Chapter 3

The next day, I used the excuse of dropping off corporate documents to visit Dad’s office, hoping to gather more evidence.

I was stopped right at the front desk.

The new receptionist didn’t even look up. "Do you have an appointment?"

"I’m looking for Richard Miller."

I held up a lunchbox. "Dropping off his lunch."

She snorted, glancing at me with pure disdain.

"Mr. Miller’s wife already brought him lunch. She’s in his office keeping him company right now."

"Who are you anyway? Trying to hustle your way up? Our Mr. Miller doesn’t swing that way."

I froze.

Mr. Miller’s *wife*?

My mom was at home!

Before I could say a word, the elevator chimed open. Vanessa strolled out holding an Hermès Birkin, flanked by several sycophantic employees cooing, "Have a wonderful afternoon, Mrs. Miller!"

When she spotted me, her heels clicked to a halt.

"What are you doing here?" She looked down at my simple broker badge and clothes. "I told you we’re buying the condo! Stalking me at my husband’s company won't speed up the process!"

The receptionist rushed forward to kiss her feet. "Mrs. Miller, he claimed he was here to bring Mr. Miller lunch!"

Vanessa paused, then seemed to realize something and laughed mockingly.

She fingered her diamond necklace, looking overwhelmingly smug.

"Sweetheart, my husband worships the ground I walk on. What I say goes. You don't need to suck up to him."

She leaned in, her perfume choking me. "In fact, if you cause a scene in front of him... you might just lose your little real estate license."

Snickers broke out around the lobby.

I gripped the lunchbox handle tight. "You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m—"

"You’re what?" she sneered, cutting me off. "Jealous that he’s buying me a penthouse? What, you thinking about homewrecking? Next time you get that idea, check your gender first!"

An employee chimed in obsequiously, "Mr. Miller spoiling his wife is famous around here! He rented out an entire rooftop restaurant just for her birthday last week!"

I locked my eyes on the diamond-encrusted watch on Vanessa’s wrist. It was identical to the knockoff Dad bought Mom for twenty bucks last Christmas.

"Hear that?"

She flicked my badge with a manicured nail. "A broke broker? You could sell houses for ten lifetimes and still not afford a single diamond on my bezel."

Before I could pull away, Vanessa snatched the phone straight out of my hand.

"Let me see..." She swiped open my camera roll. "How many creeping photos of my husband did you take?"

I yanked it back forcefully. "Give that back!"

She stumbled backward with exaggerated theatricality. "Security! This psycho is getting violent!"

A burly security guard slammed a heavy hand down on my shoulder.

Vanessa twirled her car keys, the silver Porsche logo catching the light.

"Poor people are so pathetic," she sighed dramatically. "All you can do is fantasize about having a life like mine."

Through the glass doors, Dad’s executive assistant hurried past carrying files, bowing respectfully to Vanessa: "Mrs. Miller, Mr. Miller wants you to pick out the interior color for your new ride."

I was shoved out through the revolving doors into the scorching sun.

Outside, I unlocked my phone.

Vanessa had just updated her Instagram:

[Just got harassed by a lowlife broker. Hubby said he’s upgrading me to a Rolls-Royce tomorrow to cheer me up 💖]

She attached a screenshot of Dad’s text: *"Don't let trash ruin your day, baby. We’re test-driving a Ghost tomorrow."*

Meanwhile, in our family group chat, Mom had texted an hour ago:

*[Richard, the fridge is completely dead. Can you send five hundred dollars so I can get a replacement?]*

Dad hadn't even bothered to reply.

A second later, a DM pinged on my phone from Vanessa.

[Contract signing location changed! We’re doing it on stage at the Miller Enterprises Mid-Year Gala! I'm surprising him!]

[Bet you’re seething, aren’t you, little broker? Stay mad.]

[The whole city will watch him hand me the world, while you can only watch from the cheap seats like a dog~]

Reading her texts, I didn’t feel angry.

A cold, dark thrill rushed through my veins instead.

A massive stage? A room full of high-profile guests?

Perfect.

The bigger the audience, the better.

Because the "gift" I had prepared was going to blow the roof off the place.