Julian Thorne and I had been arch-nemeses since childhood. If he was second in exams, I made damn sure I was never first. He started a company; I started one just to crush his into bankruptcy. The day he hit rock bottom, I was uncorking a bottle of champagne, ready to celebrate. Then his notoriously powerful grandmother showed up. She slapped a check for ten million dollars and a marriage contract onto my desk. “Marry my grandson for one year, get him back on his feet. Do it, and I’ll give you another ninety million.” I looked at the contract, then at the ruined Julian, and smiled. The best way to torment him? Become his legal wife, and in his most desperate hour, utterly humiliate him with money. I signed the papers. “Don’t worry, Grandma. I promise I’ll ‘transform’ him completely.” The red marriage certificate from the courthouse felt searing hot in my hands. I, Valerie Hayes, twenty-six years old, was married. To my rival of twenty years, Julian Thorne. Back in the “marital home” I’d prepared for him—a penthouse apartment overlooking the entire city—I tossed the two scarlet documents onto the console table by the entrance. Julian followed me, silent. The Julian I knew was always charismatic and full of vigor, the center of attention wherever he went. His custom-tailored suits had always accentuated his lean, powerful physique, and his gaze towards me was always a mix of challenge and utter contempt. Now, he wore a faded, worn-out T-shirt and jeans with frayed knees. His head was bowed, as silent as a hollow statue. I walked to the center of the living room and clapped my hands. Chloe, my assistant, quickly led in two bodyguards, each carrying a huge black suitcase. Click. The cases were opened. Bundles of crisp, red bills, forming two small mountains on the expensive Persian rug, exuding that unique, intoxicating scent of freshly printed cash. A full ten million dollars. I walked towards the money in my high heels, nudging one of the stacks with my heel. “Julian Thorne.” I called his name. His body tensed, and he slowly lifted his head to look at me. His eyes, once sharp as an eagle’s, were now bloodshot, blazing with a storm of hatred and humiliation. I loved that look. “This is your price tag.” I pointed at the cash on the floor, giving him a dazzling smile. “The ten million Grandma gave me? I didn’t touch a single dollar. I had it all converted into cash and brought it here for you. Do you like it? Been a while since you’ve seen this much money, hasn’t it?” His fists clenched at his sides, his jawline rigid. “Valerie Hayes, what exactly do you want?” “What do I want?” I walked up to him, extending my index finger to poke his chest. “From today on, you, Julian Thorne, will eat my food, live in my home, and spend my money. In return, you will obey my every command.” I leaned in close, my lips brushing his ear, in a whisper meant only for him: “The first thing I want you to do is kneel. And then, slowly, bundle by bundle, place every last one of those bills into the safe.” His breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling violently. “You’re dreaming!” He ground out three words through clenched teeth. “Oh?” I straightened up, glancing around the opulent apartment. “Nice place, isn’t it? Best location in the city. Your parents’ dingy, dilapidated apartment, I heard it even leaks when it rains. And that little secretary of yours, what was her name again? Oh, Izzy Dubois. Heard she was so desperate to scrape together cash for you, she even dipped into her mom’s surgery fund. Last I heard, she’s practically living at the hospital, sobbing her eyes out.” With every word, Julian’s face grew paler. “You wouldn’t dare touch them!” “And why wouldn’t I?” I grinned wider. “Julian, what leverage do you possibly have to negotiate with me now? Kneel, or don’t kneel. Your choice. My patience, however, isn’t exactly boundless.” The air became deathly still. I could distinctly hear his ragged breathing and the soft crackle of his knuckles as he clenched his fists. Time ticked by, second by agonizing second. Just when I thought he would rather die than comply, his knees buckled, and he dropped heavily to the cold floor. That dull thud was the sweetest symphony my ears had ever graced in over two decades. He knelt there, his back remaining ramrod straight, like an unyielding oak. But he knelt nonetheless. He reached out and began to pick up the bundles of cash, one by one. His movements were slow, each stack lifted as if he were being flayed alive, piece by agonizing piece. I gazed down at him, a feeling of unprecedented exhilaration coursing through me. Julian Thorne, you’ve finally reached this point. The game of tormenting you has only just begun. I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of his humiliated, bowed back. Then, I casually strolled over to the liquor cabinet, poured myself a glass of red wine, and leaned back on the sofa, savoring this exquisite scene. He finally placed all the money into the safe. The moment he closed the cabinet door, he stood up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me. “Now, are you satisfied?” “Satisfied?” I swirled the red wine in my glass. “This is just the beginning. Go. Fill the master bathroom’s tub for me. I need a bath.” He didn’t move. “What’s wrong?” I raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to repeat myself?” He closed his eyes, then reopened them. All emotion had vanished, replaced by a profound, empty numbness. He turned and silently walked towards the bedroom. I watched his retreating back, the smile on my lips growing wider.
