Chapter 1

"Fifty bucks to rent out a ten-million-dollar luxury hot spring retreat?

With prime A5 Wagyu and black truffles included? And if I refuse, it means I 'lack team spirit'?"

Staring at my supervisor's tag on WhatsApp, I let out a dry, bitter laugh.

My manager, Stacy, wanted to suck up to our newly hired director, Julian. So she took it upon herself to volunteer "my family's" luxury spa estate for a thirty-person team retreat.

The problem was, my parents just ran a rundown, budget motel down the road.

That ultra-luxurious private estate belonged to Scott Sterling, a ruthless, ultra-wealthy tycoon who owned half the city's logistics and real estate.

I said no immediately. In return, the entire office labeled me selfish, petty, and ungrateful.

They even started a sign-up sheet, bringing spouses, kids, and pets. Over forty people piled into a chartered bus and stormed right up to the private gates.

Fine. If they had a death wish, I was more than happy to let them dig their own graves.

"Fifty bucks to rent out a ten-million-dollar luxury hot spring retreat?

With prime A5 Wagyu and black truffles included? And if I refuse, it means I 'lack team spirit'?"

Staring at my supervisor's tag on WhatsApp, I let out a dry, bitter laugh.

The glare from my phone screen made my eyes ache.

Stacy's message sat pinned at the top.

Underneath, a flood of "+1"s rolled in, followed by comments praising me: "Chloe is the best!" and "Chloe, you're a lifesaver!"

I took a deep breath. Did they seriously take me for a fool?

Stacy was the kind of person who wouldn't even buy you a cup of coffee. But now, eager to flatter Julian, the newly imported director, she had thrown me right under the bus.

During last week's staff meeting, Julian had casually mentioned, "That private estate up on Pine Ridge looks incredible."

Stacy jumped on it right then and there. "Chloe's family is from up there! She'll set it up."

I told her on the spot that the estate wasn't mine.

She had nodded with a sweet, patronizing smile, only to pull this stunt in the group chat.

"Stacy, I'm saying this for the very last time," I typed, my fingers trembling with frustration.

"My parents own the Pine Rest Motel at the foot of Pine Ridge. It's twenty-five bucks a night, and hot water shuts off after 9 PM.

The estate is called Cloud Crest Manor. It belongs to Scott Sterling, and my family has absolutely nothing to do with it."

The chat went dead silent for three whole seconds.

Then it exploded.

"Come on, Chloe, don't be such a buzzkill. Everyone was looking forward to it."

"Seriously. Stacy already said yes for you, and now you're backing out?"

"You just don't want to spend money on us. Why make up excuses?"

Stacy replied instantly:

"Chloe, that's not how you behave in a company. We treat you well here. Last month when you took three days off, I didn't even dock your attendance bonus."

I glared at the screen, my temples pounding.

Last month, I had a 102-degree fever, and she forced me to revise pitch decks remotely until two in the morning.

Didn't dock my bonus?

That was because my contract didn't even include an attendance bonus!

Linda from HR stepped in to play peacemaker: "Chloe, how about this? Everyone chips in twenty bucks, and you just cover whatever's left over."

"Linda, it's not about the money." I gripped my phone tightly. "The place isn't..."

Julian suddenly dropped a voice note into the chat.

I tapped it. His voice was smooth and gentle:

"Chloe, I proposed this retreat to bring the team closer together.

If there's any difficulty, feel free to talk to me privately."

The chat went wild immediately: "The director is so sweet," "Chloe, say something," "Don't let Julian down."

Listening to Julian's calm voice, I sneered inwardly.

He'd been at the company for three months. He hadn't landed a single major client, but his ego was massive.

Stacy ran circles around him like an obedient puppy, ready to serve up the entire department just to win his favor.

And today, I was the sacrifice.

"Julian," I pressed the mic button, keeping my voice as steady as possible.

"Cloud Crest Manor is a private residence owned by Scott Sterling. He controls local shipping and commercial developments.

My parents' motel is down a back alley, three hundred yards away.

How about this? I'll host a backyard barbecue at my family's motel this weekend. It's small, but we have enough lawn chairs."

Once the voice message went through, silence followed.

Then Toby from Product dropped a message:

"Wait, barbecue at a roadside motel? Are we going on a retreat or surviving a boot camp?"

Leo from Design chimed in:

"Chloe, your family lives right there. There's no way you don't know the staff at the manor. Just ask for a small favor."

"Yeah, just say you're a relative of the owner. We'll just take some photos and leave."

"Even if we can't use the hot springs, hanging out in the private garden would be amazing."

I read their texts, my thumbs hovering in the air.

Did they have any idea how much it cost to rent that estate for one night? Fifteen grand minimum, not including catering. Did they know who Scott Sterling was?

He built a freight empire from scratch. Both the police and local syndicates gave him wide berth. Last year, an influencer sneaked onto his property to film TikToks; his security guards tossed her out and smashed her phone to pieces.

Stacy knew this. Just last week, she claimed, "Only someone with Julian's class deserves a place like that."

And now she wanted me—the daughter of a budget motel owner—to march up to Scott Sterling and ask him for private access, Wagyu beef, and black truffles for fifty bucks?

"Chloe, it's settled," Stacy announced in a final notice. "Julian rarely joins us for team events.”

“ Don't ruin the mood. Send me the booking confirmation before five on Friday. Oh, and the director prefers A5 Wagyu and fresh black truffles. Make sure it's arranged."