Our families arranged a marriage, and they picked a fiancée for me.
To keep things interesting, we decided to play a little game. Lydia pretended to be the high-and-mighty billionaire CEO, while I played the role of a low-level employee in her company.
But on the final day of this little game, tragedy struck.
My grandmother passed away.
Just as I was about to head home, my fiancée's assistant blocked my way.
“Your grandma died, so what? She’s not even an immediate relative. You think you’re entitled to bereavement leave?”
“What's more important—your family drama, or the company’s project?”
I forced a smile through gritted teeth. My fiancée really found herself a great assistant.
——
[Leonard... Your grandma passed away.]
A message popped on the screen.
With trembling hands, I replied. [I’ll be right back.]
I put down the documents in my arms and rushed for the elevator.
Enzo tugged at my sleeve in a panic. “The meeting is about to start! Where are you going?”
“My grandmother just passed. I have to go home.”
I anxiously pressed the elevator button. It was already on our floor but refused to open. Just as I turned to take the stairs, the doors finally dinged open.
Standing inside was Lydia’s personal assistant, Oliver.
Loyal to a fault, he’s never liked me—probably because he knew I used some connections to get into the company. He picked fights with me more than once.
But today, I didn’t have time for any of it.
I pushed past him, but he blocked the doors with one arm.
“Trying to leave?” he sneered. “Get your ass back in there and take proper meeting notes!”
“I’m taking bereavement leave. An elderly in our family died,” I intoned coldly.
Oliver smirked. “Who died? Your dad? Your mom?”
I didn’t bother arguing. I just wanted to get home.
“My grandma,” I said.
Just as I turned to go, he yanked me back and shoved a stack of documents into my arms.
“Your grandma? Tsk. It's not even an immediate family member. No bereavement leave for that. Fill out the damn form, check the data, and I want it all done by 7 PM.”
He tapped his watch, right on the number seven.
“If this isn’t done today, you’re not going anywhere. Cut his building access!”
“So this is how Lydia runs things?” I asked coldly.
He paused, then spun back around with a twisted expression, no longer the refined man he pretended to be.
“In this company, my rules are the rules!” he roared, jabbing a finger at my face.
“You want time off? Keep dreaming! Listen, kid—don’t get too emotional. Even if your real dad died, without a death certificate, cremation report, and funeral photo, no one gets leave!”
He smoothed his sleeves, adjusted his tie, and turned toward his office, muttering as he walked, “Crying over some old woman—acting like it’s the end of the world. Probably just using the excuse to go out drinking and partying. Tch. Disgusting.”
I stood there in front of the elevator, eyes locked on his back.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
Even as he walked further away, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I charged up and punched him square in the face.
“Are you nuts?! Do you even know who I am? I’m the Chief Assistant to President Stewart!” he thundered.
“I don’t care. Even if Lydia were standing here, she’d better treat me with respect,” I clapped back.
The hallway was in chaos. People rushed over and pulled us apart.
“Are you okay?” someone asked.
I thought he was siding with me, so I nodded and was about to thank him.
But the next second, he scolded me harshly.
“What the hell were you thinking, attacking someone? Assistant Stetson wasn’t wrong. She’s not your immediate relative, so there's no bereavement leave. Besides, you don’t even look that upset. There’s a critical meeting today. You should be there.”
“Exactly. If this delays the project and causes losses, who’s going to take responsibility?”