The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed. Julian had already prepared breakfast: sandwiches, fried eggs, and milk. A standard Western breakfast, meticulously arranged. I sat down, took a bite of the sandwich, and then, right in front of him, spit it out. “Too dry.” I took a sip of milk. “Too hot.” I pushed the plate away and stood up. “Do it again.” He stood by the dining table, wearing the cheap apron I’d provided, his eyes downcast, his expression unreadable. “Yes.” He uttered a single word, then turned and walked back into the kitchen. I wasn’t interested in watching his pitiful performance of silent suffering. I grabbed my car keys, ready to head to the office. “Wait.” He called out. I turned to see him emerge from the kitchen, untying his apron. “According to the contract, I’m supposed to start working at your company today.” “Oh, right.” I’d almost forgotten. “Let’s go then.” We didn’t exchange a single word throughout the drive. When we arrived at the Hayes Tech building, I told him to go up by himself and report directly to HR. I, meanwhile, leisurely parked my car, timing my entrance to the company lobby perfectly. As soon as I walked in, I saw a crowd gathered around the front desk, whispering and pointing in a certain direction. I followed their gaze. Mr. Davies, the HR Director, was leading Julian Thorne through the lobby. “Oh my God, isn’t that Mr. Thorne from Thorne Innovations? What’s he doing at our company?” “Didn’t you see what he’s wearing? Looks like thrift store finds. I heard he went bankrupt and is drowning in debt.” “No way? What’s he doing here? The HR Director is personally escorting him. Is he some department head?” “Are you crazy? Val would never let a disgraced, bankrupt man like him be a director.” Amidst the whispers, a delicate figure pushed her way through the crowd and blocked Julian’s path. It was Izzy Dubois, Julian’s former secretary, now a team lead in my company’s marketing department. “Julian!” Izzy’s eyes welled up, her face etched with heartache as she looked at him. “How… how are you here? They said you went bankrupt, but I didn’t believe them! How can you work for Valerie? She’s a monster; she’ll torment you to death!” She looked like a helpless woman whose man had been stolen by a villain, radiating a mixture of fragility and indignation. Julian looked at her, his expression utterly devoid of emotion. “I’m here to work.” “Work?” Izzy’s tears began to fall. “What kind of work? What position did Valerie give you? Julian, don’t be afraid. I’ll talk to Val; she can’t treat you like this!” With that, she turned and ran towards me. She froze when she saw me, then quickly put on a show of righteous indignation. “Valerie! How could you do this to Julian? He used to be such a proud man! Crushing his company wasn’t enough for you? Why do you have to bring him here to humiliate him further?” I looked at her and smiled. “Ms. Dubois, are you questioning me?” “I… I’m not.” Izzy visibly flinched under my stare, but still pushed on, “I just feel so terrible for Julian. Valerie, please, let him go. You can make him do anything, just don’t make him come to the office to be stared at by everyone.” Her words, seemingly pleading for Julian, were actually a carefully crafted jab, reminding everyone how pathetic Julian was now, and how cruel I was. Such a classic white lotus. I couldn’t be bothered with her theatrics and addressed the HR Director directly. “Mr. Davies, why are you just standing there? Take him to his new post.” Mr. Davies wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Yes, yes.” Izzy grew anxious. “Valerie, what position is it?” I lifted my chin, my voice not loud, but clear enough for everyone in the lobby to hear. “Oh, I forgot to inform everyone. This, Mr. Julian Thorne, is our new janitor, starting today. His main responsibility… the men’s restrooms from the 13th to 15th floor.” The entire lobby fell into a dead silence. Everyone stared at Julian with incredulous eyes. The golden boy, the tech mogul in the making, now going to clean toilets? Izzy’s face instantly went completely white. Her lips trembled, unable to utter a single word. I reveled in everyone’s reactions. Finally, my gaze fell on Julian. He kept his head bowed; I couldn’t see his expression. But I could imagine how twisted that handsome face must be right now. I wanted everyone to see that Julian Thorne was nothing more than a dog at Val Hayes’s feet. I strode in my high heels towards my private elevator, my mood soaring. Just before the elevator doors closed, I saw Julian finally lift his head. His gaze cut through the crowd, landing precisely on me. In his eyes, there was no longer the hatred or humiliation from last night, only a profound, icy stillness that went impossibly deep.
