WYPADAJ Z TEGO LUKSUSOWEGO HOTELU! MOJA SIOSTRA KRZYCZAŁA, ŻE NIE JESTEŚ MILE WIDZIANY W NASZYM PIĘCIOGWIAZDKOWYM HOTELU. MÓJ TATA…

“Not yet.”

“Not yet,” he repeated, as though testing the shape of the words.

I turned fully toward him.

“They think they’re untouchable. They think the world rearranges itself around them. If we cancel tonight, they’ll spin a story where they’re the victims. But if we let them continue, if we let them reach the edge of their own downfall, they’ll be the authors of their demise.”

Mr. Archer absorbed this quietly, then straightened.

“I’ll ensure all staff know to treat you as an anonymous executive guest. No connection to the suite upstairs.”

“Good.”

“And may I ask…” He hesitated, lowering his voice. “What triggered tonight’s escalation?”

I stared past him toward the elevator, imagining Harper’s manicured hand shoving bills into my face. The way my mother’s expression twisted with ridicule. The smug curl of my father’s lip.

“What triggered it?” I repeated softly. “They threw money at me.”

He blinked.

“Money?”

“Five hundred dollars,” I said. “As if I were an inconvenience they could pay to disappear.”

Mr. Archer’s expression darkened.

“I wasn’t aware. My deepest apologies.”

I waved a hand.

“They don’t deserve your apologies, Mr. Archer. They deserve the consequences they’ve been borrowing against for years.”

A moment passed, then he cleared his throat.

“Security will revoke their access at midnight sharp. Shall we escort them off the property immediately after?”

“No,” I said. “Let them stay. Let them enjoy the illusion a little longer. They love the Helios Tower so much. They should experience every corner of it.”

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t question me.

I finished my water, set the glass aside, and walked toward the hallway leading to the private penthouse elevator.

“Miss Brooks,” Mr. Archer called after me. “May I offer a small piece of unsolicited advice?”

I stopped.

“Keep your phone close tonight,” he said. “The Harringtons do not seem like people who accept boundaries gracefully.”

My lips twitched in acknowledgement.

“They don’t.”

He gave a final nod and retreated from the lounge, leaving me in the quiet hum of the executive floor.

I entered the elevator and pressed the key card panel. The doors closed with a whisper, and the lift began its ascent to the owner’s level—an entire floor hidden from guests, contractors, even most staff. Thirty floors above the noise, the air shifted, calmer, thinner, uncluttered by the world below.

When the elevator doors opened, I stepped into the private foyer, an elegant expanse of marble, soft lighting, and curated art pieces that belonged to no one but me.

For a moment, I simply stood there, staring at the quiet luxury I had spent years building, stone by stone, contract by contract. A far cry from the home I grew up in.

I walked through the foyer and into the penthouse suite, the door sliding shut behind me with a hushed seal. The air smelled of lavender and cool linen. White curtains billowed slightly from the soft hidden vents. The city stretched beneath me like a map of possibilities.

But even with all this space, all this comfort, I felt the ghost of a smaller room, the one where I’d spent my teenage nights listening to my mother criticize my existence through the walls.

I moved toward the living room, where a sleek tablet rested on the coffee table. I picked it up and unlocked the hotel’s internal security feed.

Camera views filled the screen—one for each major area of the hotel: lobby, lounges, restaurants, elevators.

And the Harrington suite.

I tapped it. The screen expanded.

My father was pacing, one hand pressed to his temple. My mother was sitting on the bed, clutching her phone, undoubtedly sending texts to relatives about how I had betrayed the family. Harper was pointing aggressively at the door panel, showing Harley how the red alert meant something was wrong.

They looked frantic, chaotic, exactly as they had always made me feel.

I sank onto the couch, the leather cool against my skin, and watched them argue. For the first time, I didn’t feel pulled into their storm.

I was the storm.

A knock sounded.

I set the tablet aside and walked to the door. When I opened it, a server stood there with a small tray.

“Your evening tea, Miss Brooks.”

“Thank you.”

He bowed and retreated.

I carried the tray inside, letting the soothing aroma of chamomile fill the room.

But just as I took the first sip, my tablet buzzed.

SECURITY ALERT.

Unauthorized attempt to access owner floor. Elevator call from VIP suite.

