Chapter 3

On Monday, I showed up at Reed Corporation right on time.

The HR manager had obviously been warned in advance. He was polite but kept his distance, rushed through the paperwork, and took me straight to my new workstation, right outside Jonathan's office.

The only thing separating us was a floor-to-ceiling glass wall. Every move he made inside was on full display for anyone outside to see.

Olivia was there too. She was here today as a "project consultant," her office right next to Jonathan's. Spotting me, she strutted over in her heels and rapped her knuckles on my table.

"Grace, guess we're coworkers now," Olivia said, flashing a saccharine smile. "Make me a coffee, will you? The usual, decaf latte, exactly 65 degrees, and make sure the foam's extra smooth."

A few of the other assistants nearby snuck glances our way, their faces a mix of curiosity and judgment.

I stood up. "Yes, Ms. Lane."

"It's Consultant Lane," Olivia corrected, chin lifted.

"Yes, Consultant Lane," I replied.

I worked the coffee machine with expert precision in the break room. 65 degrees, the perfect thickness of foam, the exact shape of the latte art. After ten years of doing this, I could pull it off blindfolded.

Carrying the coffee, I saw Olivia leaning against Jonathan's office doorway, whispering and laughing with him. Jonathan's arm rested naturally around her waist.

When he noticed me, his smile cooled, and he gave me a brief nod, just enough to acknowledge my presence.

I set the coffee down, returned to my seat, and turned on my computer. The cold glow of the screen reflected off my glasses.

The days that followed were dull and suffocating. My job was a constant stream of small, tedious tasks.

I managed Jonathan's schedule, booked flights and hotels, sorted emails, and handled calls. I also had to deal with Olivia's endless demands, no matter how trivial or last-minute.

That meant fixing the colors on her PowerPoint slides, running downstairs for a specific brand of snacks, and dealing with her friends whenever they dropped by. I was always on call, ready to take care of whatever she wanted.

I moved through it all like an emotionless machine, efficient, precise, silent, just going through the motions and showing no emotion at all.

Jonathan seemed pretty satisfied with how obedient I was.

Sometimes, when I was still grinding away late at night, finishing the last bit of paperwork, he'd stroll past my desk and throw out a casual, "Still here?"

Or if I happened to overhear a business call and looked a little confused, he'd explain it to me in that condescending tone, like he was schooling a loyal but clueless servant.

He used these little moments to deepen my sense of dependence and inferiority, making sure I never forgot my place.

What Jonathan didn't know was that every night he wasn't around, I'd boot up that old laptop, log into a secure network, and dive into the real work, the stuff that actually mattered.

The light from the screen washed over my face, cold and expressionless. My fingers flew across the keyboard, tapping out a rhythm like rain, quiet and relentless.

I was neck-deep in public financial statements, industry reports, obscure court auction listings, and even shady gossip from the darkest corners of the web. Digging through every scrap, every rumor, I unraveled the truth.

The so-called empire had been built on ten years of careful cover-up, and it was already starting to fall apart.

Reckless expansion, illegal guarantees, siphoned funds, and all those entertainment projects Jonathan poured money into just to impress Olivia. Every single one of them was a loss.

The holes just kept getting bigger, snowballing out of control. Meanwhile, Jonathan and his smug family were still lost in their fake prosperity, too busy fighting for power and sucking up to their soon-to-be queen to notice the disaster right under their noses.

Olivia's appetite for power kept growing. She wasn't content with just petty tricks anymore. One afternoon, she called me into her office and tossed a file across the desk.

"Handle this project. Jonathan thinks this little company has potential, so he's letting me try my hand at it," Olivia said, sprawled out in her oversized leather chair, admiring her freshly manicured nails.

"Go coordinate with them and lock down the contract details. And remember." She looked up, her gaze dripping with contempt. "Don't screw it up. This is the first project I'm actually running solo."

I picked up the file. It was from some no-name biotech company promoting a so-called "anti-aging stem cell" project. Flipping through a few pages, all I saw was a mix of fake scientific buzzwords and absurd promises of huge profits.

It was a classic scam, aimed at gullible rich girls desperate to prove they were more than just spoiled heiresses.

I looked up at Olivia. "Consultant Lane, there are a few figures in this business plan that might need further verification, and the technical feasibility is questionable. Should we have the risk management team take a look—"

"Grace!" Olivia interrupted, her patience wearing thin as her voice rose. "Are you here to teach me how to do my job? Or do you seriously think I can't even make basic judgments?"

Out in the outer office, a few assistants held their breath, listening intently.

I bowed my head, avoiding her gaze. "No, of course not. I'll reach out right away."

"I expect a preliminary agreement on my desk within three days," Olivia declared, making it clear she wasn't open to negotiation.

As I walked out of her office and returned to my desk, I stared at the error-ridden file, my gaze flickering behind my glasses.

This was an opportunity to let Olivia tighten the noose around her own neck.

Following Olivia's instructions, I reached out to the company. The person in charge was way too enthusiastic, making all sorts of promises and urging us to sign the contract and transfer the money ASAP.

I played the timid assistant, careful not to offend Olivia, "carefully" jotting down their requests while "accidentally" letting slip that Olivia was Jonathan's most trusted and that he was personally invested in this project.

As expected, they got even more eager, even hinting at a generous kickback for Olivia.

I recorded every call and encrypted all the emails. Then, playing the diligent assistant, I put together a "project progress report" that glossed over all the risks and hyped up the project's prospects before handing it to Olivia.

She was clearly pleased with what she saw, especially when she spotted the "personal gesture" the company had promised her on the side. Her eyes practically sparkled.

"Good work, Grace," she said, actually praising me for once, though it still sounded like she was talking to a dog. "Keep pushing this forward and get the contract signed as soon as possible."

"Yes," I answered, keeping my tone obedient.