The Innocent Girl Who Stole His Heart

Chapter 8

Mother! Mother! Neeve burst through the front door of her childhood home, her voice echoing through the grand foyer. The elegant silence of the Sterling mansion was replaced by the familiar, comforting sounds of her own sanctuary. She yelled for her mother, needing to vent.

Ruth, Neeve's mother, who had been busy in the kitchen, heard her daughter's frantic shouts. She quickly wiped her hands on a dish towel and descended the grand staircase, her graceful movements a stark contrast to Neeve's agitated state. "Niamh (Star of the morning), you're back!" Ruth's eyes, usually so calm, narrowed as she took in Neeve's disheveled appearance. "Why are you so angry?"

"Are you even asking me, Mother?!" Neeve foamed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Ruth's gaze swept down Neeve's body, taking in the oversized men's shorts and polo shirt, the athletic sneakers, and the general air of chaos. A small, knowing smile touched her lips. "OMG, it worked!"

Neeve's eyes narrowed. She knew it. All that had happened yesterday, the entire humiliating ordeal, was her mother's doing. "Mother, I should have sensed it yesterday!" she accused, her voice rising. "You knew the limo was out of gas, didn't you? And you insisted I go with it! Secondly, you purposely made me carry an empty purse, so your grand plan could work!"

Ruth's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Niamh, I'm sorry. Tell me, did my plan succeed? You two…" Ruth clasped her hands together, practically vibrating with anticipation. She clearly believed her matchmaking scheme had worked wonders. "You're wrong", Mother! "Your plan worked wrongly!" Neeve scoffed, stomping her foot lightly.

Ruth's brow furrowed. "Then why did you dress like this? Isn't this men's attire?"

Of course, it's men's clothes! But not for James, and by the way, I didn't even meet James yesterday! "He stood me up!" Neeve paused, taking a deep breath. "All your plans for James worked out for another man."

"What?!" Ruth's eyes widened in genuine shock, her jaw dropping. "So you mean you're coming from another man's house, not James's?"

"Now you get it!" Neeve scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her. "If you hadn't tampered with the limousine and given me an empty purse, none of this would have happened!"

"I just wanted you to ride in James's car, that's all," Ruth mumbled, her gaze flickering away, a sheepish expression on her face.

Neeve folded her arms across her chest. "Next time", Mother, don't do such things. "And henceforth, stop hooking me up with men!" Without waiting for a reply, Neeve ascended the stairs angrily, her borrowed sneakers thudding softly on the polished wood.

She walked into her old room, a space she hadn't truly inhabited since she turned sixteen. That was the year she finished high school, and since then, she had been living outside her parents' roof, determined to forge her own path. She still kept some of her clothes there, a practical contingency. She quickly changed into office wear – a smart, tailored skirt and a crisp blouse. She then carefully arranged Adrian's shorts and polo shirt inside the wardrobe, folding them neatly. With a mischievous grin, she tucked the bag of condoms into the same wardrobe drawer, then closed it firmly, a silent promise of future chaos.

She descended the stairs, feeling much more herself. "Mother, my car key?"

"It's in the drawer," Ruth replied, her eyes still fixed on Neeve, a speculative look on her face. "Neeve, who is the guy you spent the night with? Did you two… sleep together?"

"Mother, worry about your husband! Tell him to stop telling people I'm his daughter! "It sucks!" Neeve retorted, sidestepping the question. Her stepfather, Mark, often boasted about her, which always embarrassed her. "And didn't you want grandchildren"? "Shouldn't you be happy I finally screwed with a man?" She threw the words back, a final, defiant jab.

"I'm off, take care!" She reached for the car key on the console table by the door and exited, leaving her mother speechless in the foyer.