I let out a slow breath.

Of course they would try. Of course they would push. Of course they believed they could talk or threaten their way into a space they didn’t belong.

I set the teacup down and walked to the window again, watching the city pulse beneath me. They were climbing toward their downfall step by step, unaware that the elevator they were calling would never arrive.

Not for them. Not tonight. Not ever again.

Another notification blinked on the tablet.

12:00 a.m. KEYCARD ACCESS REVOKED.

A small smile found my lips, soft but sharp.

Midnight. The beginning of the end.

I sat back on the couch, crossing my legs, and pressed play on the security feed as the Harrington family discovered that the world they thought they controlled had quietly, permanently slipped out of their hands.

The grandfather clock in the Helios Tower lobby struck midnight with a deep, resonant chime that vibrated through the marble floors, echoing up into the vaulted ceilings.

It was a sound that usually signaled elegance and luxury.

Tonight, it signaled something else entirely.

The end of the Harringtons’ reign.

I watched the security feed from the owner’s penthouse, legs folded beneath me on the velvet sofa, a cup of cooling chamomile tea forgotten on the side table. My eyes were fixed on the screen as the family I once shared a last name with stumbled into the lobby, unaware that the world as they knew it had just collapsed under their feet.

The camera angle caught everything: Harper’s too-high heels clicking drunkenly against the marble, Harley’s arm wrapped lazily around her waist, my mother fanning herself aggressively with a folded event program, and my father muttering to himself like the walls were closing in.

They looked exhausted, entitled, and oblivious—exactly how I remembered them.

I tapped the screen, zooming in as they approached the private elevator bank reserved for VIP suites. My heart beat in a cold, steady rhythm.

Harper shoved her key card at the reader, chin lifted with the arrogance she’d worn since childhood.

Nothing happened.

The light blinked red.

“What is wrong with this stupid thing?” she snapped.

Harley rolled his eyes and took her card.

“Move. You never swipe it right.”

He tried.

Red light.

He swiped again, harder.

Red light—sharpened, unforgiving.

My father stepped forward, waving them aside.

“Give me that,” he barked. “The system’s been glitching all week. Probably the incompetent staff.”

He pressed his gold card against the reader.

Red light. Beep.

“No,” he muttered. “No, no, this is ridiculous.”

He swiped again, then again, his motions becoming frantic, his face red and sweat glistening at his temples.

My mother tried hers next, jaw clenched, lips thin.

Red light.

“That’s impossible,” she hissed. “This hotel knows who we are.”

Harper exploded first.

“What the hell is going on? Why is nothing working?”

Her voice echoed sharply through the empty lobby, bouncing off marble and gilded panels.

Harley let out a sigh so dramatic it belonged on a stage.

“This is ridiculous. Are we seriously locked out?”

They all turned in unison toward the night manager’s desk like a pack of irritated wolves.

The night manager, a young woman named Jasmine, didn’t flinch as my father stormed toward her.

“Excuse me,” he snapped, slamming his hand down on the polished counter. “Our key cards aren’t working. Fix them immediately.”

Jasmine typed calmly, her face a mask of professional serenity.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington,” she said. “According to the system, your VIP access was revoked at midnight.”

My father blinked, stunned.

“Revoked? What do you mean revoked? By whom?”

“By the owner, sir.”

The silence that followed was electric.

I leaned closer to the screen, unable to stop the small, sharp smile tugging at my lips.

My mother gasped, one manicured hand flying to her chest.

“The owner? Why on earth would the owner revoke our access?”

Jasmine kept her voice even.

“I can’t speak to that, ma’am. But your suite privileges are no longer active.”

Harper laughed—a high, shrill sound.

“That’s ridiculous. Do you know who we are? We’ve been coming to this hotel since before you were born.”

Jasmine only repeated:

“Your access has been revoked.”

My father pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. Then run the card again. You probably made a mistake.”

“We’ve already run it three times,” Jasmine said. “It was declined each time.”

The camera caught the exact moment Harley stiffened, his eyes narrowing like a predator sensing weakness.

“What do you mean, declined?” he demanded. “What exactly is the outstanding balance?”

Jasmine checked the screen.

“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”

Harper let out a strangled sound. My father looked like someone had sucker punched him. My mother whispered:

“No. That can’t be right. There must be a technical error.”

