I was talking to my online girlfriend. During a boring meeting, feeling drowsy, I sent her a flirty text to perk myself up: “Man, I can’t even sleep well now. How am I ever gonna sleep *with* you?” The next second, that very message was projected onto the PPT screen in front of everyone. The worst part? The contact name at the top of the chat box read, ‘My Hubby.’ The whole room exploded. And the cool, reserved beauty pushed up her glasses, a slight smirk playing on her lips. “Sorry about that,” she said, her voice smooth. “My husband can be a little mischievous.” Lately, my boss has been in a foul mood. Everyone sensed it, working diligently, barely even slacking off. She was working crazy overtime, and no one dared to leave before her. So we all stayed until eleven or midnight, leaving me with dark circles and even worse skin. Honestly, I think I was the only one in the entire company who knew why she was so agitated, but I couldn’t say anything. Because she’d just gone through a breakup. Unfortunately, that “ex” was me. She just didn’t know it yet. It all started when my online girlfriend of two years wanted to meet up in person. We met on some online forum. She posted a desperate plea, titled ‘Why Can’t I Find a Date?’ I clicked it open. The post read: “I’m a 25-year-old female, 5’9″, 99 lbs, with a Master’s from a top-tier university in Management and Engineering. Currently a VP at a listed company, earning at least a million a year. I own a car and a house. I’m drop-dead gorgeous, but I’ve never dated anyone. What’s wrong with me?” The comment section was brutal, filled with sarcastic jabs. “Definitely a bait post. Confirmed.” “Is the OP living in a dream? A Master’s from a top-tier university, only 25, and a VP at a listed company? Please, before you brag, at least make it sound plausible.” “It’s common knowledge that someone so young becoming a VP usually means it’s a family business. And unfortunately, those trust fund kids usually go to college overseas.” With nothing better to do, I commented, “Maybe it’s your looks? Post a picture.” Then I closed the post. Not long after, the OP messaged me privately. “Hello, can I send you a private message?” Me: “?” I was curious, but I’m all for a good laugh, and drama’s my jam. “Sure.” Then she sent me a picture. I spat my coffee all over my desk. Seriously? 5’9″? I’d believe 5’0″. It was a mirror selfie, a third of her face covered, and the angle made her head look huge and her body tiny. She wore thick-rimmed black glasses that made her look dowdy and unattractive. But I had to admit, her face itself was flawless. Even with most of it obscured, those lips, that nose, those eyes—they screamed one thing: “I’m a beauty.” And yet, she looked strangely familiar. My mind was roaring, *Is there really a woman in this world who doesn’t know how beautiful she is?* At the same time, driven by my helpful nature, after zooming in and out like four times, I went all out, “Your styling and photo angles are all wrong! Ditch those glasses, get some frameless ones, or better yet, contacts! Never take pictures from that angle! Tilt your phone slightly, charger port facing you, and swap that dress for a slightly shorter black one…” She replied with a “Thank you very much.” After that outpouring, I didn’t pay much attention, but the next day, she sent me her “homework” based on my advice. I coached her, and she did the same on the third day, then the fourth, then the fifth. Just as I was getting impatient, she proactively asked to add me on SnapChat and even offered to pay me for my help. Thinking, ‘Only a fool turns down easy money,’ I gave her my private handle. Then, a familiar profile picture popped up, adding me as a friend. My junior boss? My hands trembled, and I accidentally hit ‘Accept,’ my blood ran cold. I quickly changed my settings to ‘limited chat.’ My brain raced, trying to figure out if I’d accidentally put my private handle anywhere in the company system. She was typing for ages, then sent, “Thank you so much for all your guidance and help these past few days. Here’s a small token of my appreciation.” Then came a transfer of fifty thousand dollars, with the note “Voluntary gift.” I froze. I took a screenshot, compared it to the SnapChat account, and confirmed it. It was indeed the beautiful woman from online, and it was indeed my junior boss from the company. My mind screamed ‘Whoa’ for ages, but I shamelessly accepted the money. Anyway, this was my private handle; she had no idea it was me. In the days that followed, I continued to help her improve, and she made rapid progress. Soon, she was fully able to showcase her beauty. However, just as I was ready to bow out gracefully, she confessed her feelings to me. I skipped over the emotional novel she wrote—I hadn’t written one of those since high school—and just flipped to the end: “Actually, there’s something I’ve wanted to say for a long time. I like you.” Me: “…” My silence was deafening. Me: “Thank you so much!” Her: “Huh???” Then: “I really like you!” “I *really* appreciate it!” “No, I’m serious.” I replied: “I *really* appreciate it!” My teeth clenched. Was this girl okay? She seemed stunned for a moment, then said, “Regardless, can you give me a chance to pursue you?” I didn’t reply. That night, I had trouble sleeping for once. The next day, she started sending me messages every morning, noon, and night, along with “I’m going to work,” “I’m leaving,” “I’ve arrived,” “I’m starting work,” and so on. Yep, that’s how this girl tried to pursue people. I’d occasionally throw her a bone, and she’d be over the moon. Things took a turn a month later. I was scrolling through beautiful women, having a blast, and casually shared a picture with my best friend. But my finger slipped, and I sent it to *her*. Me: “Phew, she’s gorgeous, I’m obsessed.” Me: “Video.” Her: “?”