As she drove, a random memory surfaced. On Sunday at church, one of the old women asked if she was Mark's daughter. Neeve had asked her where she heard such rubbish, and the woman had told her it was her "G-F-N father"—grand, fabulous, notorious father. Neeve had merely rolled her eyes. The idea of anyone, especially an old woman at church, calling her father "notorious" was typical of his dramatic flair.

She parked her trusty Camry in the company's garage. Even if it was old, she loved it because every cent of its purchase came from her own sweat and hard work. She walked elegantly into the Dolly Group of Companies, her head held high. But as she entered, people who saw her face edged away, stifling laughter. She wondered if she had grown two heads overnight.

"Our Star is here!" Niamh! "Sweet, sweet Niamh!" A tiny voice teased her from behind. She knew it was Molly, her dear friend. She glanced back, and Molly, unable to contain herself, burst into chronic laughter.

Neeve frowned, completely bewildered. "Molly, tell me what's funny! Everyone who saw me did the same! Is there something on my face?"

Molly finally caught her breath, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Neeve, you're full of surprises! "How could you glue on your face multicolor artificial lashes?!"

It was then, and only then, that Neeve finally realized the cause of everyone's laughter. Mortified, she rushed inside the washroom, quickly tearing off the garish, rainbow-colored artificial lashes. That damn strip club last night… she groaned inwardly. She hadn't even remembered putting them on.

She returned to her desk, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment. "Did you go on a date yesterday?" Molly asked, still chuckling. Of course, Molly! "My mother won't just spare me!" Neeve threw her hand up in the air, frustrated. "It was a disaster!"

"Oh, that reminds me," Molly said, dragging her chair closer to Neeve's, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "I heard the chief designer say one of us will be transferred to the 200th floor."

"Huh?" Neeve gasped, her eyes wide. "I bet that person is doomed!" "Did he or she offend the chief designer?" The 200th floor was whispered about in hushed tones throughout the company, a place of intense pressure and notorious difficulty.

"How do I know?" Molly scoffed. "But maybe… I just pray it's Jennifer!"

"You can't seem to let Jenny off the hook," Neeve sighed, shaking her head. Jennifer was their office rival, a constant source of drama.

"I can't!" "That boyfriend snatcher!" Molly hissed, her eyes flashing. "I met Isaiah first, but she seduced him and made him hers!"

"Maybe Isaiah isn't interested in you, because if he truly was, he wouldn't have fallen for Jenny's honey pot," Neeve said, repeating a common, crude saying, trying to offer some blunt comfort.

"I guess so," Molly pouted, a sad expression on her face. The two continued their whispered conversation before the chief designer, a stern-faced woman named Ms. Evelyn came to interrupt them.

"You two are always gossiping!" Ms. Evelyn exclaimed, her voice sharp. "Neeve, come with me."

Everyone on the 13th floor looked at Neeve with a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity as she walked after the chief, her heart sinking.

Ms. Evelyn led Neeve into her office. "Miss Neeve, your hard work is noticed by everyone on the 13th floor," she began, her tone formal. "However, there was an order from above, to transfer you to the 200th floor."

Neeve didn't know whether to cry or laugh. Her stomach dropped. It was rumored that the 200th floor was full of "witches and wizards", not literally, but because they were all overworked, high-performing individuals who seemed to possess unnatural endurance, working extra hours beyond any other staff on other floors. The 200th floor was where the "Big Boss," the CEO's office, was located. It was said that he was ruthless, merciless, arrogant, narcissistic, and many other bad names. Anyone who worked on the 200th floor was bound to work to his or her bone in order to please the CEO, so they wouldn't get fired. The only consolation, the only enjoyment of working on the 200th floor, was their salaries; they were multiplied tenfold compared to other staff members' salaries.

Tears slipped down her cheeks before she even realized she was crying. "Chief designer, please don't transfer me to the 200th floor!" she sobbed, her voice thick with despair. "I know I gossip and neglect my work! I promise to change! Please!"