Jasmine shook her head.

“The charges span the last six months. They were previously covered by complimentary credits, but those have been revoked as well.”

“Revoked?” Harper repeated, her voice cracking. “Why is everything revoked?”

Harley stepped closer to my father, his eyes sharp with contempt.

“You told me this suite was comped,” he said. “You said the hotel was covering everything for the anniversary.”

“It was,” my father shot back. “It’s all part of our legacy partnership.”

“There is no legacy partnership on record,” Jasmine corrected softly. “It expired five years ago.”

Harley’s lip curled.

“So you lied to me.”

My father’s face twisted.

“It’s a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, it’s definitely a misunderstanding,” Harley muttered. “The misunderstanding is that I married into a family that can’t even pay their own hotel bill.”

My mother’s jaw dropped.

“How dare you speak to us like that, you ungrateful—”

Harley cut her off.

“I’m grateful for many things, Sylvia. But footing a quarter-million-dollar hotel bill is not one of them.”

He pulled out his titanium card and slapped it onto the counter.

“Here,” he barked. “Just charge everything to this.”

Jasmine accepted it carefully and ran it through the system.

Approved.

Harley grabbed the new key cards Jasmine handed him and tossed two at my father’s feet.

“There. I paid your tab. Don’t make a habit of it.”

My father bent to pick up the cards, humiliation etched across his face. My mother’s fury turned into trembling outrage. Harper looked like she’d been slapped.

And Harley? He strutted toward the elevator, victorious.

Except the elevator didn’t move.

I tapped the intercom button on my control tablet—a direct audio feed connected to the elevator camera, allowing one-way communication.

“Enjoy the room,” I said quietly into the microphone. “While you can.”

Harper jolted upright.

“Who said that?”

My father stared directly into the elevator camera.

“Elena.”

I didn’t respond.

I simply turned off the feed.

Back in the penthouse, I set the tablet aside, my breath steady despite the adrenaline rushing through me. It was almost frightening how calm I felt watching their world collapse.

Almost.

I stood, stretching the stiffness from my shoulders when another alert popped on the tablet.

UNAUTHORIZED REQUEST – BALLROOM BOOKING APPROVAL.

HARRINGTON FAMILY.

The request file loaded automatically.

Proposed event: The Harrington Future Fund Investment Gala.

My stomach tightened.

My father was trying to host another opportunity event, but the financial documents attached told the real story.

Falsified projections. Non-existent properties listed as secured assets. Misleading investor guarantees. Zero legal registrations.

It wasn’t just sloppy.

It was criminal.

Exactly like the schemes he’d tried to involve me in before I left.

I scrolled deeper into the file and saw the guest list.

VIP investors. Wealthy business owners. International visitors. People who trusted the Harrington name. People they planned to deceive.

A fire sparked in my chest.

They weren’t just stealing from the hotel. They were planning to use my ballroom to commit fraud.

I closed the file and stood in the center of the suite, breathing slow and deep. A familiar voice whispered through the back of my mind.

Don’t make trouble, Elena. You’re lucky we let you stay. Smile and look pretty while the adults handle real business.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore.

I was the adult. The owner. The one with the power to end this before it destroyed more lives.

My phone buzzed with a new notification.

SUITE ACCESS ATTEMPT – BLOCKED.

LOCATION: OWNER LEVEL ELEVATOR.

I walked toward the elevator, not with fear, but with a cold, steady purpose.

Chcieli się wspinać. Chcieli pchać. Chcieli dostępu do świata, na który nie zasłużyli i na który nie zasłużyli.

Niech się bardziej postarają. Niech walią w drzwi. Niech krzyczą moje imię.

Ponieważ północ już minęła.

I w końcu przestałam być ich milczącą córką.

Nacisnąłem przycisk windy i wszedłem do środka, gdy drzwi się otworzyły. Zamknęły się za mną z definitywną stanowczością.

Dziś wieczorem nie uciekałem przed rodziną.

Dziś wieczorem biegłem prosto ku prawdzie, ku sprawiedliwości, ku rozliczeniu, które odkładałem na później o wiele za długo.

