Life in Australia.

I ask myself—what would it feel like?

Being delusional might just be my greatest superpower.

Let’s see how this ends.

⸻

CHAPTER ONE

I wake up to the brightest sun, but my heart feels like night.

All that’s running through my brain is the usual fantasy: to live in the most expensive house, drive the sleekest car, and live the most extravagant life.

Of course, my plan also includes a prince charming, a hot one obviously.

But back to reality.

I work as a housekeeper for two families here in Europe. And my combined weekly pay?

It’s barely enough to eat, let alone cover rent—don’t even ask about saving for a passport to my dream destination.

It’s sad, I know.

But it doesn’t stop me.

A girl can dream, right? I’m just 20. I still believe I’ve got time to build myself.

You might be wondering: “Doesn’t this girl have family? Anyone to fall back on?”

Well… I did.

One very rainy, cold day, my parents dropped me off at my Aunt Georgia’s.

They promised me my favorite toys, my favorite snacks—everything I loved.

Then they left for Perth, Australia. A colleague of theirs had finally had a baby after three long years of trying. It was supposed to be a moment of joy. Celebration. Peace.

But it turned into agony, betrayal, and silence.

They never made it.

They never even got there.

All I remember is waiting for days,crying, not because I missed them, but because I hadn’t gotten my promised toys. I was just four years old.

I stayed with “sweet” Aunt Georgia and her husband Jordan. They raised me—if I can call it that—until I was sixteen.

Turns out, they weren’t raising me out of love.

They were waiting.

Waiting to take everything my parents had left behind.

At sixteen, they finally told me: my parents had died that same night in a car crash.

They said it like it was good news that seemed like a breakthrough for them.

And then, like I was some burden finally discharged, they threw me out.

Just like that.

No money. No family. No hope. Life went from surviving to hanging on a single thread

I didn’t even know if I’d live to see my seventeenth birthday—April 16.

I became a wandering orphan in a foreign land, walking the streets of Europe, and honestly, I felt like I was slowly approaching the same fate as my parents: death.

But I didn’t die.

The next day, I woke up under the scorching sun, lying beside a street I couldn’t even name.

Wretched and hopeless.

Then a woman appeared.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said gently. “My husband saw you here this morning while he was taking a walk and thought I should talk to you… He figured you’d feel safer being approached by a woman.”

At first, I didn’t speak; I didn’t want to scare her away with my toxic breath.

But I had nowhere to go, no reason to lie.

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” I whispered with my eyes on the ground. “My aunt kicked me out. I don’t have anyone.”

She smiled and said to me, “It’s going to be okay. Come with me.”

And I did. I picked up my torn, already dirty bags and followed her lead.

I lived with her until I turned eighteen. That was the legal age to work—finally, I could earn, and leave her house.

Living with Lady Henshaw and her husband became a nightmare.

It was torture.

Slavery disguised as charity. I guess everyone seems “sweet” at first.

I never got to celebrate a single birthday under their roof.

No one cared; it didn’t matter to anyone besides me.

They instilled a great fear of people in me.

I stopped trusting.

Every offer of help began to feel like a trap.

Because Aunt Georgia and Lady Henshaw had both proved one thing—

People pretend to care and abandon you at the moment when they’ve eventually gained your trust.

And once you start trusting them, they leave.

Eventually, I got a job as a housekeeper.

Not what I dreamed of, but better than the unpaid labor I was getting in Lady Henshaw’s house.

I took the offer. And I’ve been doing it since.

My name is Clarke Hansgregor.

I’m a twenty-year-old orphan working two housekeeper jobs that barely keep me alive.

This job drains me.

But I do it because I have to.

Still, I want more.

I need more.

So I applied for another job—this time, for a housekeeper position in Australia.

I’ve been waiting for a reply.

One lazy afternoon, I was scrolling on my overheating phone—this phone is literally on life support—when I got a call.

It startled me so much that I almost dropped it.

And if I had, I wouldn’t have answered the call that changed my life.

“Good afternoon. Am I speaking to Miss Hansgregor?”

“Yes,” I answered, confused. “Who is this?”

“We saw your application for a housekeeping job in Australia. We’re interested in hiring you. We know you live far, but we’re willing to fly you out—on one condition. You must not tell anyone. Everything must remain strictly confidential between us.”

My heart stopped.

Fear crawled in.

What if I died?

What if they were scammers?

What if I disappeared forever?

Then the voice broke my spiraling mind.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

I swallowed.

“Yes… Yes, I’m here.”

“Are you okay with our condition?”

I wanted to say, “Let me think about it.”

But then I thought to myself, I'm alone in this world, even if I end up dead, I'm the only one who truly cares about me..

If I disappear, who would even notice?

I have nothing to lose.

So I said it. Loud and certain.

“Yes.”The call ended.

No goodbye. No, “we’ll be in touch.”

Rude. But I didn’t care.

I was filled with a joy I hadn’t felt in over fifteen years.

The next morning, the sun felt softer.

My heart was still.

But of course, I still had to go to work.

I came back exhausted, my feet aching, my mind spinning—but that joy? It was still there.

But that didn’t last very long. I didn’t get a call. Not that day. Not the next. Not the one after.

I checked my messages.

Nothing.

Three days passed.

I told myself it was too good to be true.

No one was going to fly out a broke, helpless housekeeper from Europe just for a “job.”

I tried to move on, pretending the call never happened.

But it haunted me.

A whisper of what could’ve been.

Sitting on my lifeless sad-looking, faded couch, malnourished just like me, listening to the faint squeaking of mice nearby, like it was a pleasant sound.

And then, a knock.

A loud, impatient knock cut through my thoughts like lightning. I froze.

No one ever visited me.

Except the landlady, and I had already paid her rent,barely. Which left me with nothing to eat, but at least a place to sleep.

I hesitated, then slowly got up and opened the door.

A stranger stood there.

Tall. Polished. Not from my side of town.

Behind him was a luxurious black car, the car I dreamed of owning one day. At this moment, I knew life was going to be great after the chat.

I knew immediately—it was his.

“I believe you’re Miss Hansgregor?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied warily. “How may I help you?”

“Pack your bags. Our flight is in one hour.”

Wait. What?

“You must be mistaken,” I said. “I didn’t book any flight. I don’t—”

“We have no time to waste. The clock is ticking,” he said calmly, as if I hadn’t spoken. Like he wasn’t even listening.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off again.

“We spoke a few days ago. Over the phone. About the housekeeping job,” he said flatly.

And then, without any explanation or reassurance, he gently opened the door to the beautiful car, patiently waiting for me to get in.

I stood there frozen, my fingers trembling. My heart raced so hard I thought it might burst.

This was it. Everything I feared…and everything I wanted.

All at once. And all I could do was breathe.