A chill ran through my entire body. Lord, I wanted an honest job. Did You want me to become a murderer instead?
I shook my head, tears threatening to spill over. "What? You think I have the nerve to do that? I see you think I have guts, but—"
"I see, I see. You have some spirit. I like that."
What was he going on about? Who in their right mind would want to kill someone? It was never part of my plans to become a criminal.
"Let's conduct an interview, then."
I froze and furrowed my brow at his words. I slowly opened my eyes—they had been squeezed shut in fear.
An interview? I had never heard of a robber conducting an interview.
"Y-Yes, sir," I said, my voice still shaking.
"What will you do in a situation where you must choose between your loved ones and yourself?"
"H-Hey! Why does this sound like a question from a beauty pageant?"
"Answer!"
I flinched. "Okay! Okay… I will choose my loved ones!"
"Why?" he asked again.
"B-Because they matter to me. I would rather choose them than myself, and I will never tire of making that decision. Please don't kill me!"
Good heavens! My brain was racing to answer his strange questions.
"Very good! That is a good answer. I can tell it comes from your heart."
The van suddenly stopped. Thank you, Lord! Should I run? No, he might shoot me.
"Stop the act. We're here," the driver said.
"Oh? That was fast!" The man holding the gun turned to me. "Get out."
"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!" I said frantically, nodding and bowing before climbing out the open door.
I kept my eyes closed, waiting for a gunshot as I turned away—but nothing came.
"Congratulations."
I snapped my eyes open at the deep voice. My jaw dropped again when I saw the man standing before me—he was incredibly tall with blonde hair and blue eyes.
My eyes widened even more when I saw what was behind him. Good heavens, Lord! The house was enormous—it had to be a mansion.
"You passed."
I looked back at him, confused. "Passed? What do you mean? Passed away? Am I dead?"
I patted my body all over. Had I been shot earlier?
I heard soft laughter and turned to see the two men from the van, now with their faces uncovered. What was going on?
"I'm Death Streeter. And you are?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Marimar O-Oquendo, sir."
He nodded. "Miss Oquendo, you passed the trial to be my brother's nanny."
My head began to ache as I tried to process his words. Trial? Nanny?
"Earlier was just a trial to see how strong-willed the applicants are. As you can see, you are the only one who passed. Again, congratulations."
My mind spun. The life-threatening ordeal from moments ago had been a trial? What kind of job had I gotten myself into?
Before I could fully understand what was happening, he spoke again. "Oh, here he comes."
I followed his gaze and gasped when I saw the man from the van walking toward us.
"Lev… this is your nanny—" he began, but his words were cut off as the man rushed toward me.
"Milk!" he shouted, throwing his arms around me.
Huh?
"Milk! Milk!" he repeated, hugging me tightly and gently squeezing my chest. "Oh! Cocomelon!"
"Huh?!!" was all I could scream, completely stunned by what was happening.