Chapter 2

I sniffled hard, suppressing the bitterness rising in my throat.

"What are you doing right now?"

Johnson's voice carried its usual weariness and dependence,

"Just finished entertaining clients. My stomach's killing me from all the drinking."

"I wish you were here."

In the past, hearing these words would have broken my heart. I'd immediately say "I'm here for you."

Then he'd naturally push even more difficult work onto me.

This time I didn't respond.

After a few seconds of silence on the phone, he spoke up,

"By the way Laura, you probably still can't leave tomorrow."

"Bob from KING Group is bringing his wife and kids here for vacation in a few days. I need you to host them the entire time."

The train ticket home that was supposed to be before New Year's—I'd changed and refunded it, refunded and changed it again.

I'd long since lost count of how many times my trip home had been postponed.

I only remembered my grandmother asking cautiously over the phone multiple times,

"Laura, can you come home this year? Grandma made your favorite cured meat."

My voice trembled uncontrollably as I asked him,

"Why is it always me? I haven't had a single day off all year. I haven't been home in so long."

"And Grandma's sick. You know I need to go back and see her."

Johnson's tone instantly cooled, and he started with the same old speech,

"The company belongs to both of us. I'm out here busting my ass attracting investors, so of course you need to help me hold down the fort."

"Whether this partnership works out depends entirely on this reception. I can only trust you with it."

Seeing I didn't respond, he softened his tone to coax me,

"Be good. Once we close this deal, I'll go back with you."

"Doesn't your grandma want most to see you settled down? Once we're stable, we'll go back together in style, okay?"

Before I could say anything more, the call was already disconnected.

This wasn't the first time he'd made such a promise.

In the third year of our underground relationship, after he learned I only had a grandmother to depend on,

"Going home with you to see Grandma" became the perpetual carrot he dangled in front of me that never materialized.

Two years ago in summer, when he asked me to deliver a contract to the west side of the city in the rain while running a high fever, he said,

"Deliver this and we'll close the contract. Close it, and I'll go home with you to see Grandma."

In the fourth year, when he wanted me to give up my annual leave, he said,

"Work overtime this New Year's Eve, and once we get through this busy period, I promise I'll go back with you."

Right up until now, he was still saying,

"Once we work hard and buy a house, once we're stable, we'll go back to see Grandma and bring her to live with us."

But in reality, he already had a house.

A riverside mansion, brightly lit.

The woman of the house inside wasn't me.

My phone suddenly vibrated. A message from Johnson popped up on the screen.

[Don't be upset. Take this money and get yourself something good to eat. I'll make it up to you properly when I get back.]

[The company accounts are tight this year. I've wronged you, but next year I'll definitely make it up to you with more.]

Then a transfer notification appeared.

I didn't open it, but I knew the maximum amount would be no more than two hundred dollars.

At the same time, that woman posted a new update:

[Hubby transferred the entire year's net profit from his company to my card, not a penny less~]

The accompanying image was a screenshot of her bank card balance.

Behind the number were eight neat zeros.

A netizen who, like me, had found their way from the "managing employees" post to the woman's profile asked,

[Your husband made this much this year—how much does he give that female employee to make her work so hard?]

She replied mockingly,

[Two hundred, and that's only because I couldn't stand watching and told him to send it to that cheap, stupid woman working overtime.]