"What a coincidence. I work at this company too." Harrison smiled like a fox.

I froze for a second, said nothing more to him, made an excuse about being busy, and hurried away.

But on my way home after work, I ran into Harrison again.

He greeted me and said, "Miss Fox, we really are fated. Even our staff apartments are in the same place."

This time I couldn't come up with an excuse, so I just stood there and made small talk.

From what he said, I learned that Harrison lived one floor above me, and had only moved in today.

All I could say to that was that it must be fate.

In the days that followed, I kept running into Harrison, and one thing led to another until we somehow became friends.

He seemed to have some feelings for me, but he kept just the right distance, so I never had the opening to break the silence and turn him down.

This slightly strange arrangement lasted three months, until I happened to see Walter.

After the divorce, I never went looking for news about him.

But things about him kept finding their way to my ears anyway.

He was now the most eligible bachelor in Harbor City.

Young, handsome, rich, his business growing bigger by the day, about to ring the bell and go public.

Most of all, he kept himself clean, not a single scandal to his name.

Every time I heard these things, an ache would well up inside me.

Because everything they said was true.

When Walter and I first started fighting, I was convinced for a while that he'd cheated.

Why else would he have changed so much?

How else could he have said I was worth less than a masseuse?

But I dug and dug, and found nothing.

It wasn't that he'd hidden it well. He truly hadn't done anything.

He hadn't fallen for someone else, hadn't strayed. He just simply... felt I wasn't good enough for him.

It hurt beyond words.

The thought made me lift a hand to wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes.

And it was exactly in that moment, looking up, that I saw Walter standing off in the distance.

He watched me in silence, standing there at the stove, and there was no tenderness in his eyes, only pity.

The pity of someone above looking down on someone beneath.

I turned my eyes away from him.

I didn't expect Walter to walk straight toward me.

He looked at me, brows drawn, his expression one of charity.

He said, "Greta, is this what your life came to without me?"

I ignored him.

He went ahead and opened his phone, and a moment later I got a transfer notification.

Walter had sent me a hundred grand. He said, "Greta, quit. Don't do this filthy work."

I couldn't hold it in. I looked up and snapped, "Walter, are you sick in the head?"

He didn't answer. He gave me a light, careless glance and left.

The next day, I got a message from HR.

I'd been promoted.

From the kitchen to the product division. It was absurd.

Most people in that office knew me. They'd all eaten in the staff cafeteria, they'd all seen me.

Which meant everyone knew I'd gotten in through the back door.

I sighed, took Walter off my blocked list, and called to ask him, "Walter, did you do this with my job?"

He gave a soft laugh. "Greta, I happen to have a business partnership with this company, so I put in a word for you. No need to thank me."

"Who's thanking you—"

I hadn't finished my angry retort when a woman's voice came through from his end. "Walt, who are you on the phone with?"

"No one."

He answered her, hung up without hesitation, and gave me no chance to say anything more.

So he'd already moved on to someone new.

I stood there stunned, not sure whether I should feel sad, only that something inside me felt hollow.

Soon enough, though, I had no room to think about anything else.

Work in the product division was far busier than the kitchen.

And the worst part was, I didn't know how to do any of it.

I understood how to balance seasonings so a dish came out best. But design, development, testing, the language of the product division might as well have been another world.

The product manager called me into her office, pressing her fingers to her brow, looking at me with a kind of weariness. "Greta, do you understand? This position was supposed to go to a top graduate from a top university. She was brilliant. But because of you, we had to let her go. So could you please put a little more into your work?"

I dropped my head, humiliated.

But that wasn't the thing that broke me.

On my fourth day on the job, an uninvited guest came to the company.

A very beautiful girl.

Heels clicking, an Hermès bag on her shoulder, she walked all the way up to my desk.

She pulled off her sunglasses, tossed them aside, and said to me, "Miss Fox, is being a mistress fun?"

Then she glanced at my computer screen and let out a scornful little laugh. "You can't even write a proposal. I really don't know where you got the nerve to beg Walter Henson to pull strings and hand you this job."

I wanted to defend myself, but she gave me no chance at all. She just spun around and called out loudly, "Who's the manager here? You'll actually keep an employee who's someone's mistress?"

The product manager came first, then the director, then the vice president.

The product manager and the director only tried to coax her into settling it privately. The vice president came in bowing and scraping, all forced smiles, calling her Miss Pruitt.

In an instant I understood. These were the people from those powerful circles.

The kind of people Walter thought were worthy of him.

I clenched my fists and forced myself to explain. "I never contacted Walter Henson. The job was his own decision, not mine."

"We're already divorced. I don't want anything more to do with him either. Please, keep him in line."

Prudence Pruitt looked at me with contempt. "There's a limit to dreaming, you know. No one in the circle has ever heard of Walter Henson having a wife."

My face went pale. Walter had never brought me to a single one of his gatherings. It was true, hardly anyone knew I existed.

Seeing that I said nothing, Prudence lifted her chin at me. "Here's what we'll do, Miss Fox. If you can find someone to prove you're Walter Henson's ex-wife, I'll leave you alone. But if you can't..."

"You record a video, say you're a shameless mistress, and post it on your social media feed. How about that?"

The words had barely left her mouth when a voice rang out, faster than mine.

"I'll vouch for her."