Keep working overtime without a break
708 Words
Lucan grew increasingly drowsy as he recorded the script.
By the end, his mind was cluttered with words like domineering, obsessive, and possessive. He couldn’t help but wonder—Do these arrogant CEOs in the scripts ever actually work? How do they make money just torturing each other all day?
Damn it!
They’re all secretly raking in cash without telling me!
How infuriating!
Meanwhile, Amelia grew more exhilarated with every line. Her trembling, breathy voice buzzed through the phone, tinged with barely restrained excitement. Lucan grimaced.
If this script could cure insomnia, I’d eat my microphone. All it does is pump your adrenaline!
Whatever. The client paid. Just do the job.
Next came a repairman’s script—a solo act, really. Amelia had no energy left to roleplay. As a professional "simp," Lucan knew the drill: even without the client’s participation, the show must go on.
By 1:30 a.m., Amelia’s voice still crackled with manic energy. Then—
“Mmph!” A soft, breathless sound escaped her. Silence followed.
Lucan exhaled in relief. With other clients, he masked his expressions. With Amelia, he masked his voice. He couldn’t see her face or gauge her reactions, relying only on subtle vocal shifts. Exhausting.
“You did well today,” Amelia purred, her tone languid and satisfied. Her words slurred slightly. “I’ll finally sleep… The money’s in your account…”
They’d maintained this employer-employee dynamic for two years. Amelia paid promptly and rarely made demands beyond her… quirks. She wasn’t a bad person.
After a pause, Lucan ventured, “Amelia… maybe see a doctor?”
People like Olivia—eccentric perfectionists—still ate and slept normally. But Amelia? Chronic insomnia could kill her.
“You think I’m sick?” Her voice turned glacial.
Lucan hesitated. “Sorry. Sleep well. See you tomorrow.”
“Don’t you dare hang up!” Amelia hissed, her laughter sharp as ice. “Who do you think you are? Just because we’ve known each other a while, you think you can boss me around? Know your place!”
“Apologies,” Lucan said flatly. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The line died with a harsh click. Lucan stared at his phone, amused. Sympathy for clients is self-sabotage.
He checked the time—30 minutes left of their three-hour session. Rich people really just burn cash, huh?
Still, he refused to shortchange her. He found a yandere-style script online and recorded a monologue in his dim living room. After sending the audio to Amelia, he collapsed onto Olivia’s sofa.
No bedroom for him here. His face “didn’t deserve one.” At least the couch beats park benches, he thought bitterly.
York University · Faculty Apartments
Lights blazed as a pink-haired girl flung off her blankets. Tears streamed down Amelia’s face, soaking her sheets.
“Bastard! Bastard!” she choked, fists trembling. “You’ve always thought I’m disgusting, haven’t you?!”
Insomnia had hollowed her out. Pills, herbs, folk remedies—nothing worked. Until she’d stumbled onto Lucan’s voice online. It had electrified her, flooding her mind with static. Now, only his voice could lull her into exhausted slumber.
She’d limited their sessions to twice a week to avoid seeming “pathetic.” Yet he still saw her as a freak.
A notification chimed. Amelia’s breath hitched—Lucan?
No. A student council message:
[Vice President]: President, the administration wants the admissions campaign draft ASAP.
Amelia wiped her tears and typed sweetly:
[Got it. Prepare a preliminary plan tomorrow. Sleep early! :)]
The vice president swooned. Our angelic, kind-hearted president!
“Ungrateful jerk…” Amelia tossed her phone aside, fuming. But another ping froze her.
It was Lucan. Attached: an audio file.
She pressed play.
“Where do you think you’re running, darling?” Lucan’s voice dripped with dark obsession. “So disobedient… Should I build a cage to keep you mine…?”
Amelia’s cheeks flushed. Had he recorded this for her?
Maybe she’d misjudged him.
…Not that she’d admit it. Glancing at the object she’d hurled across the room, she bit her lip. I shouldn’t throw things when angry.
But for the first time in weeks, sleep tugged gently at her eyelids.
- Writer
