Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Ask For Money 1

For three months, I'd been milking the guy saved in my WhatsApp as "Nate." I'd play the doting little sister, firing off sweet texts begging for cash, shoes, and limited-edition bags.

He was supposed to be my brother, Jonathan Lane, which was why he never questioned it. Every time, he'd send the money right away, with a message: [Let me know if you need more.]

At the company's End-of-Year Party, I was arm in arm with Jonathan, making a toast, when I turned and saw my boss, Nathan Bennett, standing in the corner.

He rushed over like he'd lost his mind and grabbed my wrist, his eyes red and voice shaking. "You lied to me?

"I pull in fifteen grand a month, and I've been transferring fourteen of it straight to you. You call that allowance?

"Who's the one who keeps calling me 'Nate' every single day?"

*****

I was slacking off at my desk when my WhatsApp notification went off.

I swiped it open to find a notification: [Just bank-transferred you ten grand. Let me know if you need more.]

I stared at the screen for a second, blinked, and quickly tapped into my banking app to confirm the deposit, then replied: [Nate, I love you!]

He replied instantly: [I know.]

I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

My coworker from the next desk leaned over. "Nicole, what's so funny?"

"Nothing," I said, putting my phone away and sitting up straight. "Just saw a funny video."

She gave me a suspicious look but didn't ask any more questions.

I looked down at my computer screen, my heart still racing.

This was the third time this month.

The first time was at the beginning of the month. I messaged: [Nate, I haven't paid my rent this month.] He sent me 3 grand.

The second time was last week. I said: [Nate, it's a new season and I have nothing to wear.] He sent me 2 grand.

And then this morning, I'd sent him a crying face emoji: [Nate, I'm out of cash and I'm starving.]

He didn't ask a single question and sent me 10 grand.

I scrolled through our chat history and realized I'd been asking him for money about once a week for the past three months.

My excuses were all over the place: [I want that limited-edition bag.] [The new lipstick shade dropped.] [All my coworkers are going on vacation, and I'm stuck here.] [I worked overtime until 10 PM today. I deserve a nice meal.]

Every message was followed by a barrage of pathetic, adorable puppy-dog emojis.

And his replies were always the same: a transfer.

Sometimes, he'd add: [Let me know if you need more.]

I never said it wasn't enough, because I wasn't after the money.

My brother Jonathan started his own business three years ago, and this year his company closed a Series B funding round, with a valuation over 100 million dollars.

He was my real brother, same parents and all. Milking him for cash and acting like a spoiled sister? That was normal for me.

I saved him as "Nate" on WhatsApp.

And in my WhatsApp contacts, there were two people with "Nate" in their contact notes.

One was my real brother, Jonathan. The other was my boss, Nathan.

Company policy said that when we added a manager on WhatsApp, we had to put their title and name in the notes.

When I added Nathan, I followed the rules and typed in "Vice President Mr. Bennett" as the note.

Then one day, Jonathan messaged me. I opened it and saw his profile picture was almost the same as Nathan's. They both had that cold, empty minimalist photo.

Somehow, I accidentally changed Nathan's contact note to "Nate." Then I forgot to change it back.

So I ended up with two Nates in my WhatsApp contacts.

Jonathan's profile picture had been a childhood photo of the two of us. I'd teased him endlessly about how embarrassingly dorky it was, but he refused to change it.

As for my boss, Nathan, his profile picture was a snowy mountain.

One of them handed me cash, and the other took it straight out of my wages. Made perfect sense.

I opened up the other "Nate" chat and scrolled through our messages.

The last thing Nathan sent me was three days ago, a work file. I hadn't replied.

Before that, a week ago, he'd said: [Make sure the meeting materials are ready for tomorrow.]

I replied: [Got it.]

Two weeks before that, he asked: [Is the proposal done?]

I replied: [I'll send it to your email once it's done.]

All business, polite, not a single extra word. I liked it.

I put my phone away and got back to work.

Around four in the afternoon, the department group chat suddenly blew up.

A message popped: [Announcement: The company's End-of-Year Party is this Friday night. All employees must attend. Location: Harbour Hotel Ballroom.]

Everyone started complaining.

[Ugh, the End-of-Year Party again? I'm so socially awkward. This is killing me.]

[Please, don't make me go up there and perform.]

[I heard there's a raffle this year!]

[I won a Bluetooth headset last year. This time, I'm going for the grand prize.]

I didn't say anything, quietly sending the message to Jonathan. [Nate, our company's End-of-Year Party is this Friday.]

He replied instantly: [Got it. I'm free that day. I'll come pick you up.]

Me: [No need. I can take a cab.]

Jonathan: [I'll come pick you up. I've got something to tell you.]

Me: [What is it?]

Jonathan: [I'll tell you when I see you.]

I pulled a face at my screen but let it go.

Jonathan was a brilliant brother, but sometimes he loved to keep me in suspense. It drove me crazy.

*****

Friday came around in no time.

The party was at a five-star hotel on the east side of the city, and our office was all the way on the west side. It'd take about an hour by cab.

At five, I packed up my things, planning to go home and change first.

As I stood up, my department manager, Murray Williams, walked over. "Nicole, want to ride with me?"

I paused for a moment, instinctively looking over his shoulder.

Nathan was standing by the coffee machine, holding a cup, his gaze sweeping over me with his usual cool indifference.

Our eyes met for a split second before I quickly looked away. "No, thanks, Mr. Williams. I'm going home to change first."

"Alright." Murray nodded. "See you later."

I grabbed my bag and hurried out. As I reached the elevator, I heard footsteps behind me.

Even pace, unhurried, the sound of leather shoes clicking against the tiles.

