"Just do it, it's not like it's my fault if anything goes wrong. She's the one who asked for it."

"Alright, please lay down."

Millie eased onto the couch, "That's more like it. Sometimes you have to show a bit of spine before anyone takes you seriously. It's like you only understand tough love. Honestly, it's pathetic!" The nanny paused mid-motion, took a deep breath, and restrained herself.

"Did you skip dinner or something? Your hands feel like feathers. Can't you put a little more oomph into it?"

The nanny replied, "...Okay."

"Ouch! I said a little more oomph, not to break my back. Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"

Taking another deep breath, the nanny asked, "Is this pressure okay?"

"It's fine, I guess."

Half an hour later, the steaming chicken soup was served, its rich aroma filling the air. It was clear from the glossy sheen on top that it was perfectly cooked. The nanny had even added a touch of honey for sweetness.

However, after just one taste, Millie put her spoon down with a frown, "What's this flavor? It tastes... off."

"It's not undercooked, is it?"

Hearing this, Frieda panicked, "How could it be undercooked? I've been making chicken soup for years, and it's always been like this. Maybe try another sip?"

Millie crossed her arms and scoffed, "So, if the cooking method's fine, the problem must be with the chicken, right? But I remember Beverley saying she got me the best quality. So, are you trying to pull a fast one on me here?"

Frieda was taken aback by her leap in logic but defended herself, "Ms. Millie, how can you throw such accusations at me? I've been with the Sherwood family for twenty years, handling everything from the finest dishes to daily chores. If you think I'm cutting corners, you can call the police right now. I will cooperate fully!"

The mention of the police made Millie's eyes flicker.

She didn't really think there was anything wrong with the soup; she just wanted to stir up some drama and vent her frustrations.

After Beverley scolded her, she took her frustration out on Beverley's nanny, giving back just as much as she received.

"What's all this noise about? Can't people sleep in peace? Got nothing better to do?"

Murray stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, and was immediately annoyed by the commotion.

Millie quickly adjusted her demeanor, no longer interested in pestering the nanny, and greeted

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him with a smile, "Murray, you're

back? Det me take your coat. I was just about to serve some chicken soup..."

She was abruptly cut off by Murray pushing her away.

"Did you not hear a word I said? I told you to keep your distance. Can't you understand plain English?"

He stepped back, looking at her as if she were something he couldn't shake off.

Millie's smile froze.

Ignoring her act, Murray headed straight upstairs to the master bedroom.

Millie's face contorted with frustration for a moment.

Turning around, she saw the nannies still standing there and snapped, "What are you looking at? Haven't you ever seen a couple fight? Get lost!"

Millie brought up a hangover cure from the kitchen, but before she could knock, she noticed the door, was slightly ajar. She quietly pushed it open, replaceing the room empty but hearing the sound of a shower running in the bathroom.

Silently, she placed the tray down and tiptoed towards the source of the sound.

Murray turned on the shower, letting the water cascade over him. Suddenly, he noticed a shadow approaching through the frosted glass door. He squinted, a hint of anger flashing in his eyes.

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