My college roommate is a billionaire heiress. Her only flaw—if you could even call it that—is that she has been blind since childhood. I became her round-the-clock guide, her shadow, her tether to the seeing world. I navigated her paths, fetched her meals, and chauffeured her around campus. To the rest of the world, I was practically invisible. My classmates sneered. “Playing the loyal little seeing-eye dog? You’ve got to have some self-respect, Grace.” I just kept my mouth shut. I was terrified they would realize how insanely good I had it. The heiress pays me three hundred thousand dollars a month. Her family even bought me a brand-new Porsche Panamera just to drive her around. For a deal like that, I would gladly wear the collar. — 1 On move-in day, I was dragging a battered, oversized blue IKEA bag through the dormitory door. Before I could even catch my breath, a sleek, collapsible white cane swept past my ankles. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of the tip hitting the linoleum tile was crisp and sharp. The girl holding the cane stood right in the center of the room. Her dark hair fell in soft, loose waves; her skin was so luminous it looked polished, and her chin was tilted up with an effortless, old-money posture. Her eyes were large, framed by thick, sweeping lashes, but her gaze was empty, completely out of focus. “Hi there,” she said. Her face drifted slightly in my direction, though her eyes remained fixed on the space just past my shoulder. “Hi. I’m Grace. Grace Peterson.” “Great. Grace, I’m Andrea Ashford. Starting today, you’re on my payroll. You’ll fetch my packages, get my meals, keep my closet organized, and walk me to and from class.” Her voice was rapid-fire, delivered with the cool efficiency of a corporate executive. “As you can see, I can’t do any of this myself. You do the work, I pay. Thirty thousand dollars a month to start, with performance-based bonuses.” My brain went completely numb. Thirty thousand? A month? I nearly fell to my knees right there on the dorm floor. My mother worked herself to the bone at a local textile factory back home, barely scraping together thirty thousand dollars in a good year. “What are you staring at?” Andrea frowned, her brows knitting together. “Is that not enough? Fine. Fifty thousand.” “No, no! That’s plenty. More than enough,” I stammered, dropping my IKEA bag onto the floor. “Andrea… what would you like me to do first?” “Hang up my clothes.” She reached into her designer bag, pulled out a sleek, matte-black card, and extended it toward me. “The PIN is six 8s. There’s fifty grand on it as a retainer. If you do a good job, I’ll keep topping it up. Hang the clothes by color gradient, light to dark. Undergarments go in the left drawer—separately. I don’t want them picking up the scent of my outerwear.” I took the card. My hand was visibly trembling. Fifty thousand dollars. Just to hang up clothes. I would have swept her floors with a toothbrush for that kind of money. “Did you get all that?” “Yes, perfectly.” “Then get to work. I’m going to listen to some music. Try not to make too much noise.” She slipped a pair of wireless earbuds into her ears, crossed her legs, and leaned back in her chair. From that moment on, my college experience diverged entirely from everyone else’s. While other students were joining clubs, partying, and stressing over romance, my days were strictly structured: up at six to grab her breakfast, escorting her to class by seven-thirty, collecting deliveries in the afternoon, and organizing her wardrobe by night. Andrea’s standards were incredibly exacting. Her morning coffee had to have exactly one and a half packets of raw sugar—not a grain less. Her textbooks had to be stacked in the precise order of her daily syllabus, or she’d know the second she ran her fingers over them. Before we stepped outside, I had to apply her sunscreen to a very specific, even thickness, otherwise she’d extend her arm and demand I start over. But she paid for every single task. Fetching lunch? An extra five hundred. Walking her to the library? A thousand. Applying her sunscreen? Eight hundred. The first time I applied her sunscreen, my hands shook. Not out of intimacy, but because I had snuck a peek at the label. It was a rare, imported French brand that retailed for five hundred dollars a bottle. “Squeeze a generous amount,” she had instructed. “Don’t skimp.” “Isn’t this… incredibly expensive?” I murmured. “Skin cancer is more expensive,” she replied dryly, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, you look like you’ve never used decent UV protection in your life. Grab a bottle from my vanity and use it yourself. You’re too sunburned, and it ruins my aesthetic when we stand together.” I nodded fervently in my head. Yes, ma’am. Absolutely. She could call me whatever she wanted as long as she was letting me slather five-hundred-dollar cream on my face. My monthly salary climbed from fifty thousand to eighty thousand, then to a hundred thousand. Andrea’s logic was simple: as her academic schedule grew heavier, my workload increased, and my compensation had to match it. Eventually, it hit three hundred thousand dollars a month. Whenever I saw the deposit notifications pop up on my phone, I thought of how my classmate, Brittany, liked to call me a glorified guide dog. But honestly? Show me a guide dog making three hundred grand a month, and I’ll gladly show you my leash. 