That day, Julian Grey seemed to dislike me even more than usual. He bossed me around mercilessly.
“The data in this report for the meeting needs to be detailed and accurate,” he demanded.
So, I spent hours adding more data to the report. Then, he reviewed it and snapped, “This is too long. I wanted something concise.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if Julian had learned English from a math teacher. Did he not realize that “detailed” and “concise” were practically opposites?
I would’ve loved to see him produce a detailed yet concise report himself.
After editing and re-editing the report multiple times, Julian finally nodded, pointed to my very first draft, and said, “Copy this. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.”
I wanted to scream.
By the time I dragged myself home, it was nearly midnight.
My cat, Nico, bounced around in annoyance, clearly displeased that I had been away for so long.
Looking at Nico, I felt an overwhelming sense of defeat.
Who was the real master in this house?
Regret filled me. I should’ve gotten a dog instead of this spoiled cat.
I fed Nico, cleaned his little nest, and brushed his fur. Only then did he finally calm down, licking his fur contentedly as if to rub in how much better he thought he was than me.
I stretched one leg toward him. “Nico, be useful for once. Lick my foot so I can at least pretend to be happy.”
Nico didn’t even glance at me. Instead, he focused on licking his own smelly paws.
Not one to give up, I pushed my foot closer. “Nico, lick it!”
He sniffed my foot, recoiled dramatically, and then vomited.
Even Nico didn’t like me anymore.
Sadness overwhelmed me as I recalled the early days of our companionship. Back then, Nico used to lick my feet like a loyal little servant. He had been so affectionate and gentle.
Now? Thanks to the endless exploitation from Julian Grey, I had been neglecting Nico. And it seemed Nico was holding a grudge.
Cradling him in my arms, I resolved that enough was enough.
At this rate, I’d never achieve my dream of retiring in a villa with Nico by my side. Julian’s demands were pushing me into an endless cycle of exhaustion and misery.
I needed to take action. I needed a plan.
That night, I stayed up brainstorming and finally wrote a proposal. It was audacious but brilliant.
The plan? To help Julian win back his childhood sweetheart, Chloe Grant, by pretending to be his girlfriend.
The proposal broke down into key arguments.
If Julian kept acting like a womanizer, Chloe would only grow more distant. She would eventually view him as a scumbag and doubt his character entirely. Chloe was highly competitive, as most upper-class elites tended to be. Seeing Julian happily in a committed relationship would spark her curiosity and jealousy. My suggestion was simple: Julian could make me his “fake” girlfriend. With this arrangement, we could manipulate Chloe into wanting him back. Once Julian and Chloe reconciled, I would gracefully bow out of the picture.
For this brilliant plan, I demanded a fee of ten million dollars.
After all, if Julian didn’t hire me for this, he’d waste the same amount on other women trying—and failing—to replicate Chloe.
It was a win-win situation. Julian would get the love of his life, and I would finally achieve financial freedom.
Personally, I didn’t want Julian to live happily ever after. He didn’t deserve it, in my opinion. But for ten million dollars, I was willing to set my jealousy aside.
Satisfied with my plan, I turned off my computer and fell asleep with Nico nestled in my arms.
Julian would get love. I would get rich. Everybody would win.
The next morning, I submitted the proposal to Julian with determination.
I had braced myself for the consequences if he rejected it. I might lose my job. But if he accepted it? My entire life would change.
To conquer or to die.
This was my moment. As a member of the proletariat, I would finally cast off my chains and claim my freedom.
