The Peaceful Life Of A Maid Who Hides Her Power And Enjoys It

ped into the garden through an open window. 

“You.” 

As I strode toward Rue, he shouted to the inside of the mansion while watching leisurely with his arms crossed. 

“Head Maid! Miss Maid keeps messing around and flirting with me.
Is this okay? Does Weatherwoods not protect the human rights of its employees?” 

There was only one reaction I could show to the vulgarity of his tongue. 

Walking the very way, entering the kitchen through the back door of the mansion. 

My teeth gnashed against one another. 

“Suspicious and even mean.” 

Why would you tattle to the maid? 

I worked hard to clean the windows until my feet went numb.
I broke a window because of trying too hard, but the maid didn’t scold me very much.
Although this month’s salary has been cut in part. 

Thanks to that, I felt very low at dinner time.
However, as usual, only me and the maid sat at the table. 

“What about the chef and gardener?” 

“He says he’ll have dinner separately.
I guess our mansion has dinner after the official routine.
We’ll have a separate dinner table in the future.” 

I can’t believe there’s nothing to see after sunset.
I like that one thing. 

I tucked the headless vegetable stew into my throat with ease. 

The next morning. 

After finishing the morning routine briefly, I ran into Rue in the aisle into the kitchen.
Like yesterday, he greeted me with a clean appearance, unlike a gardener (which, to be exact, would not be strange if I were the owner of the mansion). 

“Good morning, Miss Handmaid.” 

I ignored it and went into the kitchen.
I heard a small laugh behind my back. 

Rue was searching here and there in the kitchen and uttered just one word. 

“Has the daily groceries not arrived yet today?” 

The answer was replaced by the maid who had come down first and sipped the car. 

“We don’t order ingredients, we go out to the market and buy them ourselves, Mr.
Rue, and the daily groceries are there today.” 

Rue looked at potatoes, carrots, and onions sprawling in a wooden box under the table and uttered a short exclamation. 

“Oh, I thought it was leftover food waste.” 

For the first time since he was hired yesterday, he looked like he was going through hardships and hardships.
I felt homogeneity for the first time in Rue like that. 

Yes, this family is a decent poor family, with a good reputation.
You came in for a dog’s dinner. 

“We can’t help it.
Let’s settle today’s lunch with this.
But I’m glad at the very least that the butter, pepper, salt, herbs and milk seem good enough.
Head Maid, Miss Maid.” 

He smiled and pointed at the box. 

“Cut them.” 

I cut the ingredients without complaining. 

There is something I have realized while living like a beggar over the past month, that is that it is good to follow the words of the person who feeds you.
At least in the moment they’re feeding you. 

I peeled potatoes and watched Rue. 

While fiddling with the cupboard, he took out a square pan I had never seen before, and then took out the seasoning storage box that I’d also never seen before. 

‘Was there always something like that in this kitchen?’ 

After wiping the dusty container clean, he cut the butter off the paper and slowly melted it on the fire.
After buttering the pan, he skillfully held the kitchen knife and thinly sliced them. 

He piled the potatoes beautifully inside the pan, seasoned them with pepper and salt, and covered them with milk. 

While I was admiring his amazing cooking skills, 

“Miss Maid.” 

Rue called me, breaking the dried herbs into small pieces. 

“Do you see that mouse on the fence beyond the window?” 

So suddenly? I took my eyes off him and turned to the window.
Like Rue said, there was a little gray mouse running about on the window sill. 

“That mouse will peel potatoes better than you.
Your potato peeling speed is so slow that it exploded.” 

“…mm.” 

The opponent is a cook.
At least right now, he’s not a gardener, but a cook. 

He’s the only way out of escaping from the Head maid’s hell cuisine.
Let’s not get riled up into a mood. 

I peeled the potatoes faster.
Rue waited silently while I finished peeling the remaining potatoes, repeating the same cooking process two more times in different pans.
All that was left was waiting for it to be baked in the oven. 

And finally. 

“Eat it.” 

The moment I put the potato gratin that smelled so good I was going out of my mind on my tongue.
I had no choice but to settle into the strong ‘taste’ that penetrated my mind. 

“How is it so delicious?”’ 

It was true.
Unbelievably, Rue was a skilled cook. 

He was fully aware of how to use good and bad ingredients.
The potatoes that looked like they were dying were reborn into a perfect potato gratin dish from his hands. 

The taste was wonderful and could not be compared to the skills displayed by the head maid in the same kitchen. 

“You eat well.” 

Rue, who was staring at me, left those words and went out to the garden. 

Are you not hungry? I even emptied Rue’s share of potato gratin. 

A pleasant life and satisfying meals go hand in hand together.
They’re inseparable.
The maid, wiping her mouth, muttered her admiration in a voice that sounded half-possessed. 

“I haven’t had such a satisfying breakfast in years, Mr.
Rue’s cooking skills are amazing.
I feel bad for hiring him at half the usual wage.” 

When I saw the maid’s eyes falling in love with the potato gratin, the sense of crisis that had subsided stood up. 

‘No, at this rate, the maid will fall for that swindler’s deception!’ 

Perhaps because the other person was my opponent, even this delicious dish felt like a great masterpiece meant to throw me off my game. 

“You foxy little thing.” 

It doesn’t suit my nature to work in the same house as someone whom I’m concerned about. 

‘I hate it even more when you’re emitting suspicion with your whole body.’ 

That shows confidence. 

There are two assumptions about Rue’s identity that I have in mind. 

One, he’s here to spy on Viscount Weatherwoods, just like the assassin. 

Second, he knows my past and has chased me here. 

‘…what are the chances of it being the latter?’