$50 for My Villa? I Made Her Regret

Chapter 4

Butler: Ms. Linden, the gentleman renting the villa seems rather difficult, and he has brought more than a dozen professional bodyguards with him. Should I still let them in?

I typed back.

Jenna: Let them in.

Our group soon arrived at the security gate of Baycrest Manor, only to be stopped by the guard.

Cyrus walked up at once, flashing the guard an easy smile as he tried to act familiar. "Come on, buddy. Help me out here. I'm a friend of the villa's owner."

The guard remained expressionless. He asked Cyrus for either an owner access card or an electronic pass. Cyrus immediately started stammering.

Sylvie's expression changed in an instant. She strode over, snatched the bottle of water from my hand, and smashed it onto the ground.

"Jenna! This is all your fault. You bought this cheap off-brand water, and now the guard thinks we're a joke. Pick up that bottle and throw it away right now. Then apologize to him."

The coworkers piled out of the vehicles and gathered around me. One after another, they pointed at me and demanded that I apologize.

In the chaos, Cyrus pulled the lead guard aside, slipped a few hundred-dollar bills into the man's pocket, and pretended to call someone important, though no one ever picked up.

The guard glanced my way. I gave him the faintest nod. Only then did he wave the group through.

Cyrus's face lit up at once. He waved everyone forward. "All right, everyone. Follow me."

The group left the cars behind and hurried excitedly onto the villa grounds.

The moment the heavy bronze gates and the sweeping infinity pool came into view, my coworkers gasped as if they had never seen real luxury before.

"Sylvie, you're so lucky. I could never even dream of a place this beautiful."

Heath's face flushed with excitement. He made the promise on the spot.

"Sylvie, once we're back at the office, I'll fast-track your promotion to deputy supervisor. That seat Jenna is sitting in should have been yours from the start."

Sylvie's face lit up with pride. She walked up to the gate, but instead of using the keypad, she pulled a rusty, broken key from her designer bag.

She tossed it down at my feet, and the rusty key clattered against the flagstones.

Sylvie crossed her arms and looked down at me, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips.

"Jenna, all you have to do is get on your knees, pick up this key for me, and say three times, 'Sylvie, I was wrong.' Then I'll let you into my villa and maybe even let you serve me. Sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?"

A dozen coworkers had already raised their phones, cameras pointed straight at my face.

I ignored the key on the ground and smiled coldly at Sylvie. "Are you sure this villa is yours? If you have the nerve, open the door."

"Still playing tough? Fine. Watch this." Sylvie sashayed up to the keypad and confidently punched in the six-digit code.

Beep. Beep. Beep. The alarm blared to life. The gates suddenly swung open from the inside.

Two muscular men, each nearly six foot four with full tattoo sleeves, stormed out looking furious.

"Who the hell disturbed Mr. Blackwell's vacation?"