Następnego ranka słońce wzeszło nad miastem bladą, złotą taflą, zamieniając panoramę miasta w pole szkła i ognia. Stałem w oknie penthouse’u, patrząc, jak światło rozlewa się po wieżowcach w dole, i pozwalając, by cisza mnie ogarnęła.

To był taki poranek, który powinien dawać poczucie spokoju, ale spokój był obcym luksusem dla kogoś, kto dorastał pod nazwiskiem Harrington.

Moja herbata stała nietknięta na stole. Myślami byłem już pięć kroków naprzód, wyczekując burzy, która zbierała się na dole.

W końcu hotelowy rytm dnia zaczął powoli nucić. Sprzątaczki pchały wózki z pościelą. Kucharze przygotowywali śniadania. Obsługa poprawiała garnitury i krawaty, rozpoczynając swoją zmianę.

Wieża Helios obudziła się niczym żywy organizm – taki, którego byłem właścicielem, który kontrolowałem, który moja rodzina próbowała okraść, nie zdając sobie sprawy z kosztów.

Odwróciłam się od okna i stuknęłam w tablet bezpieczeństwa leżący na sofie. Natychmiast otworzył się kanał do jadalni VIP. Obsługa ustawiała na każdym stole świeże kompozycje z storczyków, rozkładała nieskazitelnie białe obrusy i polerowała srebra.

Goście zaczęli się schodzić.

A potem, niczym burzowa chmura przesłaniająca słońce, przybyła rodzina Harringtonów.

Mój ojciec miał minę wyrytą w kamieniu, taką, jaką używał, gdy chciał, żeby świat uwierzył, że ma wszystko pod kontrolą. Matka chowała się za ogromnymi okularami przeciwsłonecznymi, choć cienie pod oczami były widoczne nawet przez przyciemniane szkła. Harper szła za nimi z twarzą opuchniętą od snu i wczorajszego upokorzenia. Harley trzymał się z daleka, przeglądając telefon z obojętnością człowieka zirytowanego tym, że nie śpi przed południem.

Przybliżyłem.

Nie wyglądali już na zwycięzców. Wyglądali na niespokojnych, niezrównoważonych, o jedno uderzenie od upadku.

Doskonały.

Wyszłam z penthouse’u i zjechałam windą służbową na korytarz, po czym cicho wślizgnęłam się bocznym wejściem do jadalni VIP, niezauważona przez rodzinę i niezauważona przez gości. Wtopiłam się w otoczenie z łatwością kogoś, kto dawno temu nauczył się stawać niewidzialnym, gdy było to potrzebne.

Ruszyłem w stronę bufetu, sięgając po mały talerz owoców. Stałem zaledwie kilka stóp od stołu, przy którym właśnie usiedli moi rodzice.

Moja matka zauważyła to pierwsza. Poderwała głowę, okulary przeciwsłoneczne zsunęły się jej z nosa. Jej oczy rozszerzyły się, a potem zwęziły.

„Ty” – warknęła pod nosem, gwałtownie odsuwając krzesło.

She rose so sharply that the table shook, silverware rattling. Guests turned, conversations halted. She stormed toward me, anger radiating off her like heat.

“What are you doing in here?” she hissed. “This area is for paying guests.”

I kept my tone even.

“I am a paying guest.”

She scoffed.

“With what? Pity? Spare change? You embarrassed us last night. Isn’t that enough? Leave before someone sees you.”

“Someone already has,” I murmured.

She ignored the warning. Or maybe she didn’t understand it.

She grabbed my wrist, squeezing hard.

“You’re ruining everything. Go eat in the lobby.”

My plate tilted, fruit wobbling on the porcelain. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to.

But then she did something that made the entire room freeze.

She slapped the plate out of my hand.

The ceramic shattered on the marble floor with a sharp, ringing crack, scattering blueberries like spilled ink. A few drops splashed onto my shoes and the hem of my trousers.

Gasps echoed across the dining room.

My mother straightened her spine, chin high.

“Clean that up,” she said coldly. “Better yet, leave before I call security myself.”

I bent slowly, retrieving a piece of the broken plate—not because I felt small, but because I wanted to remember this moment exactly as it happened.

I rose, meeting her eyes.

“You seem stressed,” I said.

She blinked.

“What is it? Because your credit cards were declined last night?”

The words landed like a dropped match in a room full of gasoline. A few guests choked on their coffee. My father stiffened so violently his chair scraped backward.

