Chapter 1

When that bank card slapped against my face, it didn't actually sting all that much.

"Three hundred thousand." Lindsay Miller stood opposite me, arms crossed over her perfectly tailored Giorgio Armani suit—fresh from Milan. Her makeup was exquisite, as if she had just stepped off a magazine cover. She looked down at me with a gaze that mingled condescension with a pity bordering on contempt, as if sizing up a vagrant in desperate need of aid.

"The PIN is Christopher's birthday. Take the money and disappear. The further, the better."

I lowered my head to look at the card glinting coldly on the floor, then glanced at my own attire for the day.

A pure cotton Henley shirt washed to a slight fade, a pair of comfortable wide-leg linen trousers, and unbranded white canvas shoes on my feet. In my hand, I held a thermal lunchbox containing the Osso Buco with Provence herbs I had been slow-cooking for five hours since dawn, paired with my private reserve of truffles.

Over the past three years, to play along with Christopher Lane's persona of a self-made man striving against the odds, and to satisfy my own eccentric curiosity for experiencing an ordinary life, I had indeed committed to the role. Living in a modest apartment in Seattle's Queen Anne district, driving a second-hand Honda, and picking out ingredients at the farmer's market.

But I hadn't anticipated that my dedication, in the eyes of others, would be entirely misconstrued as shabby desperation and oblivious clinging.

"Assistant Miller," I bent down, not to pick up the card, but to gently place the thermal lunchbox on the sleek walnut surface of the reception desk. My tone was flat, rippleless. "I am here to deliver lunch to Christopher."

"Mr. Lane doesn't need it." Lindsay sneered, a smile that didn't reach her icy blue eyes. "He is currently in a meeting with a venture capital team from Silicon Valley. That is an occasion where every minute could determine the flow of millions of dollars. Someone like you..." She paused, her gaze like two precise scalpels, dissecting me from head to toe.

"Someone like you... a shabby woman who revolves around the kitchen... going in there would only embarrass him. Why do you think Chris never takes you to any industry galas or launch events? Why does no one in the company know you?"

She took a step closer, the scent of Chanel No. 5 on her so intense it was almost choking.

"Because he's tired of it. Men, you know, need someone to manage their domestic life in the early stages of a startup, like a nanny. But now, what he needs is a partner who can stand shoulder to shoulder with him, matching him in career, connections, and taste. Not a... housewife who can't even read a P&L statement and only knows how to deliver stew." She enunciated that last term with deliberate clarity, dripping with mockery.

Employees passing through the lobby began to look sideways, their hushed discussions buzzing like annoying insects.

"Who is that? Lindsay is tearing her apart."

"I heard she's the little girlfriend Chris is keeping?"

"Tsk, look at her state. Lindsay is a Stanford MBA. This woman... probably came from some small town, rushing to be Chris's maid for a bit of cash."

Listening to these whispers, I felt no anger, only a sense of absurdity so profound it was comical.

If Lindsay only knew that the project she took such pride in, viewing it as her career springboard, was merely the smallest, most insignificant item in the vast portfolio of the venture capital firm under my name; if she knew that the 'guest of honor' from Silicon Valley at that multi-million dollar meeting would have to bow respectfully upon seeing me...

The expression of carefully sculpted arrogance on her face right now would likely shatter in the most spectacular fashion.

But I said nothing of the sort.

"Three hundred thousand," I repeated the number, the corner of my mouth twitching upward ever so slightly to reveal an almost invisible arc. "Assistant Miller, regarding forging Christopher's signature and utilizing the company's emergency fund account to pay this so-called 'break-up fee'... legally speaking, does this constitute embezzlement or fraud?"

Lindsay's face stiffened instantly, but she quickly regained control, lifting her chin even higher.

"Don't try to scare me with that alarmist nonsense. This is exactly what Chris wants; he just didn't want to embarrass you to your face." She pulled a paper from the briefcase in her hand and slapped it onto the desk with a sharp *thwack*. "Sign this non-disclosure agreement and take the money. Otherwise, I'll have to ask security to escort you out."

It was a neatly printed legal document. I scanned the dense clauses, one standing out particularly clearly: "The agreeing party promises never to publicly claim the existence of any romantic or marital relationship with Mr. Christopher Lane, past or present." Reading this, I finally let out a low laugh.

"Very well."

I nodded, not touching the card, nor looking at the agreement again. I simply gave Lindsay a long, deep look. My gaze was calm and still, yet it made her subconsciously take half a step back, as if she had been targeted by some cold-blooded predator.

"Lindsay Miller," my voice was soft, yet it cut clearly through the subtle noise of the lobby. "I hope your career prospects remain as... indestructible as your audacity is right now."

With that, I turned and walked toward the revolving glass doors.

Behind me came Lindsay's shrill, flustered voice, trying to regain control of the scene.

I did not look back.

The moment I stepped out of the Lane Tech building, the afternoon wind of Seattle brushed my cheek with a hint of chill. I took out my three-year-old iPhone and dialed a number saved on speed dial.

"Good afternoon, Miss Sterling? You've finally contacted me!" A voice came from the other end, slightly aged but exceptionally steady and powerful, with a British accent that couldn't hide its excitement.

"James," I said, looking at the reflection in the glass curtain wall—a simple, slightly solitary figure. My voice was calm but laced with frost. "I need a complete HR structure report on Lane Tech, focusing on senior management and their assistant teams. Additionally, notify our legal teams in New York and Seattle to prepare some paperwork."

"I shall set to it immediately, Miss. And, regarding your previous... status?" James the butler inquired cautiously.

"From today on, I am Sterling. Olivia Sterling." I opened the door of a yellow taxi that had just pulled up. "Back to the residence in Bellevue."