Three employees in three days. Three firings delivered with the same cold words and a door slammed shut. Each of them left the enormous mansion in Beverly Hills in tears, as if the house itself existed to crush people.

The owner was Richard Coleman, forty years old, a billionaire and CEO of Coleman Industries. In the business world, he was known as ruthless. Inside his home, that ruthlessness turned into cruelty. Ever since the accident that left him in a wheelchair, Richard had lost patience not only with mistakes, but with humanity itself.

That morning, at exactly seven, the doorbell rang.

Mrs. Helen, the elderly housekeeper, opened the door with a sigh. A young Black woman stood there, holding a worn bag tightly.

“Are you the new hire?” Helen asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Naomi Parker. I’m here for the housekeeping job.”

Helen studied her and thought, another one who won’t last.

“Come in,” she said quietly. “But don’t take it personally. If you last until lunch, you’ll be doing better than most.”

Naomi nodded. She needed the job desperately. Her mother was sick, rent overdue, medicine expensive. Pride didn’t pay bills.

Inside, the mansion gleamed with wealth, yet felt heavy with silence.

“He’s in the living room,” Helen said.

Naomi walked in. Richard sat with his back to her, staring out at the garden.

“Are you late?” he asked without turning.

“It’s 7:05, sir. I arrived at seven—”

“Seven means seven,” he snapped. “Name?”

“Naomi Parker.”

He turned, eyes sharp. “Your duties are simple. Clean, organize, serve meals. And don’t bother me. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I doubt it.”

He handed her a paper. “The library. Every book alphabetized and dust-free. Four hundred books. You have until one.”

Naomi knew it was impossible, but she nodded. “I’ll start now.”

Richard watched her go with faint satisfaction. Since the accident, watching people break was the only thing that made him feel in control.

The library was massive. Naomi worked nonstop, hands burning, legs shaking. At 12:40, Richard appeared.