Chapter 1 · Wrong Chat, Right Boss

I was broke as hell lately. I checked my empty wallet and decided to hit up my brother, Michael Lane, for some cash.

I opened WhatsApp, found that familiar black profile picture, and quickly typed out a message.

Emily: [Bro.]

He replied almost instantly: [Huh?]

I didn't think twice and sent: [I'm totally broke this month, Michael. Help me out.]

He replied: [Huh?]

I rolled my eyes. Why was Michael being so cold today? I quickly made up another excuse: [My phone is about to die. I am not going to work. Life is impossible right now.]

To my surprise, he sent me 150 dollars.

I stared at the 150 dollars and pouted.

Emily: [Seriously? Is this all? Are you broke or something? You never used to be this cheap.]

He sent another "Huh?"

Then, a 1,500-dollar transfer popped up.

My mood switched in a heartbeat.

Emily: [Love you, Bro. You're the best.]

After that, I started hitting him up for cash every few days.

One day, I needed a new lipstick and asked for 60 bucks.

The next day, I was craving fine dining and asked for 150 bucks.

The day after that, I spotted a coat I wanted and asked for 600 bucks.

He never said no.

At most, he'd send a question mark.

I got used to it. I thought even if he didn't talk much, he was still the best brother ever, always spoiling me.

Until one day, when I was lying in bed, scrolling through my phone, a WhatsApp message suddenly popped up.

It was from Michael.

Michael: [Emily, since when did you pick up a brand new brother?]

I was stunned.

I replied: [What new brother? Are you drunk or something?]

Michael sent over a screenshot.

It was my feed, and underneath was a comment: [Thanks for the cash, bro.]

Michael: [I never sent you any money.]

I was speechless.

Michael: [I didn't pay my phone bill last month. You asked me for money three times, and I didn't send you a single cent.]

I was speechless again.

My hands were shaking as I scrolled through the chat history, pulling it all the way to the top to check the contact name.

There was no contact name.

Just a black profile picture.

I opened Michael's chat.

His profile picture was black, too.

Two identical black profile pictures, lined up next to each other in my chat list.

I opened the fake brother's feed.

It was totally blank.

Next, I glanced at the profile bio: Grant & Shaw Corporation.

My phone nearly slipped right out of my hand.

Grant & Shaw Corporation, seriously? That was my company.

I racked my brain, trying to remember how I'd added this contact. A vague memory started to come back to me.

On my first day at work, my department head sent a message in the group chat, telling everyone to add a WhatsApp contact for work coordination.

I scanned the QR code, saw the black profile picture, and thought that was like Michael's profile picture. Then, I just saved it right next to Michael's contact.

My blood pressure shot through the roof.

Who the hell was this guy?

My hands were shaking as I opened the contact details, and finally, I saw a tiny line of text: Alex Grant.

Alex Grant was our company's CEO and the youngest business tycoon in all of Riverdale City.

The guy who was so cold that he could freeze the air conditioning.

I'd been calling him "bro" for a whole month.

I'd hit him up for more than 6,000 dollars.

And I complained he was stingy.

I already knew what my tombstone should say. [Emily Lane died of social death.]

*****

The next morning, I was jolted awake by my alarm.

Actually, it was the dread of going to work that woke me up.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling for ten whole minutes, my mind spinning with last night's discovery.

I'd been calling Alex "bro" for an entire month.

And to make things worse, I'd sent him a message yesterday. [Bro, the hamburger stand downstairs hiked its prices. Damn capitalists.]

He was a capitalist, and I was trash-talking him.

I buried my face in the covers and let out a muffled scream.

But I still had to go to work.

I got dressed, dragged my feet all the way to the office, and spent the whole walk trying to figure out how to avoid Alex.

Luckily, I was a junior copywriter in the marketing department. There was no way I'd ever run into the CEO.

I tried to reassure myself. It was fine. There were thousands of people in this company. He probably has no clue it was me bugging him for cash.

As soon as I sat down at my desk, my coworker Cara Thomas came over.

"Emily, why do you look so pale?" she asked.

"Didn't sleep well," I mumbled.

Cara leaned in and whispered, "Did you hear? Mr. Grant has been in a surprisingly good mood lately."

My hand shook, and I almost spilled my coffee. "Why are you telling me this?"

Cara gave me a weird look. "Just gossiping. Back when Mr. Grant walked by, the whole floor would hold its breath. But these days, someone actually saw his lips twitch upward by an inch."