2 On Tuesday afternoon, during a break between lectures, I went to the campus café to grab some hot water. Brittany was there, standing by the counter. She was in my program, sitting a row ahead of me in lecture. She had a perfectly round face and deep dimples when she smiled, and she had tried very hard to be my best friend during freshman orientation. “Hey, Grace,” she whispered, leaning in close. “Is it true? Do you seriously spend all your time running errands for Andrea Ashford?” “We’re roommates. I just help her out,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “Roommates?” Brittany let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Picking up a stray package is what roommates do. Walking her to every class, fetching her meals, and applying her lotion? That’s not a roommate.” My smile faltered. Not because I was offended, but because I was terrified she’d realize how lucrative the gig actually was. “You’re a glorified maid, Grace,” she said, shaking her head with a look of patronizing pity. “You worked so hard to get into this school. You’re here to get an education, not to be someone’s servant. It’s embarrassing.” “I don’t mind. I like helping her.” “You like it? Are you that desperate for cash?” She stared at me, her eyes narrowing. “If you need money, I can talk to the financial aid office. Or I can get you a job at the campus library. It pays fifteen dollars an hour. It’s not much, but at least it’s dignified. It’s better than catering to a blind girl.” She used a tone that made my chest tighten. But then I did the math. Andrea’s pay rate worked out to roughly ten thousand dollars an hour. Brittany was offering me fifteen. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “Please don’t talk about her like that,” I said, trying to look suitably offended. “Am I wrong?” she asked, putting on a show of innocence. “She can’t see. And you follow her around like a lost puppy. Honestly, Grace, even actual guide dogs have proper training and a pension. You’re doing it for free. You’re lower than a dog.” Another student walked into the café, and Brittany raised her voice, making sure she was heard. “Self-respect has to start somewhere, Grace. Don’t humiliate yourself.” The student glanced at me, grabbed their order, and scurried out. I kept my head down, hiding the massive grin spreading across my face. For three hundred thousand a month, Brittany, you can call me whatever you want. But could you ever afford my rate? “I have to get back,” I said, picking up my tumbler. “Just think about what I said!” Brittany called out after me. “Have some dignity!” The moment the door swung shut behind me, the smile broke free. Dignity is a luxury for people who don’t have to worry about rent. For three hundred thousand a month, I’d let her insult me all day long. My only real worry was that Brittany might try to pitch herself for the job if she ever found out the truth. There was only room for one assistant in Andrea’s life, and I wasn’t about to let anyone steal my golden ticket. When I got back to the dorm, Andrea was sitting at her desk, peeling a pear. She tilted her head slightly. “Where’s my water?” “Right here.” I placed the tumbler gently into her hand. She took a sip. “What took you so long?” “Ran into a classmate. Brittany.” “Did she give you a hard time?” I blinked, surprised. “How did you know?” Andrea set her cup down. “Grace, if anyone speaks down to you on this campus, you tell me. Immediately.” “Why?” “Because you’re on my payroll. An insult to you is an insult to my judgment. And I don’t tolerate people disrespecting my staff.” A cold, sharp smile touched her lips. “We’ll keep score. And when the time comes, we’ll settle it.” I felt a sudden rush of professional pride. This was exactly what a boss was supposed to sound like. “Also,” Andrea added casually, “your base salary is going up to three hundred thousand this month.” I nearly choked on my own saliva. “What?” “Three hundred thousand,” she repeated. She pulled a heavy titanium card from her drawer and slid it across the desk. “Consider the extra two hundred thousand a bonus. Think of it as hazard pay for dealing with idiots.” My heart did a happy backflip. Brittany, please keep talking. At this rate, five more insults and I can retire my entire family. “And another thing,” Andrea said. “A driving instructor will contact you tomorrow morning. I’ve already scheduled your lessons and your road test for next month. The family is delivering a new car to campus. A red Porsche Panamera. I picked it out myself. You won’t have to walk me everywhere anymore; you’ll drive.” “But… I don’t know how to drive.” “Which is why you’re taking lessons.” She picked up her fruit fork. “I’m covering the instructor fees, the license costs, and the car. But if you fail the road test, I’m docking your pay.” “By how much?” “Ten thousand dollars for every day your license is delayed.” My jaw dropped. Ten thousand a day? That wasn’t a penalty; it was the ultimate motivation. “Now,” Andrea said, popping a slice of pear into her mouth. “Go wash some fresh grapes for me. These aren’t cold enough.” “On it!” I grabbed the card, my spirit soaring. “Grace,” she called out just as I reached the door. “Yes?” “If Brittany calls you a guide dog again, tell her this: my guide dog makes three hundred thousand a month and drives a Porsche. Ask her what her allowance is.” I wanted to cheer. Hearing those words in my head was pure, unadulterated bliss. 