Chapter 1

I was talking to my online girlfriend. During a boring meeting, feeling drowsy, I sent her a flirty text to perk myself up:

"Man, I can't even sleep well now. How am I ever gonna sleep *with* you?"

The next second, that very message was projected onto the PPT screen in front of everyone.

The worst part? The contact name at the top of the chat box read, 'My Hubby.'

The whole room exploded.

And the cool, reserved beauty pushed up her glasses, a slight smirk playing on her lips.

"Sorry about that," she said, her voice smooth. "My husband can be a little mischievous."

Lately, my boss has been in a foul mood.

Everyone sensed it, working diligently, barely even slacking off.

She was working crazy overtime, and no one dared to leave before her. So we all stayed until eleven or midnight, leaving me with dark circles and even worse skin.

Honestly, I think I was the only one in the entire company who knew why she was so agitated, but I couldn't say anything.

Because she'd just gone through a breakup.

Unfortunately, that "ex" was me.

She just didn't know it yet.

It all started when my online girlfriend of two years wanted to meet up in person.

We met on some online forum. She posted a desperate plea, titled 'Why Can't I Find a Date?'

I clicked it open. The post read: "I'm a 25-year-old female, 5'9", 99 lbs, with a Master's from a top-tier university in Management and Engineering. Currently a VP at a listed company, earning at least a million a year. I own a car and a house. I'm drop-dead gorgeous, but I've never dated anyone. What's wrong with me?"

The comment section was brutal, filled with sarcastic jabs.

"Definitely a bait post. Confirmed."

"Is the OP living in a dream? A Master's from a top-tier university, only 25, and a VP at a listed company? Please, before you brag, at least make it sound plausible."

"It's common knowledge that someone so young becoming a VP usually means it's a family business. And unfortunately, those trust fund kids usually go to college overseas."

With nothing better to do, I commented, "Maybe it's your looks? Post a picture."

Then I closed the post.

Not long after, the OP messaged me privately.

"Hello, can I send you a private message?"

Me: "?"

I was curious, but I'm all for a good laugh, and drama's my jam.

"Sure."

Then she sent me a picture.

I spat my coffee all over my desk.

Seriously? 5'9"? I'd believe 5'0".

It was a mirror selfie, a third of her face covered, and the angle made her head look huge and her body tiny. She wore thick-rimmed black glasses that made her look dowdy and unattractive.

But I had to admit, her face itself was flawless. Even with most of it obscured, those lips, that nose, those eyes—they screamed one thing:

"I'm a beauty."

And yet, she looked strangely familiar.

My mind was roaring, *Is there really a woman in this world who doesn't know how beautiful she is?* At the same time, driven by my helpful nature, after zooming in and out like four times, I went all out, "Your styling and photo angles are all wrong! Ditch those glasses, get some frameless ones, or better yet, contacts! Never take pictures from that angle! Tilt your phone slightly, charger port facing you, and swap that dress for a slightly shorter black one..."

She replied with a "Thank you very much."

After that outpouring, I didn't pay much attention, but the next day, she sent me her "homework" based on my advice. I coached her, and she did the same on the third day, then the fourth, then the fifth.

Just as I was getting impatient, she proactively asked to add me on SnapChat and even offered to pay me for my help.

Thinking, 'Only a fool turns down easy money,' I gave her my private handle. Then, a familiar profile picture popped up, adding me as a friend.

My junior boss?

My hands trembled, and I accidentally hit 'Accept,' my blood ran cold. I quickly changed my settings to 'limited chat.'

My brain raced, trying to figure out if I'd accidentally put my private handle anywhere in the company system. She was typing for ages, then sent, "Thank you so much for all your guidance and help these past few days. Here's a small token of my appreciation."

Then came a transfer of fifty thousand dollars, with the note "Voluntary gift."

I froze.

I took a screenshot, compared it to the SnapChat account, and confirmed it. It was indeed the beautiful woman from online, and it was indeed my junior boss from the company.

My mind screamed 'Whoa' for ages, but I shamelessly accepted the money.

Anyway, this was my private handle; she had no idea it was me.

In the days that followed, I continued to help her improve, and she made rapid progress. Soon, she was fully able to showcase her beauty.

However, just as I was ready to bow out gracefully, she confessed her feelings to me.

I skipped over the emotional novel she wrote—I hadn't written one of those since high school—and just flipped to the end: "Actually, there's something I've wanted to say for a long time. I like you."

Me: "..."

My silence was deafening.

Me: "Thank you so much!"

Her: "Huh???"

Then: "I really like you!"

"I *really* appreciate it!"

"No, I'm serious."

I replied: "I *really* appreciate it!"

My teeth clenched. Was this girl okay?

She seemed stunned for a moment, then said, "Regardless, can you give me a chance to pursue you?"

I didn't reply.

That night, I had trouble sleeping for once.

The next day, she started sending me messages every morning, noon, and night, along with "I'm going to work," "I'm leaving," "I've arrived," "I'm starting work," and so on.

Yep, that's how this girl tried to pursue people.

I'd occasionally throw her a bone, and she'd be over the moon.

Things took a turn a month later.

I was scrolling through beautiful women, having a blast, and casually shared a picture with my best friend. But my finger slipped, and I sent it to *her*.

Me: "Phew, she's gorgeous, I'm obsessed."

Me: "Video."

Her: "?"