My mother is the housekeeper for the Sterling family. I moved into their estate when I was twelve. At eighteen, Mrs. Sterling, the lady of the house, said to me: "Boys get restless at this age. I don't trust the girls out there. Keep Chase company for me." She said if I could keep Chase from running wild during his four years of college, she would send me abroad and give me ten million dollars as startup capital. I dutifully wrote it down in my notebook: Mrs. Sterling is a good person. Not only does she let me sleep with her son, but she also pays me for it. 1 I came to the Sterling estate when I was twelve. It had been raining in the mountains for days. The tractor wheels were caked in mud, flinging it onto me every few bumps. I sat in the back wearing a plastic raincoat, clutching several large woven bags filled with everything I could take from home. The most important thing was my grandmother's photo. I held it tight inside my raincoat, hugging it just like Grandma used to hug me. A neighbor from the village escorted me—trains, planes, and finally a taxi to the Sterling estate. Looking at the towering iron gates and the magnificent mansion behind them, my neighbor scratched his head. "This house is scary big. You knock yourself. Tell your mom I got you here safe." My mom had paid him, so he had to make sure the job was done. I nodded and banged heavily on the iron gate. An impatient voice crackled from the intercom: "What are you banging for? Can't you see the doorbell?" I looked at the button on the wall. Sorry, this country bumpkin really didn't know. But the person was surprisingly nice; despite the gruff voice, the gate buzzed open a second later. Smack. My jaw dropped, and the photo of Grandma slipped from my arms onto the wet ground. Dear God, no one told me city boys looked this good! He was taller than me, paler than me, even his lips were redder than mine. Nothing like the dirty potatoes running around in the mud back home! Chase Sterling looked me up and down with disgust, from my messy hair to my mud-splattered pants. "Auntie Laura is so clean. You're her daughter, how are you so slopp..." But he stopped mid-sentence when he saw my grandma on the ground. In the large black-and-white photo, my grandma was smiling kindly. For some reason, he started stuttering. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't know. My mom took Auntie Laura out for a few days. Come in first. It's raining, you shouldn't let your... elder's photo get wet." I picked up Grandma and waved to my neighbor. "Uncle, I'm going in. Safe trip back!" Inside, Chase led me to a room that was spacious and beautiful. I couldn't help it—I burst into tears. Chase panicked. "Hey, don't cry! I haven't even bullied you yet, why are you crying?" I pointed at the photo, sobbing harder. "My grandma's gone. She never lived in a house this nice. I miss her." "I-I'll find a good spot for your grandma too." He bustled around, wiping the photo clean, respectfully hanging it on the wall, and even lighting a nice-smelling candle in front of it. "Sorry, we don't have incense or anything. This is my mom's scented candle, it'll have to do. I'll have someone buy the real stuff tomorrow." The candle smelled amazing. I giggled through my tears. "No need, no need. Grandma loves things that smell good." Chase sighed in relief. "Don't be too sad, or your grandma won't be at peace." I nodded. "Young Master, you're so good. Good-looking and good-hearted." He blushed, then turned green. "Don't call me Young Master. This isn't the feudal era." I pointed at Grandma. "She said so. She said my mom serves a Young Master in a rich family to raise me, and I have to be polite." Thinking about how Grandma would smack me for being rude, my eyes reddened again. "Was she lying? Isn't my mom a maid?" Chase got anxious. "How can Auntie Laura be just a maid? She raised me. She's like half a mom to me. By rights, you should call me Brother. Understand?" 2 Two twelve-year-olds. He dared to say it, and I dared to listen. I started chirping "Brother" behind him like a little chick. When my mom came back, she grabbed the feather duster from the living room and chased me upstairs. "Who told you to bring that photo? And you hung it on the wall! I'll beat you until you're hanging on the wall!" I cried as I ran. "Grandma said she was afraid I'd forget her and made me bring it! It's the biggest, clearest photo we have! And I didn't hang it, Brother did! Hit him!" Chase had been trying to stop her, but he froze. My mom glanced at Chase, dropping the duster. "No manners. Don't call the Young Master 'Brother.' Call him Chase." Once my mom left, we pointed at each other simultaneously: "You said you weren't a Young Master?" "Your grandma isn't dead? Why did you cry like that?" I scratched my head. "Can't I be homesick? You have good things, don't you think of your mom and grandma?" He rubbed his nose. "Anyway, don't call me Young Master. If you do, I'll ignore you." Later I learned Mrs. Sterling was a very traditional lady from an old-money family. I was the first