“What did you just say?” my mother whispered.

I spoke louder.

“Your cards were declined. All of them. Even Dad’s. You couldn’t pay for your suite. If Harley hadn’t stepped in, you’d be sleeping in the lobby.”

Her face bleached white.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered. “Our finances are none of your concern.”

“Apparently, they’re the hotel’s concern,” I replied, voice cool as marble. “Since you owe them more than a quarter of a million dollars.”

“Stop,” my father growled, rising halfway from his seat. “You don’t speak to your mother like—”

But he didn’t finish, because Harley had finally looked up.

He wasn’t laughing anymore.

His gaze drifted to my wrist and froze. The watch—vintage, rare. A collector’s masterpiece known only to those with real wealth. His eyes widened.

Shock. Recognition. Fear.

He stood slowly, each second revealing a deeper understanding.

Who are you? he mouthed silently.

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I set the piece of broken ceramic on their table and turned to leave. The silence that followed me was suffocating.

I had nearly reached the exit when a shrill scream bounced through the dining room.

“Excuse me!” A guest’s voice—not directed at me, but toward a far corner of the room.

I turned.

A young server, barely eighteen, maybe nineteen, stood with trembling hands holding a tray of coffee. The older gentleman who had shouted leaned forward in his chair, face red.

“I asked for soy milk,” he barked. “Is that too much to understand?”

The girl stuttered an apology, but the man threw his napkin at her.

My stomach twisted.

This hotel had been my sanctuary since I started rebuilding my life. Its staff were my second family, the only family that had shown me unconditional support.

But before I could intervene, Jasmine stepped between them.

“Sir,” she said calmly. “That’s enough.”

The guest snarled.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No,” she said. “And it doesn’t matter. You don’t speak to my staff like that.”

He sputtered, outraged, but Jasmine held firm. Watching her defend someone who couldn’t defend themselves made something settle inside me.

This was the hotel I’d built. This was the leadership I wanted. This was the standard.

I exited the dining room with a steadier heart.

But the moment I stepped into the main corridor, my phone buzzed violently in my hand. A text notification lit the screen.

Urgent financial irregularities found. You need to see this. – Archer.

My pulse quickened.

I hurried toward the executive elevator and rode it down to the administrative floor.

Archer was waiting for me outside the finance office. He looked grim.

“What did you find?” I asked.

He motioned toward the glass-walled conference room.

“It’s worse than we thought.”

I followed him inside. Two accountants sat with laptops open, spreadsheets spread across the table. Lines of red-highlighted charges filled every screen.

Archer handed me a printed report.

My stomach dropped as I scanned the numbers.

Room charges. Spa bills. Multiple six-course dining experiences. Private drivers. Unlimited bar tabs. Event pre-bookings. All comped. All unpaid. All fraudulent.

“How long?” I whispered.

“Over a year,” Archer replied. “The prior management kept covering it up, expecting the Harringtons to repay eventually.”

“And they never did.”

“No. They kept exploiting the system. And then yesterday they requested something else.”

He handed me a separate file.

A gala contract.

Not just any gala—a fundraising event.

THE HARRINGTON LEGACY INVESTMENT EVENING.

The brochure looked professional, elegant, glossy. But the numbers inside told a different story.

Projected returns: fictional.

Listed assets: non-existent.

Investor guarantees: illegal.

“This is a scam,” I whispered.

Archer nodded.

“Your father submitted the paperwork to host it tonight.”

I dropped the file onto the table, the pages scattering like broken glass.

“He wants to use my hotel to commit fraud.”

“Yes,” Archer said quietly. The accountants exchanged uneasy glances.

“And you know what happens,” he added, “if investors lose money under our roof.”

“Lawsuits,” I murmured. “Regulatory investigations. Reputational damage. We could lose our license to operate.”

I pressed my palms against the cool glass table, grounding myself.

This wasn’t just personal anymore.

It was criminal.

And it was on the edge of unfolding inside my building.

“What do you want to do?” Archer asked.

I straightened, spine pulling taut like steel.

“We proceed,” I said. “Let him set the stage. Let him gather the investors. Let him reveal his plan.”

Archer studied my face.

“And then?”

I met his eyes, unwavering.

“We expose him.”

