Chapter 3

Jade Monroe's POV

I looked out through the blinds.

The girl wasn't wearing an employee badge, but she was carrying a limited edition Hermès bag.

The same one Xavier had claimed he'd accidentally lost at the airport last week.

Not only was she replacing me as a person, she was inheriting my accessories too.

"Let her in."

I put down the phone.

Amber pushed the door open.

Nineteen years old, young, with tight skin, wearing a business suit obviously imitating my style, but with cheap tailoring and exposed thread ends. Her eyes were full of eager ambition.

She walked up to my desk and handed over a crumpled receipt.

"Ms. Monroe, Mr. Gibson accidentally spilled red wine on my dress in the car last night. He said it counts as business entertainment and told me to ask you to reimburse the dry cleaning fee."

I glanced at the receipt amount: $180.

Then I glanced at the dress she was wearing.

A bestseller from online shopping sites, not even worth dry cleaning.

I didn't take the receipt. Instead, I pulled out my phone, opened my payment QR code, and transferred $200.

"Keep the change."

I didn't look up, continuing to review the design drawings in my hand.

"Use the rest to buy some mouthwash. A dirty mouth makes it hard to pass your probationary period."

Amber froze, clearly not expecting this reaction.

She grabbed the receipt from the desk, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it hard at me.

"Who do you think you are! Mr. Gibson said you're just an aging woman who can only draw pictures! He said just looking at you makes him sick!"

I raised my hand and slapped her across the face.

Amber covered her face, staring at me in shock.

"Let me teach you something as your senior."

I pulled out a wet wipe and meticulously cleaned the hand I'd just used to slap her.

"Challenging your supervisor before you've even been confirmed is a major workplace taboo."

Amber's eyes instantly reddened. She pulled out her phone, took a photo of me, and sent a voice message with a sobbing tone.

"Xavier, that old woman hit me... She's so mean, I'm scared."

After sending the voice message, she glared at me viciously, covered her face, and ran out.

"Mr. Gibson says you're just a maid."

That sentence echoed in the office. I threw the used wet wipe into the trash.

Seven years ago when Xavier had a high fever, I stayed by his bedside all night changing cold towels. Back then he'd said:

"You're my angel."

Now angels had inflated and depreciated into maids.

Only youth remained the sole hard currency.

I watched as that wet wipe slowly soaked into the ink at the bottom of the trash can.

That slap was just the interest payment.