3 Brittany didn’t stop. The next day at lunch, I was standing in the cafeteria line, carefully assembling Andrea’s tray. Brittany strolled past, flanked by two of her friends. “Well, look who it is,” she said, her voice carrying across the quiet room. “The guide dog is hard at work. Did your owner promise you a treat today?” The girls beside her giggled. I looked down at the plate of glazed short ribs and roasted vegetables I was holding. If Andrea is throwing me a bone, it’s definitely made of solid gold. “Brittany, please leave me alone,” I said, putting on my best meek, long-suffering voice. “Oh, come on, I’m paying you a compliment!” She tilted her head, her expression dripping with false sweetness. “Loyalty is a rare quality. When you graduate and realize your degree is useless because you spent four years running errands, maybe you can get a job at the local shelter.” A few students nearby chuckled. I bit my lip to hide my amusement. A useless degree? With my current savings account, I could buy three houses cash in Brittany’s hometown. “Brittany,” I said, looking up. “What’s your monthly allowance?” She blinked, caught off guard. “What does that have to do with anything?” “Just curious.” I balanced the tray carefully. “Two thousand dollars,” she said, lifting her chin proudly. “My dad transfers it every month. It’s plenty. And more importantly, I don’t have to beg for it.” I looked at her proud expression and did some quick math. Two thousand dollars a month. Andrea pays me ten thousand dollars a day. Brittany’s entire monthly budget wouldn’t even cover five hours of my time. “That’s nice,” I said softly, and walked away. Behind me, Brittany scoffed. “See? She has absolutely nothing to say. Some people just love being treated like servants.” I smiled all the way back to our table. Let them laugh. If they ever saw my bank statements, they’d be begging to carry Andrea’s tray themselves. 4 On the morning of my road test, I was so nervous I could barely breathe. It wasn’t the fear of failing; it was the thought of losing ten thousand dollars a day. Fortunately, I aced it. The instructor told me I drove with the caution and precision of a seasoned chauffeur. I wanted to tell him that when ten grand a day is on the line, you learn how to handle a vehicle very quickly. The moment I got my temporary paper license, I took a photo and texted it to Andrea. She replied almost instantly: Good. You didn’t embarrass me. The car is downstairs. Go check it out. I practically sprinted back to the dorms. From a block away, I spotted the cherry-red Porsche Panamera Turbo S parked right in front of the residence hall. In the autumn sunlight, its metallic paint gleamed like hot coals. The sleek lines, the quad exhaust, the massive black calipers behind the alloy wheels—it was a masterpiece. A crowd of students had already gathered around it, taking photos. “Is that a Panamera Turbo S?” “That’s easily a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car.” “Who owns this? I didn’t know we had royalty on campus.” I pushed through the crowd, my hands shaking as I dialed Douglas, Andrea’s family coordinator. He stepped out of the passenger side, dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit. With a polite, respectful nod, he held out the key fob. “Miss Peterson,” Douglas said, his voice quiet but clear enough for the onlookers to hear. “Miss Andrea requested that this vehicle be placed at your disposal. The fuel cards are in the glove compartment, and all maintenance and insurance have been fully prepaid.” I took the key. The weight of it felt substantial, the iconic crest catching the light. The surrounding crowd went dead silent. “Wait… that’s her car?” “Grace? The girl who carries Andrea’s bags?” “The helper drives a Porsche?” I unlocked the doors and slid into the driver’s seat. The smell of premium hand-stitched leather filled my senses. The heated steering wheel warmed my palms, and the digital console dashboard was larger than my laptop screen. It felt entirely surreal. Before I could start the engine, a shadow fell over the driver’s side window. “Well, look who managed to get inside.” I looked up. Brittany was standing there, holding an iced latte, her two friends hovering right behind her. A dozen other students turned to watch, drawn in by the tension. “Did your boss let you sit in the front seat for a photo op?” Brittany rested a manicured hand on the hood, her envy masked by a sneer. “I get it. A good servant needs some crumbs thrown her way now and then, otherwise she might actually realize how pathetic her life is.” A few onlookers snickered, while others murmured among themselves. “What did she say? A servant?” “Yeah, Grace does everything for Andrea. Brittany calls her the seeing-eye dog.” “That’s pretty harsh.” “Well, Grace never denies it.” Brittany, encouraged by the audience, tapped her fake nails against the glass. I rolled down the window. “Come on, Grace, step out,” she mocked. “Don’t just sit there pretending it’s yours. Why don’t you tell everyone what it’s like to be a pet to a blind girl?” The crowd pressed closer. The courtyard was buzzing now. “Brittany,” I said, keeping my voice level as I gripped the leather steering wheel. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” “No, actually,” she scoffed, leaning down so her face was inches from mine. “I just can’t stand people like you. No backbone, no pride. Selling your dignity for what? A few thousand dollars? How much does she actually pay you? Five grand a month? Ten?” She wagged a single finger in front of my face. “Tell you what. I’ll pay you ten grand a month. Come be my personal maid. What do you say?” The courtyard went quiet. Dozens of eyes shifted between us. My grip tightened on the wheel. I wasn’t angry; I was struggling to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter. Go on, Brittany. Keep digging. Just then, a familiar sound echoed across the paved courtyard. Tap. Tap. Tap. A carbon-fiber cane struck the concrete, clear and deliberate. The crowd parted instantly. Andrea stood at the edge of the path, looking immaculate in a tailored coat. Douglas stood slightly behind her, his posture respectful but commanding. Every student on campus knew who Andrea Ashford was. They also knew her family had recently funded the construction of the new humanities hall. Andrea tilted her face slightly toward Brittany’s voice. “Keep talking,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but in the silence of the courtyard, it carried perfectly. “I just arrived. I’d love to hear the rest of your offer.” Brittany’s face froze. “Andrea… I didn’t mean—”
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