His breath caught for a moment—whether in fear or admiration, I couldn’t tell. He nodded once.

“Then we finish the preparations,” he said.

“I’ll be there,” I replied. “But not as myself.”

His eyebrows lifted.

I smiled, not soft this time, but cold and certain.

“As far as he’s concerned,” I murmured, “I stopped being part of the Harrington family years ago.”

I gathered the papers, tucking them beneath my arm, and walked toward the door. Behind me, Archer spoke one last time.

“Miss Brooks, this is justice overdue.”

As I stepped into the hallway, I whispered to myself:

“It’s not justice.”

My fingers tightened around the file.

“It’s the truth.”

And tonight, the truth would finally be louder than the Harrington name.

The turquoise water of the Helios Tower rooftop pool sparkled beneath the midday sun, casting bright ripples of light across the ivory stone tiles. But even from a distance, the serenity of the scene was shattered by the sound of my sister’s voice—sharp, grating, dripping with the kind of entitlement that had poisoned every room she ever walked into.

I had come up here to speak with the events manager to finalize the quiet preparations for tonight’s reveal. But the moment I stepped onto the sundeck, I froze.

Harper was standing beside a private cabana, hands on her hips, her expression twisted with irritation. In front of her, kneeling on the scorching tiles, was Mrs. Lively, a housekeeper who had worked in the Helios Tower for over two decades. A woman whose kindness was as much part of this hotel as the marble floors and skyline views.

She was on her knees, scrubbing sunscreen that Harper had very clearly thrown on the ground herself.

My jaw clenched.

Harper tapped her foot impatiently, sunglasses perched on her head like a crooked crown.

“I said get all of it. Why is that so hard to understand?” she snapped. “You people are paid to clean. So clean.”

Mrs. Lively winced, shifting her weight with obvious pain in her knees.

“Miss, the mop would be more efficient. I just need—”

Harper cut her off.

“No mop. I want it spotless. On your hands and knees, or I’m reporting you for insubordination.”

A couple of sunbathing guests looked up from their lounge chairs, frowning at the spectacle. Harper didn’t care. She never cared. She only knew how to perform cruelty when she felt powerless.

And after last night—after the revoked access and the humiliation—she was desperate to feel powerful again.

Harley lounged in the cabana behind her, sipping a cocktail like the world existed for his amusement. He smirked as Mrs. Lively continued scrubbing.

I felt heat rising in my chest, a fire made of every insult, every dismissal, every moment my family treated human beings like furniture.

I stepped forward.

“Stand up, Mrs. Lively.”

Mój głos niósł się po pokładzie – spokojny, ale wystarczająco stanowczy, by przeciąć powietrze niczym ostrze.

Pani Lively zamarła, jej ramiona lekko drżały. Spojrzała na mnie z mieszaniną ulgi i strachu.

„Pani Brooks, nie chcę kłopotów.”

„To nie ty masz kłopoty” – powiedziałem cicho.

Harper odwróciła się, a na jej twarzy pojawiło się zaskoczenie, które po chwili przerodziło się we wrogość.

„Och, świetnie” – mruknęła. „Jesteś tutaj. Nie możesz iść i dramatyzować gdzie indziej?”

Zignorowałem ją.

„Pani Lively” – powiedziałam spokojnym tonem. „Proszę wstać”.

Powoli, z trudem, starsza kobieta podniosła się na nogi. Jej dłonie drżały, gdy wycierała je o mundur.

Harper prychnął.

„Przepraszam, nie możesz się wtrącać. Ta kobieta pracuje dla nas.”

„Nie” – odpowiedziałem. „Pracuje dla Helios Tower. Pracuje dla mnie”.

Harper zamrugała, zdezorientowana.

„Nie… bądź śmieszna”. Jej śmiech był kruchy, pusty. „Jesteś tu tylko po to, żeby prosić o uwagę”, zadrwiła. „Zawsze tak bardzo pragniesz czuć się ważna”.

Podszedłem bliżej, stając dokładnie między nią a panią Lively.

„Celowo upuściłaś tę butelkę z kremem przeciwsłonecznym, Harper.”

„I co z tego?” – warknęła. „Ludzie tacy jak ona sprzątają po ludziach takich jak my. Tak to działa. Powinna być wdzięczna za tę robotę”.