Chapter 1

After transferring to the office, my stunning looks made me the target of my boss’s harassment and my colleagues’ nasty rumors.

My team lead, Marcus Vance, even set up a trap, trying to lures me into a hotel room under the guise of "one-on-one business mentoring."

The next day, the office was flooded with rumors. People said I only closed my deals because of my "overtime bedroom services."

I didn't bother to argue. I wanted to see how far they would push this.

Unbelievingly, they eventually started whispering that I was sleeping with the Chairman himself.

So, I recorded every single piece of evidence and played it right on the big screen during the quarterly gala.

When the corporate executives from the headquarters burst into the conference room and fired everyone on the spot, the entire team went numb.

One by one, they tried to throw dirt on me.

But the Chairman just looked at me and smiled: "Had enough fun? Now, it's time to come home and inherit the family empire."

"Did you hear? Chloe from marketing just got a brand-new Maserati."

"Seriously? Her sugar daddy must be filthy rich to spend that kind of cash."

"Well, how else do you think she got transferred here and landed the top sales spot every single month?"

"Ugh, girls these days. They’ll do absolutely anything to climb the corporate ladder."

Listening to the whispers drifting out of the breakroom, my hand holding the coffee cup didn't even flinch.

Three months ago, I joined this branch and was assigned to Marcus Vance’s team.

"Chloe, you're young, and you still have a lot to learn," he had told me.

"Why don't you stay late tonight? I can give you some... private mentoring."

He patted his beer belly, his greasy smile loaded with obvious sexual innuendo.

I curled my lips into a cold smile.

"Sorry, Marcus. I don't need that kind of mentoring."

From that day on, my "nightmare" began.

By the next morning, rumors were already flying around the office.

They said I was the mistress of some high-level executive at the headquarters, forced into this office.

They said that besides my face, I was completely useless.

During the weekly meeting, Marcus targeted me directly in front of everyone.

"Some people shouldn't think they can reach the sky just by taking shortcuts."

"The marketing department doesn't keep pretty trophies. Performance is all that matters here."

"Young people need to keep their feet on the ground."

Some colleagues looked sympathetic, some sneered, but most of them were just eating popcorn, waiting for the drama.

I just sat there, expressionless, opening my laptop.

Then, word by word, I wrote down every single thing he said.

Because I was too lazy to waste my breath on people like him.

He wanted results? Fine. I’d give him results.

In the first quarter, the team I led brought in 30% of the entire department's revenue.

During the review meeting, Marcus’s face looked a bit stiff.

"Good luck. Keep it up," he muttered.

In the second quarter, I locked down a major client that everyone else thought was impossible to get.

Our team’s sales made up 40% of the department's total.

The congratulatory email from headquarters went out to the entire company.

Marcus’s face turned visibly green.

In the third quarter, I signed the biggest client of the fiscal year.

My team single-handedly brought in 60% of the entire department's sales.

At the celebration dinner, the big boss himself came over to toast me, patting my shoulder and praising my talent.

Marcus stood in the corner, his face looking worse than a rotting vegetable.

I thought he would finally back off.

But I was wrong.

When losers get desperate, they only resort to dirtier tricks.

Overnight, a new wave of rumors spread like wildfire.

This time, the ringleader was his number-one lapdog, Tiffany Fletcher.

"Oh my gosh, you guys have no idea. She has way more than just one sugar daddy," Tiffany said, sitting at her desk, her voice loud enough for the entire office to hear.

"I heard she’s hooking up with several executives from the headquarters."

She covered her mouth, faking a shocked laugh.

"No wonder her sales are so good. It turns out she’s doing some very 'deep' networking."

A few colleagues laughed along.

"And that’s not all! Did you see the new car parked downstairs? And all those designer bags and flowers delivered to her desk every day?"

Tiffany’s voice pitched higher, enjoying the thrill of exposing a scandalous secret.

"Those aren't gifts!"

"That's her escort pay!"

The words "escort pay" exploded in the quiet office.

Instantly, every single eye zoomed in on me.

Even people from neighboring departments slowed their pace when they walked past our desks, throwing dirty, judging looks my way.

The "escort pay" they talked about was actually just pocket money and daily necessities sent by my family chauffeur, Arthur, because he was worried I’d struggle living on my own.

The flowers were ordered by my mother, who thought my office looked too dull.

And the car was my eighteenth birthday present. It had been gathering dust in the garage, and I only started driving it recently because I felt like it.

But in their mouths, it all became the dirty price of my body.

My fingers finally stopped typing on the keyboard.

Perfect.

Really, perfect.

Let's see what else these people can make up!