The thirteenth floor was the Marketing Department, Izzy Dubois’s territory. I deliberately assigned Julian there, hoping to watch a good show. That afternoon, I found an excuse to “inspect” and strolled over to the thirteenth floor. Stepping out of the elevator, I saw Izzy in the breakroom doorway, holding a cup of coffee and chatting with a few female colleagues. Julian, meanwhile, was mopping the floor not far away, a bucket of water and a mop his companions. “Izzy, were you and Julian Thorne really… an item?” a female colleague gossiped. Izzy sighed, her voice laced with infinite regret and melancholy. “That’s all in the past. I just never thought he’d fall to this level. To think, back then, he was so devoted to me… Oh, let’s not talk about it.” Her words were veiled, half-spoken, designed to spark endless speculation, as if Julian had been madly in love with her. Another colleague chimed in, “Why are you still bothering with him now that he’s like this? A toilet cleaner? How utterly depressing.” “Don’t say that.” Izzy immediately countered, though her voice was soft and lacked conviction. “He’s only like this temporarily. Julian is so talented, he’s sure to rise again. I… I’ll wait for him.” “Wait for him? Please.” A sarcastic voice cut in. “I think he’s Val’s personal project now. Didn’t you see Val this morning? She’s practically parading him around as her kept man, declaring ownership. You, my dear, should just give up that fantasy.” Izzy’s face flushed then paled, then flushed again. She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. “I didn’t… I just feel sorry for him…” As she spoke, she carried her coffee, looking utterly pitiful, towards Julian. “Julian, honey, are you tired? I made you some coffee.” Julian stopped mopping, looking at her with an unreadable expression. He didn’t reach out to take the cup. “I don’t drink coffee.” Izzy’s smile froze. “But, you used to love the Blue Mountain coffee I ground for you…” “That was before.” Julian cut her off, his voice icy, devoid of warmth. “Ms. Dubois, if you have nothing else, please move. You’re blocking my path.” Izzy’s face completely changed. She stared at Julian in disbelief, as if she didn’t recognize him. The surrounding colleagues were all watching the spectacle, openly amused. I leaned against the wall, barely suppressing a laugh. This drama was even more entertaining than I’d imagined. Back home that evening, I kicked off my high heels the moment I walked in, padding barefoot on the carpet. “Julian, where’s dinner?” He emerged from the kitchen, still wearing that ridiculous apron. “Almost ready.” I threw myself onto the sofa, issuing commands like a queen. “I want Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, Australian lobster, and Kobe beef.” He paused. “We don’t have those ingredients at home.” “Then go buy them.” I tossed my black card onto the table. “You have an hour. If you’re not back with them, you’re not eating tonight.” He looked at the card, then at me, said nothing, picked up the card, and left. I hummed a tune, turned on the TV, and waited for my lavish meal. But before he returned, my stomach began to cramp. My old enemy. Period cramps. Can’t have anything cold, can’t overexert myself. Today had been packed with meetings and dealing with Izzy, leaving me utterly exhausted. And I’d been walking barefoot on the cold floors all evening. Now, karma was catching up. I curled into a ball on the sofa, clutching my stomach, cold sweat beading on my forehead. I fumbled for my phone to call Chloe to bring my painkillers, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. The cramping intensified, a twisting agony that made me feel like I was dying. Just as my consciousness began to blur, the door opened. Julian was back. He saw me in that state, paused, then dropped his bags of groceries and rushed over. “What’s wrong?” “My… my stomach…” I gasped, squeezing out the words through clenched teeth. Without another word, he scooped me up bridal-style and hurried to the bedroom. He gently placed me on the bed and pulled the covers over me. I expected him to rush out for meds or pace anxiously, like some hero in a romance novel. But he didn’t. He simply turned and walked out of the room. I curled up, writhing in pain, a cold laugh forming in my mind. See, Valerie, this is the ‘husband’ you bought with money. You could die in front of him, and he wouldn’t spare you a second glance. A few minutes later, he returned. He held a hot water bottle, a glass of warm water, and a strip of pills. He tucked the hot water bottle into my embrace, then helped me sit up, offering the pills and water to my lips. “Take these.” I looked at him. They were pills for stomach cramps, the exact brand I always took. I was stunned. “How did you know…?” “They’re in your dresser drawer,” he said flatly, avoiding my gaze. I silently took the medicine. The warmth of the hot water bottle and the effect of the medication gradually eased the agony in my stomach. I leaned against the headboard, watching him. He didn’t leave. Instead, he sat on the rug beside the bed, silently keeping vigil. Only a dim bedside lamp was on, casting a soft, golden glow on his face, softening his usually sharp features slightly. I suddenly realized I had never looked at him this closely, this quietly, before. How did he know where my medicine was? Was it a coincidence? Or… Julian’s “consideration” only lasted one night. The next day, he reverted to being the silent, submissive janitor and house-husband.
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