By the time I saw the message, it was too late to unsend. While appreciating beauty is human nature, I felt inexplicably guilty. Just then, she suddenly messaged: “You like this kind?” Then she sent a video. It looked like it was shot in a gym. Not perfectly defined muscles, but very fair skin. A beautiful M-line flowed down, disappearing into her athletic shorts. As for above… Yeah, very pink! The owner of the video seemed shy; her face was flushed red at the end of the clip. I was officially hooked. Me: “Got more? Send more!” Then she shyly sent a few more videos. I admit, I was completely corrupted by beauty. I never thought my usually prim and proper boss was so… well. How do I describe it? It was strangely stimulating. I was enjoying myself when she suddenly sent a message. “If you agree to be my boyfriend, I’ll record videos for you every day. As much as you want.” Most people in life pursue four things: money, power, fame, and pleasure. The first three didn’t concern me, so the last one was incredibly tempting. Me: “…Well… I guess that’s not impossible.” It was just an online relationship, after all. Of course, I had conditions. No public announcements, no changing profile pictures, no video calls, and no meeting in person. She wasn’t thrilled but agreed anyway. And that’s how we dated for two years. As she got better at dressing up, I also enjoyed the perks, with her pulling off all sorts of stunning looks. Just when I thought these days would last forever, she proposed meeting up. Me: “Didn’t we agree not to meet? Just an online relationship, nothing in real life.” She sounded really upset: “I know, I’m sorry, but I really want to see you.” I knew what she was up to. A couple of days before, I had a college reunion, and afterward, a classmate confessed her feelings to me. I rejected her once, and she started sending me all these creepy, disgusting messages. So I blasted her on Ins, then blocked and deleted her. Since we were dating, Amelia saw it. She was probably thinking of meeting up and then openly declaring her claim on me. I knew exactly why I didn’t want to meet her, so the answer was definitely no. After she pestered me for a week, I got annoyed and broke up with her. That scared her straight. She looked like a wilting flower, utterly deflated. My phone displayed an incoming call for the umpteenth time. I sighed and silently flipped my phone face down on the table. Just then, my direct boss, Richard, called out to me. “Leo, can you take this proposal to Amelia?” Richard’s crush on Amelia was an open secret in the company. Normally, he’d jump at any chance to interact with her. But lately, she’d been in a bad mood. Last time, he’d tried to ‘comfort’ her, assuming too much, and got chewed out, which was incredibly embarrassing. So he stopped trying any of his little tricks. I winced, a wry smile on my face. “Richard, I’m a level below her. Isn’t going over your head a bit… much?” Amelia was my online girlfriend. While I had her contact info on my work phone, I’d never actually interacted with her professionally. Plus, this proposal had been dragging on forever, and Amelia was still unhappy with it. Even if she were in a good mood, I’d still get criticized, let alone now. This was clearly him trying to throw me under the bus. Richard rolled his eyes. “Just do what I tell you. Why all the questions?” …Fine. Even though I’d practically seen everything online, I was still a bit nervous about meeting her in person. Especially at work, she was notoriously strict, incredibly strong-willed. —And incredibly sharp-tongued. Hesitating for a moment, I pulled out my phone. After I broke up with her that day, she’d been constantly apologizing, clearly panicking, but I hadn’t replied. I’d just impulsively broken up with her and hadn’t really checked since. First, I was afraid I’d go soft, and second, I wanted to take her down a notch. Meeting was out of the question, but breaking up was fine. After thinking it over, I sent a message. “We don’t have to break up, but can you be good? I really don’t like people who don’t keep their word.” She replied instantly: “Baby, you finally replied to me! I know I was wrong, I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again.” Then came a crying puppy emoji. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The person inside startled, then cleared her throat. “Come in.” As soon as I entered, my gaze was drawn to Amelia’s slightly red nose. Had she been crying? Noticing my gaze, she seemed a bit embarrassed and tapped on her desk. “Proposal? Put it here. You can go back now.” Her temper was clearly better. Otherwise, she would have already chewed me out for bypassing protocol. There was a colleague who got fired for bypassing protocol. While he also had issues with his work ethic and refusing assignments—and he did get a severance package—bypassing protocol is still a major workplace no-no. But the proposal was still no good; it eventually got sent back, and Richard put it back in my hands. No choice, I had to work overtime to revise it. But Amelia was in a good mood today and left on time. Plus, it was Friday, so the other