Chapter 2

And then there was that camera he adored. My parents gave it to me as a college entrance gift, but once he "borrowed" it, I never saw it again.

I smirked, pulled out my phone, and instead of bothering to reply to him, I booked a home pick-up through the local recycling app.

Half an hour later, the recycling guy showed up at my door. He stared at all the "luxury goods" scattered across the floor, jaw dropping.

"Girl, you're really selling all this?" he asked, sounding like he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Yeah," I replied.

I pointed at the pile. "Just bundle it up, count it, and pay me by pieces."

The guy double-checked, just to be sure he heard me right.

I leaned against the doorframe, impatiently picking at my ear. "Yep, scrap price. Hurry it up, will you?"

Watching all those things I once cherished get tossed into a sack, I felt a kind of relief I'd never known before.

In the end, a pile of stuff worth tens of thousands only fetched me 110 dollars.

I transferred that money, along with the 35 thousand the system had rewarded me, straight into my account.

Then I blocked Kristian on every single platform.

I finally got the total peace.

The first thing I did with that cash? I marched straight to the mall and finally bought the pro camera and top-tier lens I'd been dreaming about forever.

Kristian always scoffed, "Girls shouldn't mess with photography. It's just a waste of money."

When I hung that shiny new camera around my neck, it felt like the whole world snapped into focus.

My first photo series was titled "Trash."

My lens zeroed in on the trash can downstairs, where Kristian's favorite limited-edition sneakers lay after I tossed them out.

The composition, the lighting, the vibe, everything was spot on.

I posted the series on my social media with the caption: [Trash cleared, storage skyrocketed.]

Soon after, my comment section blew up.

Kristian's buddies were all over my comments, tagging me nonstop and asking what I meant.

Someone even sent Kristian a screenshot.

I could picture him freaking out, furious, and unable to get in touch with me.

A mutual friend finally had enough and messaged me: [Emily, don't you think you're going a bit overboard? Kristian's about to go nuts.]

I glanced at the system pop-up on my phone: [Looks level up by one point, eyes sharper.]

I replied slowly and easily, [Going nuts? Great, send him to the psych ward. I can even throw in 110 dollars for his hospital bill.]

I was interning at a fashion magazine, and my editor-in-chief was a greasy, overbearing middle-aged guy named Kian Maxwell.

He loved to go on and on about his connections and resources in the office, always acting like I should be grateful he was even willing to teach me anything.

Recently, the magazine managed to score an interview with the rising artist Johnny Hinton, and everyone was fighting tooth and nail to get the assignment.

I spent a whole week prepping, putting together a detailed interview outline. I was sure I'd done more work than any of the full-time editors at the magazine.

Kian called me into his office, glanced at my outline, and smirked.

"Emily, your ideas are decent, but you're too inexperienced," he said.

He tossed my outline onto the desk. "You can't hold your own in an interview like this. I'll take care of it myself. I'll use your outline as a guide."

It was straight-up plagiarism.

I stood there, fists clenched so tight that my nails dug into my skin.

Before, I would've just sucked it up and told myself interns were supposed to take this crap.

But this time, the system chimed in.

[Toxic boss detected. Please choose your action.]

[Option A: Suck it up and keep playing the office doormat. Reward: Extra dark circles and even deeper wrinkles.]

[Option B: Call him out in front of everyone and destroy his reputation. Reward: A riverside penthouse right in the heart of the city.]

Anyone would know which one to choose.

I glanced at Kian's smug, oily face and let a grin spread across mine.

"Mr. Maxwell, you're right. I'm still pretty green," I said.

He thought I was caving and nodded, satisfied. "Now that's the attitude I like to see."

I suddenly changed my tone. "Actually, I sent my interview outline, plus all the research I did on Johnny, straight to his studio, just to make sure everything was above board."

Kian's smile froze, stuck awkwardly on his face.

"What are you getting at?" he demanded.

"Oh, nothing special," I said, waving my phone with a smirk. "Johnny's studio just replied.

"They said my outline was the most professional they've received lately, and they're giving the exclusive interview to me personally."