Chapter 1

I was broke as hell lately. I checked my empty wallet and decided to hit up my brother, Michael Lane, for some cash.

I opened WhatsApp, found that familiar black profile picture, and quickly typed out a message.

Emily: [Bro.]

He replied almost instantly: [Huh?]

I didn't think twice and sent: [I'm totally broke this month, Michael. Help me out.]

He replied: [Huh?]

I rolled my eyes. Why was Michael being so cold today? I quickly made up another excuse: [My phone is about to die. I am not going to work. Life is impossible right now.]

To my surprise, he sent me 150 dollars.

I stared at the 150 dollars and pouted.

Emily: [Seriously? Is this all? Are you broke or something? You never used to be this cheap.]

He sent another "Huh?"

Then, a 1,500-dollar transfer popped up.

My mood switched in a heartbeat.

Emily: [Love you, Bro. You're the best.]

After that, I started hitting him up for cash every few days.

One day, I needed a new lipstick and asked for 60 bucks.

The next day, I was craving fine dining and asked for 150 bucks.

The day after that, I spotted a coat I wanted and asked for 600 bucks.

He never said no.

At most, he'd send a question mark.

I got used to it. I thought even if he didn't talk much, he was still the best brother ever, always spoiling me.

Until one day, when I was lying in bed, scrolling through my phone, a WhatsApp message suddenly popped up.

It was from Michael.

Michael: [Emily, since when did you pick up a brand new brother?]

I was stunned.

I replied: [What new brother? Are you drunk or something?]

Michael sent over a screenshot.

It was my feed, and underneath was a comment: [Thanks for the cash, bro.]

Michael: [I never sent you any money.]

I was speechless.

Michael: [I didn't pay my phone bill last month. You asked me for money three times, and I didn't send you a single cent.]

I was speechless again.

My hands were shaking as I scrolled through the chat history, pulling it all the way to the top to check the contact name.

There was no contact name.

Just a black profile picture.

I opened Michael's chat.

His profile picture was black, too.

Two identical black profile pictures, lined up next to each other in my chat list.

I opened the fake brother's feed.

It was totally blank.

Next, I glanced at the profile bio: Grant & Shaw Corporation.

My phone nearly slipped right out of my hand.

Grant & Shaw Corporation, seriously? That was my company.

I racked my brain, trying to remember how I'd added this contact. A vague memory started to come back to me.

On my first day at work, my department head sent a message in the group chat, telling everyone to add a WhatsApp contact for work coordination.

I scanned the QR code, saw the black profile picture, and thought that was like Michael's profile picture. Then, I just saved it right next to Michael's contact.

My blood pressure shot through the roof.

Who the hell was this guy?

My hands were shaking as I opened the contact details, and finally, I saw a tiny line of text: Alex Grant.

Alex Grant was our company's CEO and the youngest business tycoon in all of Riverdale City.

The guy who was so cold that he could freeze the air conditioning.

I'd been calling him "bro" for a whole month.

I'd hit him up for more than 6,000 dollars.

And I complained he was stingy.

I already knew what my tombstone should say. [Emily Lane died of social death.]

*****

The next morning, I was jolted awake by my alarm.

Actually, it was the dread of going to work that woke me up.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling for ten whole minutes, my mind spinning with last night's discovery.

I'd been calling Alex "bro" for an entire month.

And to make things worse, I'd sent him a message yesterday. [Bro, the hamburger stand downstairs hiked its prices. Damn capitalists.]

He was a capitalist, and I was trash-talking him.

I buried my face in the covers and let out a muffled scream.

But I still had to go to work.

I got dressed, dragged my feet all the way to the office, and spent the whole walk trying to figure out how to avoid Alex.

Luckily, I was a junior copywriter in the marketing department. There was no way I'd ever run into the CEO.

I tried to reassure myself. It was fine. There were thousands of people in this company. He probably has no clue it was me bugging him for cash.

As soon as I sat down at my desk, my coworker Cara Thomas came over.

"Emily, why do you look so pale?" she asked.

"Didn't sleep well," I mumbled.

Cara leaned in and whispered, "Did you hear? Mr. Grant has been in a surprisingly good mood lately."

My hand shook, and I almost spilled my coffee. "Why are you telling me this?"

Cara gave me a weird look. "Just gossiping. Back when Mr. Grant walked by, the whole floor would hold its breath. But these days, someone actually saw his lips twitch upward by an inch."