MR. GRUMPY [THAT COLD-HEARTED CEO]

CHAPTER 1

Being born poor isn’t exactly a privilege. If anything, it’s quite the opposite. I get humiliated, deprived, and, to top it all off, even finding a job feels like trying to win the lottery. You’d think that people like me—those who actually need opportunities—would get them. But no, the world doesn’t work that way. It’s almost as if everything—labor, privilege, even basic respect—belongs only to the wealthy.

But who am I to complain? I’m just another poor girl, another insignificant speck in this world. My name is Maurice Miranda, and I have one sibling—Mico. He’s only five, but life has already been so cruel to him. He hasn’t spoken a word since the accident. You see, our father was the victim of a hit-and-run, and the person who hit him? Oh, I’m absolutely sure they were rich. That’s why they got away with it—no consequences, no justice. And us? We were left to pick up the pieces, powerless.

Sometimes, I fantasize about what I’d do if I ever saw that person. I swear, I’d grab their hair and pull until they were completely bald! I don’t care how rich they are—I’d make them pay in the only way I could.

It was already past seven in the morning when I stepped out of the bathroom, feeling fresh and rejuvenated. If there’s one thing I take pride in, it’s my scent. My personal philosophy? Even if you’re poor, you should always smell good. I may not have money, but at least I smell better than most of these so-called “elite” who walk around reeking of arrogance.

I walked into the dining area, where my little brother was eating breakfast with our mom. As usual, Mico didn’t react when I called his name. It’s always like this. It’s as if he’s locked away in his own world, unable to reach out. The trauma did that to him. My heart ached every time I thought about it, but I refused to let the sadness show. Instead, I ruffled his hair and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Be good for Mommy, okay? Behave while I’m gone,” I told him with a smile, even though I knew he wouldn’t respond. I just hoped—prayed—that one day, he’d come back to us.

Turning to my mom, I said, “I have to go. I don’t want to be scolded by my boss again! Mr. Fabian is so grumpy—I bet his mother craved tigers when she was pregnant with him.”

My mom chuckled. “You and your jokes. At least eat something before you leave. You might get sick.”

I shook my head. “No need, mom. As long as I smell good, I’ll be fine.” I grinned before grabbing my bag and heading out the door.

The moment I stepped outside, I felt the stare. You know the kind—judgmental, condescending, as if someone was measuring your worth and finding you lacking. And who else would it be but our ever-so-lovely landlady, Brigette?

Honestly, if looks could kill, I’d have been dead a hundred times over by now. Just because we’re renting from her, she acts like she owns our souls. She always gives me that look—the one that makes me feel small and insignificant.

Wow, I thought. The audacity of this woman. She might have money, but I highly doubt she smells as good as I do. If anything, she probably smells like hard labor and self-importance.

“Good morning, Brigette!” I greeted, flashing my brightest, fakest smile. If she was going to look down on me, I might as well be sarcastically sweet about it.

She merely sniffed in response, raising her nose like she was allergic to tenants. I fought the urge to laugh and walked away with my head held high.

Here we go again, with this ultimate test of my life, commuting—the ultimate test of patience.

The moment I stepped onto the street, I knew I was in for a battle. People pushed, elbowed, and fought for a spot on the jeepney like their lives depended on it. And me? Well, I was born for this kind of survival.

With the agility of a seasoned warrior, I slipped through the crowd and secured a seat near the window. Success!

But, of course, the universe had other plans.

“Miss, could you pass my fare to the driver?” the man beside me asked.

I turned, and oh no—he had the breath. You know, the kind that smells like he brushed his teeth with garlic and regret? My soul nearly left my body.

Still, I took his fare and passed it to the driver because, well, I’m a decent human being. I just suffer in silence.

A few minutes later, the jeepney made another stop, and a well-dressed woman climbed in. She smelled of luxury—and an overpowering perfume that made my nose itch. She took a seat across from me and immediately pulled out her latest iPhone, typing away like the world revolved around her.

I stared at her. Not out of envy—okay, maybe a little—but mostly out of frustration. People like her had it so easy. No need to fight for seats, no need to endure bad-breath encounters. If she wanted to go somewhere, she could just call a driver and be on her way. Meanwhile, here I was, barely able to afford the fare.

“Stop here, please!” I called out, shaking off my thoughts. I had a long day ahead.

Walking into the office, I mentally prepared myself. My boss, Mr. Fabian, was not someone you wanted to cross. He had the personality of a strict high school principal—only worse because he controlled my paycheck.

“Maurice, you’re late,” Sir Leland said the moment I stepped into the office.

Ow!

What a relief. I thought it was that grumpy CEO who greeted me. Maybe I was just lucky...

I glanced at the clock. “Sir, it’s only two minutes.”

“Still late,” he replied, one eyebrow raised like he was judging my entire existence.

Well, I thought he wasn't just like the CEO, but I guess not. I bet he's more than that.

I sighed, gripping the mop handle tighter to stop myself from saying something that might get me fired. Fine. Whatever. Two minutes, really? As if that made a difference in the grand scheme of things.

With a deep breath, I made my way to the janitor’s supply closet and grabbed my bucket and mop. The moment I stepped out, I could already hear the sound of my coworkers typing away, phones ringing, and the faint chatter of office gossip. Meanwhile, I had a different battlefield to face—the dusty floors, smudged glass doors, and overflowing trash bins that no one ever seemed to care about.

I dunked the mop into the soapy water and began my routine. Swipe left, swipe right. I moved with practiced efficiency, my mind drifting as I worked.

Sometimes, I wondered… Is this really it? Is this all my life is going to be?

It wasn’t that I hated my job. It was honest work. But it felt unfair—how some people had everything handed to them while people like me had to work twice as hard just to get by. Rich employees walked past me like I was invisible, complaining about their coffee being too bitter or their internet lagging for half a second. Meanwhile, I was here, scrubbing away at the floor like my life depended on it—because, well, it kind of did.

I glanced up and caught sight of one of the interns—Clarisse, I think—laughing with her friends near the pantry. She was holding a cup of overpriced coffee, wearing a designer bag that probably cost more than my entire month’s salary.

Life was really something, huh?

Still, I refused to be bitter. I wasn’t raised to envy others—I was raised to survive.

With a small sigh, I continued mopping. The office smelled like coffee, expensive perfume, and the faint scent of printer ink. But if there was one thing I could take pride in, it was that I smelled good. Always. Even if I spent the whole day surrounded by cleaning supplies, sweat, and dust, I made sure I carried myself with dignity. Even being poor, I must be scented.

An hour passed, then another. The work was tiring, but I kept going. I had to. Bills didn’t pay themselves, and my little brother, Mico, needed me.

Someday, things would change. I didn’t know how yet, but they would.

And until that day came, I’d keep doing what I did best—survive.

Oh, and of course, stay smelling good.