colleagues, who had been working overtime for ages, also left early. Soon, it was just me and Sarah, the front desk admin. I had no idea when I’d finish this proposal, so I assured the admin I’d lock up and turn off the lights, letting her go home first. I don’t know how much time passed when I heard a sound from the facial recognition lock at the door. I froze, a little scared. Checking the time, it was already ten o’clock at night. Who could it be at this hour? All sorts of horror movie scenarios set in office buildings replayed in my mind. I comforted myself that ghosts weren’t real, while instinctively holding my breath, too nervous to move. A familiar figure approached. As I clearly saw her face, I let out a sigh of relief. It was Amelia. “Why are you here alone? Aren’t you going home?” Amelia seemed surprised I was still working overtime. I secretly gritted my teeth: *It’s all your fault!* “This proposal is urgent. I’m afraid it won’t be viable even tomorrow, so I thought I’d work overtime tonight to refine it.” “Oh, *that* proposal.” Amelia paused, then actually walked straight towards me. “Let me explain it to you in more detail; it’ll be easier to revise that way.” My heart tightened—since we’d made up, I had to reply to her messages, and I hated constantly opening my phone, so I’d switched my computer to my private handle. What was I going to do? Amelia walked closer. “Open it up, let me see.” My brain spun frantically, but my hands moved slowly. Just as she was about to adjust it, Amelia said, “Move over a bit, I’ll…” “Wait!”
I got so excited I slapped the desk, making her jump. Amelia’s expression was clearly bewildered, and in that dazed state, she actually looked kind of cute. It was only then that I belatedly realized that the person online and the person in front of me were the same. I cleared my throat. “…Sorry, Amelia, uh, I suddenly have a stomachache. I need to use the restroom. You can look at it first.” With that, I grabbed my phone from the desk and rushed to the bathroom. Amelia looked bewildered. “…Oh, okay.” There was a quick exit button on my phone, which I quickly tapped, letting out a sigh of relief. —Mainly because Amelia would talk about *everything*, even the smallest things, and those notifications would flash in the corner of my screen. Even accidentally hovering over them could give me away, let alone clicking. I replied to each message, then dragged my feet for a while before going back. When I returned, Amelia had finished looking it over and gestured for me to start revising the proposal. After telling me all the parts that needed modification, she went to her office. “I’m just going to grab something; I’ll be right back.” *She’s coming back?* My heart wept internally, and I buried myself in the work. I had to say, my junior boss really was a workaholic. Under her “guidance,” it was almost midnight by the time the proposal was done. “That’s about it. We’ll leave it at that.” Amelia nodded. I let out a sigh of relief. “Alright, good then.” Though I felt pretty resentful inside. Just then, Amelia suddenly asked, “You live in the employee dorms, right? Want me to give you a ride back?” “Huh?” I froze, quickly waving my hands. “No, no, that’s okay, I’ll just walk back, it’s pretty close.” “It’s not safe for you to walk alone.” Amelia was insistent. Unable to refuse, I agreed. At the same time, she sent me a message: “Giving a male colleague who worked overtime a ride home. Didn’t let him sit in the passenger seat.” Me: “OK.” Once in the car, neither of us spoke. I felt a little awkward, but it wasn’t appropriate to play on my phone in the car, so I just stared out the window like an idiot. “Oh, right,” she suddenly asked. “What kind of gifts do you guys, as guys, hope your girlfriends give you?” I froze—she was right, my birthday was coming up soon. I stammered, “Uh… well, actually, the gift doesn’t matter, the thought counts.” “…Mainly, I’ve given my boyfriend some gifts before, and he really disliked them and returned them, so I don’t know what to do.” She seemed troubled, but I wanted to curse. *Seriously?* My family is just average. She gave me high-end watches; I didn’t even have the clothes to match them. If I wore them, people would just think they were fakes. Why wouldn’t I return them? After a moment, I said, “You could make some small crafts or something. They’re not expensive, but since they’re handmade, they show the most thought.” She seemed speechless. “…Oh, you look pretty young. How old are you?” My heart tightened. “I’m one year older than you.” She: “What month?” Me: “August.” She made an “Oh” sound, then seemed a bit awkward. “Um… I still don’t know your name—you are?” Me: “…” “Leo Carter. Carter with a C.” Online, I’d told her my last name was “Grey.” Neither of us spoke after that. When we arrived at the dorm building, I politely said goodbye. “Thanks, Amelia.” “No problem. Go on in.” I nodded, ready to leave. “Leo Carter!” Amelia suddenly called out to me. “Hm?” I turned around, looking at her with a hint of confusion. “What is it?” “…Nothing. Just go back early.”
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