Minutes later, Violet Lin sashayed back to her desk.
Her smug little smirk said it all: she thought she’d bagged the project.
As she passed , she let out a little scoff.
Had she pulled sothing shady again? Probably.
I didn’t bite. Didn’t even blink in her direction.
My proposal was solid.
But showing up late this morning was a stain I couldn’t scrub off.
If I were Eliza Black, I wouldn’t trust soone who couldn’t read a clock either.
Thirty agonising minutes later, Savannah stepped out of the office with her phone still in hand.
From the look on her face, she’d just hung up.
‘Eliza Black’s people got back to us,’ she said, scanning the room. ‘She picked Violet Lin.’
Silence.
Then—
‘Really?’ Violet gasped, one hand clutched to her cheek like she’d just been proposed to. ‘Eliza Black actually picked ?’
Savannah nodded. ‘Yes. Prep starts now. Contract’s getting signed tomorrow. The budget’s generous, and this project’s top priority. Violet, build your team. Everyone else, give her full support. I want a completed design draft on my desk as soon as humanly possible.’
‘Got it,’ Violet chirped.
Her eyes locked on .
I knew that look.
Knew exactly what she was about to pull.
‘Mirabelle,’ she said, sugary sweet. ‘Be my assistant?’
Assistant?
Please.
That was just a fancy word for errand girl in Violet’s dictionary.
The kind who fetches lattes and hauls garnt bags up five flights of stairs because the lift’s out—yeah, that kind.
I’d seen her pull this stunt before.
She called it team building.
I called it hazing.
Last ti, she ran so poor intern into the ground, sent her up and down the building so many tis the girl nearly passed out.
The girl quit the day after.
I would’ve too.
And now she was trying it on .
Across the room, Savannah caught my eye.
I didn’t say anything, just raised my brow a fraction.
She knew it wasn’t protocol for one designer to play lapdog to another.
But Violet got in first.
‘This project’s a big deal,’ she said, all sweet and reasonable. ‘I just want to make sure there are no mistakes. Mirabelle, you’re okay with helping out, right? If Eliza Black’s happy, that’s a win for all of us. Gotta think about the company.’
Savannah hesitated, lips pursed.
‘Violet’s the lead, we’ll go with her arrangent,’ she said.
Her tone was flat, but her eyes flicked to .
She wasn’t thrilled either.
Too bad the client had already picked sides.
Violet was about two seconds away from gloating when I leaned back in my chair and said, ‘Yeah, no. I’m not doing it.’
Her smile twitched.
I was still fuming about the job being yanked from under , and now Violet had the nerve to bounce over like a rabid cheerleader, trying to stick with the grunt work.
Hell no.
Seniority. Skill. Portfolio.
I ticked every damn box.
At Nyx Collective, I wasn’t just a designer—I was THE designer.
I’d rather jump in front of a moving bus than work as Violet’s assistant.
I stood. ‘Not happening. I’m taking leave.’
Violet blinked, fake-shocked. ‘Oh, don’t be dramatic. It’s just one project. You’re not seriously quitting because you don’t wanna assist ?’
Then she got all performative. ‘If you were the lead designer and I had to assist, I’d totally cooperate.’
‘That’s cute,’ I said. ‘But if I were the lead, I’d rather rope in Paul the Octopus to help sketch than let you anywhere near my project. At least he had better accuracy. And taste. Besides, I don’t need this job badly enough to play your stooge.’
Violet didn’t expect to hit back that hard.
Her eyes narrowed, and she slithered closer.
‘Mira, co on, we both know you need this job. You’ve got no family backing you, and I heard the wedding with Rhys Granger got called off. If you lose this job too... how are you gonna survive?’
I barked a laugh. ‘Worried about ? Thanks, but save it. What you really need to worry about is yourself. When Eliza Black shows up in your design looking like a cautionary tale, you won’t just be losing face like you did at the Laurent party. This ti, it’ll be international. Front row, high-def, full-on global humiliation. Should be fun.’
That shut her up.
Then my phone buzzed on the table.
I picked it up, expecting so spam or another passive-aggressive group chat ssage.
Nope.
It was a text from the bank.
Account balance update.
I blinked.
Counted the zeroes.
Twice.
Two. Million. Dollars.
What the actual—?
I figured the bank had glitched or sothing.
Like, maybe it accidentally thought I was Alice Walton for the day.
Then another ssage buzzed through, this ti from Dominic Everett, Ashton’s assistant.
[Mrs Laurent, Mr Laurent has requested a new card be issued in your na. A monthly deposit of one million will be made as agreed. An additional million is Mr Laurent’s personal gift to you. Please confirm receipt.]
I stared at the screen for two whole minutes.
Not blinking. Not breathing.
‘As agreed’?
When had I agreed to receive a million dollars from Ashton?
And from the sound of it, this was going to be a monthly thing.
I didn’t marry Ashton for his money.
Hell, I barely listened to whatever he said in the dark hallway that day; I was too busy ogling.
But now, with two million just chilling in my account like it was pocket change, I couldn’t lie—I felt it in my bones.
Money really did slap different.
Sure, I’d always known Ashton was rich, but this was the mont it truly hit .
I was now officially one of those people who could buy a whole boutique just because the salesgirl looked at funny.
Across from , Violet Lin waved a hand in front of my face. ‘Earth to Mira. Why are you staring at your phone so hard? Trying to find another job already?’
I blinked out of it, shoved my phone into my bag, and got to my feet.
When Violet tried to block my path, I shouldered her aside.
Everyone in the studio turned to gape at .
I shot them all a look, grabbed my bag, and announced: ‘I quit, bitches!’
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