Ms. Evelyn offered a small, sympathetic smile. "Miss Neeve", the letter in your hand is a promotional letter. "You should be happy. "Your salary will rise; it will be tenfold of mine! "I will see you as an inferior. "Do you know how I wish I was the one being promoted?" She chuckled, in a wry sound. "All you need to do is work hard, that's all."

Neeve sniffed, unable to comprehend this strange twist of fate. Why me, of all people? She dragged her feet, heading back to her desk, the promotional letter feeling like a death sentence.

Seeing her coming out, everyone gathered around her, eager to be updated by what was going on. Neeve dropped the letter on the table. Before anyone else could grab it, Jennifer, with her usual audacity, snatched it.

She read it out loud, her voice dripping with mock sympathy that barely masked her glee: "Dear Miss Neeve Sphetti, congratulations! You've been promoted to the 200th floor!"

"Huh?" Everyone gasped, a collective sound of shock and pity.

"Neeve, you're done for!" Molly pouted tearfully, genuinely distraught for her friend.

Jennifer, on the other hand, laughed evilly. "Now Neeve is gone! Molly, you'll have to succumb to my reign! "Ha ha!" Jennifer laughed hysterically, already savoring her victory.

Neeve packed her belongings, a somber ritual. She hugged Molly tightly, and they bade each other sweet goodbyes, a silent promise to stay connected.

Neeve had known Molly since high school, and they'd become fast friends, along with Tamina. Tamina was the richest among them, followed by Neeve's family, then Molly, who ranked third. Despite their different backgrounds, the three of them treated each other equally, their bond forged in shared dreams and youthful antics. They had proposed in their minds to be best friends until they grew old and died.

When they finished high school, Tamina had traveled abroad to study design, nurturing her ambition to become a global design force. The three of them were great designers, but among them, Neeve was secretly the best. Neeve and Molly stayed back in Los Angeles, pursuing their careers locally.

It had been eight years since Tamina left, and she had proposed in her heart to be the nationwide best designer. Tamina had been doing greatly in Canada, her success a constant source of pride for her friends. Molly and Neeve were well aware of her accomplishments, and each time Tamina won a medal or launched a new collection, they would all celebrate doing video calls until they were tired, their virtual connection bridging the miles.

Neeve and Molly were the top designers in the Dolly Group of Companies, their talent undeniable. They had loads of work and were often too busy to travel over to Canada to visit Tamina. That's why video calls were what kept the three connected, their bond as strong as ever.

Neeve stared at the delicate bracelet on her hand. The three of them each had one, a subtle sign of their enduring friendship, a reminder of their shared dreams.

"I can't surrender to fate," she murmured to herself, a renewed spark of defiance in her eyes. "I will go beg Mr. CEO to revoke his order."

But could she succeed? People said Mr. CEO was ruthless and merciless. Would he pity her and send her back to the 13th floor, back to the relative safety of mediocrity?

"I will have to try my luck."

She stood at the front of the elevator, staring at the sleek, metallic doors before she stepped in. The elevator hummed, lifting her swiftly, silently, towards the dreaded 200th floor. "I can do it!" she assured herself, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart.

She alighted from the elevator, her eyes widening. "Wow! "The 200th floor is magnificent!" The space was indeed breathtaking, a symphony of modern design, beautiful and filled with cutting-edge techniques. The air was crisp, the lighting perfect, a stark contrast to the bustling, slightly chaotic atmosphere of the 13th floor.

As she stepped out, all eyes were drawn to her. The designers and executives scattered across the open-plan office almost bored holes into her body with their curious, assessing gazes, their "hoe eyeballs," as she mentally labeled them.

"Haven't you guys seen a damsel before?" she muttered under her breath, a flash of her usual sass returning.

"I haven't," a deep, familiar voice responded from directly behind her.

Neeve's blood ran cold. She glanced back, her heart sinking into her stomach as she recognized the source of the voice. "You!" she pouted, her carefully constructed defiance crumbling.