outsider in the house who actually didn't call Chase "Young Master." I also learned my mom had raised Chase since he was a baby. In his heart, she really was half a mother. He was petty; he was jealous. He was afraid that with me here, my mom wouldn't dote on him anymore. But the moment we met, he thought my grandma was dead. His desire to bully me died right there. And when I sweetly called him "Brother," could he really be mean? He couldn't. So at twelve, when Mrs. Sterling reminded my mom I should address him properly, my mom said righteously, "Ma'am, I work for you, but my daughter doesn't." Chase and I gave my mom a thumbs up behind her back. At thirteen, he shoved two latest-model iPhones into my hands, telling me to teach Grandma how to video call when I went back for New Year's so I wouldn't howl like a wolf every time I missed her. At fourteen, Grandma sent a live goose. I wanted to keep it. With his voice cracking from puberty, Chase told Mrs. Sterling he wanted to get in touch with nature. Every morning, it was hard to tell if the honking was the goose or him talking. But at eighteen, I started to get unhappy. 3 Chase was handsome and well-mannered. In high school, amidst a sea of boys who thought swearing was a personality trait and freaked out over tampon wrappers, he was a clean, refreshing miracle. I had been tagging along calling him "Brother" for four years. The whole school thought I was his cousin living with his family. Girls who liked him came to me to curry favor, asking me to slip him love letters. Receiving the first one, I knew I was in trouble. My heart felt like it was being scratched by a hundred claws. I tossed and turned in bed all night. In the dead of night, with dark circles under my eyes, I stood by his bed and asked, "Chase, tell me, do you want to date early?" Bad news: Chase swore. "F*ck, Harper, are you crazy? Cosplaying a ghost at 2 AM?" Good news: Chase didn't want to date. He squinted, looking at me seriously. "Dating affects studies. Harper, Auntie Laura brought you here to study. If you dare date before eighteen, I'll break your legs." Hehe, as long as you don't, I won't. I'm not stupid. I read enough YA novels to know that everyone loves the moon high above. And Chase was my moon. I didn't want him shining on anyone else. So I spread the word around school: Chase Sterling doesn't date in high school. Chase Sterling hates people who don't focus on their studies. That month, even the girls at the bottom of the class started grinding. But three years of high school went by so fast. In the blink of an eye, we graduated. 4 Holding a score almost identical to Chase's, I didn't know what to do. I wasn't a twelve-year-old brat anymore. I knew Chase and I were impossible. If I followed him to college for another four years, would I never be able to get over him? Chase didn't care about that. He looked satisfied. "Didn't waste all those tutoring sessions. Tell me, which of these two universities do you want to apply to?" He was always like this. Asking my opinion first, then telling his mom it was his idea. I replied sullenly, "I don't know. I'll ask Coco." Coco Chen was my best friend, the kind you go to the bathroom with holding hands. Throughout high school, she was the only one who, thanks to me, got to eat lunch with Chase. But that night, I saw Coco's photo in the study. Mrs. Sterling looked solemn. "Chase is growing up. Yesterday, the maid found him washing his sheets in the bathroom. I knew trouble was coming." I thought for a moment. "Auntie, biology class says that's called a wet dream. Chase is eighteen. If he didn't have them, you should take him to a doctor." Mrs. Sterling looked at me. Mrs. Sterling was helpless. Mrs. Sterling decided to pretend she didn't hear that. She tapped Coco's photo. "It's normal for boys to be restless at this age. But this girl won't do. She's pretty, has a sick grandmother, an abusive father, and a missing mother. She's prime material for a tragic first love. Our Chase can't get involved with a girl like that. I'm afraid he won't be able to forget her." Hah, even high-society ladies read romance novels tropes. Just as I opened my mouth to explain, Mrs. Sterling took my hand. "But you're different. I know you're like your mother, a decent, grounded person. Here's the deal: if Chase has needs, you be proactive. If you can keep him steady for four years of college, when you graduate, I'll send you abroad and give you ten million dollars. Didn't you want to make money? Perfect for a startup." I understood. The lady wanted a live-in concubine for Chase. Hah, am I the kind of person who sells herself for money? But that's Chase's virginity. Hah, wouldn't my mom beat me to death if she knew? But that's Chase's virginity. Who cares who his future wife is? Whoever eats first wins. It's a waste not to. I apologized to Coco a thousand times in my heart and said righteously, "Auntie, I understand. Coco Chen is definitely not suitable. For that ten million, I will work hard."
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