I pressed the elevator button, staring at the changing numbers, not looking back.

The person walked up and stopped next to me.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside. He followed me in.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Ask For Money 1

For three months, I'd been milking the guy saved in my WhatsApp as "Nate." I'd play the doting little sister, firing off sweet texts begging for cash, shoes, and limited-edition bags.

He was supposed to be my brother, Jonathan Lane, which was why he never questioned it. Every time, he'd send the money right away, with a message: [Let me know if you need more.]

At the company's End-of-Year Party, I was arm in arm with Jonathan, making a toast, when I turned and saw my boss, Nathan Bennett, standing in the corner.

He rushed over like he'd lost his mind and grabbed my wrist, his eyes red and voice shaking. "You lied to me?

"I pull in fifteen grand a month, and I've been transferring fourteen of it straight to you. You call that allowance?

"Who's the one who keeps calling me 'Nate' every single day?"

*****

I was slacking off at my desk when my WhatsApp notification went off.

I swiped it open to find a notification: [Just bank-transferred you ten grand. Let me know if you need more.]

I stared at the screen for a second, blinked, and quickly tapped into my banking app to confirm the deposit, then replied: [Nate, I love you!]

He replied instantly: [I know.]

I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

My coworker from the next desk leaned over. "Nicole, what's so funny?"

"Nothing," I said, putting my phone away and sitting up straight. "Just saw a funny video."

She gave me a suspicious look but didn't ask any more questions.

I looked down at my computer screen, my heart still racing.

This was the third time this month.

The first time was at the beginning of the month. I messaged: [Nate, I haven't paid my rent this month.] He sent me 3 grand.

The second time was last week. I said: [Nate, it's a new season and I have nothing to wear.] He sent me 2 grand.

And then this morning, I'd sent him a crying face emoji: [Nate, I'm out of cash and I'm starving.]

He didn't ask a single question and sent me 10 grand.

I scrolled through our chat history and realized I'd been asking him for money about once a week for the past three months.

Every message was followed by a barrage of pathetic, adorable puppy-dog emojis.

And his replies were always the same: a transfer.

Sometimes, he'd add: [Let me know if you need more.]

I never said it wasn't enough, because I wasn't after the money.

My brother Jonathan started his own business three years ago, and this year his company closed a Series B funding round, with a valuation over 100 million dollars.

He was my real brother, same parents and all. Milking him for cash and acting like a spoiled sister? That was normal for me.

I saved him as "Nate" on WhatsApp.

And in my WhatsApp contacts, there were two people with "Nate" in their contact notes.

One was my real brother, Jonathan. The other was my boss, Nathan.

Company policy said that when we added a manager on WhatsApp, we had to put their title and name in the notes.

When I added Nathan, I followed the rules and typed in "Vice President Mr. Bennett" as the note.

Then one day, Jonathan messaged me. I opened it and saw his profile picture was almost the same as Nathan's. They both had that cold, empty minimalist photo.

Somehow, I accidentally changed Nathan's contact note to "Nate." Then I forgot to change it back.

So I ended up with two Nates in my WhatsApp contacts.

Jonathan's profile picture had been a childhood photo of the two of us. I'd teased him endlessly about how embarrassingly dorky it was, but he refused to change it.

As for my boss, Nathan, his profile picture was a snowy mountain.

One of them handed me cash, and the other took it straight out of my wages. Made perfect sense.

I opened up the other "Nate" chat and scrolled through our messages.

The last thing Nathan sent me was three days ago, a work file. I hadn't replied.

Before that, a week ago, he'd said: [Make sure the meeting materials are ready for tomorrow.]

I replied: [Got it.]

Two weeks before that, he asked: [Is the proposal done?]

I replied: [I'll send it to your email once it's done.]

All business, polite, not a single extra word. I liked it.

I put my phone away and got back to work.

Around four in the afternoon, the department group chat suddenly blew up.

A message popped: [Announcement: The company's End-of-Year Party is this Friday night. All employees must attend. Location: Harbour Hotel Ballroom.]

Everyone started complaining.

[Ugh, the End-of-Year Party again? I'm so socially awkward. This is killing me.]

[Please, don't make me go up there and perform.]

[I heard there's a raffle this year!]

[I won a Bluetooth headset last year. This time, I'm going for the grand prize.]

I didn't say anything, quietly sending the message to Jonathan. [Nate, our company's End-of-Year Party is this Friday.]

He replied instantly: [Got it. I'm free that day. I'll come pick you up.]

Me: [No need. I can take a cab.]

Jonathan: [I'll come pick you up. I've got something to tell you.]

Me: [What is it?]

Jonathan: [I'll tell you when I see you.]

I pulled a face at my screen but let it go.

Jonathan was a brilliant brother, but sometimes he loved to keep me in suspense. It drove me crazy.

*****

Friday came around in no time.

The party was at a five-star hotel on the east side of the city, and our office was all the way on the west side. It'd take about an hour by cab.

At five, I packed up my things, planning to go home and change first.

As I stood up, my department manager, Murray Williams, walked over. "Nicole, want to ride with me?"

I paused for a moment, instinctively looking over his shoulder.

Nathan was standing by the coffee machine, holding a cup, his gaze sweeping over me with his usual cool indifference.

Our eyes met for a split second before I quickly looked away. "No, thanks, Mr. Williams. I'm going home to change first."

"Alright." Murray nodded. "See you later."

I grabbed my bag and hurried out. As I reached the elevator, I heard footsteps behind me.

Even pace, unhurried, the sound of leather shoes clicking against the tiles.

I pressed the elevator button, staring at the changing numbers, not looking back.

The person walked up and stopped next to me.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside. He followed me in.