Chapter 2 · Five Million A Year To Play Wife-I Quit

Chapter 2

I slept in as long as I wanted on my first day in my new place. Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows. I sprawled on the leather sofa in my spacious apartment. The air was thick with the sweet scent of freedom and money.

I didn't work my butt off for nothing these past five years. Besides my salary, I spent my free time soaking up investment tricks from Charles, and my little nest egg multiplied several times over. Now, I was my own version of a rich heiress.

I opened my phone and saw the girls' group chat was going wild.

[Olivia! Did you really kick those two to the curb?]

[Girl, spill your experience. My boss totally threw me under the bus again today.]

I leisurely posted a selfie with the caption: [Single again. Now accepting all luxury family management consulting jobs. Price negotiable. Serious inquiries only.]

The chat was flooded with slay and fire emojis.

For the next week, I lived the slacker life I had always fantasized about—shopping sprees, spa days, gym sessions, and dinners with three different flavors of eye candy. Honestly, I was living my best life.

Word was, the Kingston family was a total mess.

The first to give me updates was Eve, the Kingston family's smart assistant. I trained this top-tier AI myself, but as soon as I left, the new folks at home had no clue how to handle it.

"Ms. Turner, good morning. I've detected you are no longer connected to the Kingston residence security system. Friendly reminder: Mr. Kingston tried to toast bread in the microwave this morning and set off a level-three fire alert."

"Ms. Turner, good afternoon. Mr. Ben Kingston attempted to wash his school uniform, but put blue ink and a white shirt in the washing machine together. The results are... catastrophic."

"Ms. Turner, good evening. Mr. Kingston's reservation at the foreign restaurant can't be confirmed because he can't read the language. Should I patch you in?"

Listening to Eve's emotionless updates, I nearly laughed myself into a six-pack.

These two were basically walking disasters when it came to everyday life.

On the seventh night, I was chilling with a face mask on when an unknown number popped up on my screen. I picked up without thinking, and Ben's voice came through, trying to sound all cool and collected.

"Hey, is this Olivia?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's me. Who's this?" I teased, playing dumb.

There was a three-second pause, then he sounded a bit sulky. "It's Ben. I need to ask you a technical question."

"Oh? Go ahead. But my consulting fees aren't cheap," I said.

"Hey, regarding the simmer versus rapid boil methods on the stovetop... how does the grain-to-water ratio differ between the two? Also, could you explain the thermal dynamics and heating profiles for each?" Ben asked.

I barely managed to hold back my laughter. "Ben, are you sure you're asking me for help and not writing a research paper on kitchen appliances?"

"I just want to know why my food turns out half raw and half burnt!" he finally lost it, his voice cracking with pure frustration.

"You didn't clean the inner pot," I said, not missing a beat.

Ben fell silent.

"You didn't use the right ratio," I continued.

Ben was speechless.

"Honestly, you probably didn't even plug it in," I said.

"I did plug it in!" Ben snapped, sounding like a grumpy kitten whose tail had been stepped on.

I could practically see him puffing up in frustration. I laughed softly. "Consultation's over. Since you're a regular, this one's on the house. Next time, remember to book ahead."

After I hung up, my mood was sky-high. It felt like watching a project I had babysat for five years turn into a total train wreck the second I handed it off—proof that I was the real MVP all along.

This was pure bliss.

Just as I was about to settle back into my beauty routine, the doorbell rang. Thinking it was my takeout, I slipped on my slippers and went to answer it.

But instead of a delivery guy, there was Charles, looking sharp in a suit, holding a supermarket shopping bag.

I froze in place, completely speechless.

"Mr. Kingston? What's up? Are you here to play the hero or something?" I asked.

Charles stayed silent, just handed me the shopping bag. When I looked inside, there were several brightly colored boxes of instant food.

I stared at him, completely baffled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Charles's gaze lingered on the green face mask plastered across my face, and he swallowed. "Ben said you like this brand of food."

I glanced at him, then at the boxes in my hand, and the whole thing felt ridiculous.

Charles, who could bankrupt a company with a single phone call, was now standing at my doorstep, looking like a kid caught doing something wrong, offering me instant food.

"Mr. Kingston, do you know what the internet would call what you're doing right now?" I said.

He frowned, asking, "What?"

"It's called ineffective pandering," I said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "And FYI, I like the kind with shrimp from this brand, not the egg."

His face instantly darkened.

Chapter 2

I opened my phone and saw the girls' group chat was going wild.

[Olivia! Did you really kick those two to the curb?]

[Girl, spill your experience. My boss totally threw me under the bus again today.]

I leisurely posted a selfie with the caption: [Single again. Now accepting all luxury family management consulting jobs. Price negotiable. Serious inquiries only.]

The chat was flooded with slay and fire emojis.

Word was, the Kingston family was a total mess.

The first to give me updates was Eve, the Kingston family's smart assistant. I trained this top-tier AI myself, but as soon as I left, the new folks at home had no clue how to handle it.

"Ms. Turner, good afternoon. Mr. Ben Kingston attempted to wash his school uniform, but put blue ink and a white shirt in the washing machine together. The results are... catastrophic."

"Ms. Turner, good evening. Mr. Kingston's reservation at the foreign restaurant can't be confirmed because he can't read the language. Should I patch you in?"

Listening to Eve's emotionless updates, I nearly laughed myself into a six-pack.

These two were basically walking disasters when it came to everyday life.

"Hey, is this Olivia?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's me. Who's this?" I teased, playing dumb.

There was a three-second pause, then he sounded a bit sulky. "It's Ben. I need to ask you a technical question."

"Oh? Go ahead. But my consulting fees aren't cheap," I said.

I barely managed to hold back my laughter. "Ben, are you sure you're asking me for help and not writing a research paper on kitchen appliances?"

"I just want to know why my food turns out half raw and half burnt!" he finally lost it, his voice cracking with pure frustration.

"You didn't clean the inner pot," I said, not missing a beat.

Ben fell silent.

"You didn't use the right ratio," I continued.

Ben was speechless.

"Honestly, you probably didn't even plug it in," I said.

"I did plug it in!" Ben snapped, sounding like a grumpy kitten whose tail had been stepped on.

I could practically see him puffing up in frustration. I laughed softly. "Consultation's over. Since you're a regular, this one's on the house. Next time, remember to book ahead."

After I hung up, my mood was sky-high. It felt like watching a project I had babysat for five years turn into a total train wreck the second I handed it off—proof that I was the real MVP all along.

This was pure bliss.

Just as I was about to settle back into my beauty routine, the doorbell rang. Thinking it was my takeout, I slipped on my slippers and went to answer it.

But instead of a delivery guy, there was Charles, looking sharp in a suit, holding a supermarket shopping bag.

I froze in place, completely speechless.

"Mr. Kingston? What's up? Are you here to play the hero or something?" I asked.

Charles stayed silent, just handed me the shopping bag. When I looked inside, there were several brightly colored boxes of instant food.

I stared at him, completely baffled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Charles's gaze lingered on the green face mask plastered across my face, and he swallowed. "Ben said you like this brand of food."

I glanced at him, then at the boxes in my hand, and the whole thing felt ridiculous.

Charles, who could bankrupt a company with a single phone call, was now standing at my doorstep, looking like a kid caught doing something wrong, offering me instant food.

"Mr. Kingston, do you know what the internet would call what you're doing right now?" I said.

He frowned, asking, "What?"

"It's called ineffective pandering," I said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "And FYI, I like the kind with shrimp from this brand, not the egg."

His face instantly darkened.