The tyrannical boss had been plotting for a long time.

Transaction

Back at the rental apartment, Lila sat alone on the balcony, hugging her knees, her fingertips numb with cold. That night three years ago, like a stone pressing on her heart, resurfaced quietly in that moment, suffocating her.

She would never forget that night when she fled from the upscale bar, ran back to the apartment in the rain, only to find a car waiting for her at the door. It was Ethan’s private driver. He didn’t give her a choice. He simply handed her a contract. A three-year term, thirty thousand dollars a year, she must provide “exclusive” services to him. No seeing other men, no staying out late, no emotional attachments, no revealing any details of their relationship to others.

That night, she sat in the backseat of the Bentley, clutching the paper in her hand, the pen burning her palm. “Why me?” she asked, almost in tears. Ethan sat across from her, his expression calm as ever: “Because you’re clean.” “But I was a bar hostess.” He stared at her: “But you have your principles.”

She laughed. Laughed until tears fell. That night, she moved into the villa he had arranged for her. A two-story cottage with a garden and a temperature-controlled pool, it was as beautiful as a fairy tale but as cold as a prison. She was assigned a fixed schedule: classes during the day, returning home at night to wait for him.

Every night after ten o'clock, his car would pull up at the door on time. The man entered the living room, reeking of alcohol and power, untied his tie, threw his suit jacket on the sofa, said nothing, and simply picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Over the next three years, she was not his girlfriend, not his mistress, and certainly not his partner.

She was merely the “exclusive property” he had purchased for thirty thousand dollars. He never said, “I miss you,” nor did he ask, “How are you?” The most he ever said was, “Go take a shower; I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

At first, she thought he despised her, until one night when she had a fever of 39 degrees, shivering on the sofa. He came home, saw she hadn’t turned on the light, rushed in, and picked her up from the sofa: “Why didn’t you tell me?” She cried like a child: “I didn't know if you'd care.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, his voice low and hoarse: “You're mine; of course I'll care.” In that moment, she realized her identity... could never escape that word. Maintained.

She had no choice and dared not hope for anything. She grew accustomed to living each day in routine, accustomed to hiding all her sharp edges in his presence. Even at school, she had never revealed where she stayed at night or with whom. Her classmates only knew she lived in luxury, wearing and using expensive things, but no one knew it was the price paid for her suffering.

Every year on contract renewal day, he would make her sign again, going through the process once more. She asked, “Aren't you afraid I'll cheat on you?” He lit a cigarette: “You won't.” She remained silent for a long time: “What if I fall in love?” He exhaled a puff of smoke, his voice as cold as ice: “Try it.”

She knew he wasn't joking. He could cut off her scholarship, revoke her household registration, or even make her disappear from Jiangcheng University overnight. She had witnessed him effortlessly bring down a vice mayor at a banquet.

She wasn't that foolish. She had simply grown accustomed to silence. Those three years, every night she waited for him to return felt like a gamble. Gambling on whether he'd be in a good mood tonight, gambling on whether he'd get drunk, gambling on whether he'd bring his emotions home with him. Sometimes when he was drunk, he'd sit on the sofa in silence for a while, then suddenly grab her chin: “Lila, do you know you look a lot like a girl I liked in high school?” She paused for a moment, but before she could respond, he suddenly smiled: “But she’s dead.”

She felt a chill run down her spine. He was like a cold wall she couldn’t break through. Yet, despite being such a high-and-mighty man, he sometimes lowered his head. Once, she injured her hand and was applying a band-aid in the bathroom when he walked in, took her hand, and frowned: “Go to the hospital.” She said, “It's okay, it's just a small injury.” He immediately booked her an emergency appointment and had his personal doctor visit her every other day.

On her birthday, he gave her her favorite vintage piano, along with a card with only five words: “Three years left, two years remaining.” She stared at the card and suddenly felt a sense of suffocation. She began to fear that time was passing too quickly, and she also feared... that one day, the three years would be up.

That night, she initiated a kiss and embraced him, as if trying to cling to something. But he pushed her away, his Adam's apple moving, his voice low and restrained: “Don't do this.” “Why?” she nearly cried, “You're the buyer, I'm the product. Aren't you supposed to call me whenever you want?” The look in his eyes at that moment was so complex it startled her. He only said one sentence: “Because I don't want you to hate me.” She couldn't sleep all night.

In the final year of the contract, she became increasingly silent and distant. Ethan noticed, but said nothing. He simply returned more frequently, even if it meant sleeping for only two hours or flying back at 3 a.m. to her villa. Sometimes, while he slept, she would gaze at his features, imagining what it would be like if they were an ordinary couple.

But the fantasy quickly shattered. She wasn't his girlfriend. She was just the “exclusive service provider.” And he was the most unattainable man in the city, the regional general manager of Saudi Aramco, a name revered by everyone in the business world. Her existence was never meant to be exposed.

It was late at night. Lila sat on the edge of the bed, her hair damp. A droplet of water slid down the tip of her hair and fell onto her wrist, and she shivered. Her mind was filled with memories from three years earlier. The pages of the past she thought she had turned over were ruthlessly torn apart tonight by Ethan's appearance.

He was still the same aloof man–calm, refined, and in control of everything. She was still the same woman who could only remain silent and submissive. Even though they had nothing to do with each other anymore, the moment he appeared, she felt like she was pulled back to square one. She was tired of this feeling of powerlessness.

Her phone screen suddenly lit up —it was John calling. She hesitated for a moment before responding. “Hello.” “What are you doing?” John’s voice was as gentle and soft as ever, like an afternoon sunbeam. "I’m downstairs. I want to see you." Lila paused for a second, pressed her fingers to her temples, and whispered, “I am a bit tired today. I had just finished showering, so it was not convenient for me to come down.”"I can come up." No need. Her tone was firm but not harsh. "I'm exhausted and want to rest early."

The other person fell silent for a moment, then his tone suddenly changed, hesitating as he said, “Lila, let's get engaged.” She paused, her fingertips tightening. “I have to go on a business trip next week. The project assignment has already been approved by the university. This task might take at least half a year, and I don't want to leave any regrets before I go.”

He paused, “You know I'm not the type to say sweet words, but I'm really serious about the future.” “I do not want anyone to influence you, and I do not want you to hesitate anymore. I want to give you a status, a formal, recognized status.”

His words were gentle, yet they felt like warm, heavy shackles binding her breath. Lila closed her eyes and remained silent for a long time before speaking softly, “John, I know you care about me, and I know you're someone I can trust.” “But we... really don't need to rush this.”