A prominent billionaire family in New York was hiring a high-paid "Sleep Consultant" with one single condition: You can coax the young master to sleep, but you absolutely cannot sleep with the young master. I got the job solely because I lacked ambition and loved money. After officially starting, the young master intentionally made things difficult for me. First, he got me drunk. Then, with his bathrobe half-undone, he tried to force me to violate my professional ethics and took pictures as blackmail. In a fit of rage, I used his bathrobe belt to tie his hands and feet, bullying him right back. "If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me!" If I was going to lose my job, he wasn't going to get a wink of sleep tonight either. 1 Looking at the massive line of gorgeous women ahead of me, I was dumbfounded. The "easy $10,000-a-month gig" my friend told me about had a waiting room that looked like a Miss America pageant. Everyone was dressed to the nines, in all shapes and sizes. Aside from me, every single person was busy touching up their makeup. The Vance family, one of New York's absolute top-tier billionaire families, was currently mass-recruiting Sleep Consultants. They were incredibly generous, hiring seven candidates at a time, each given a one-night trial. Even if you didn't pass the trial, you still got paid for a full week's work. The only catch: you had to pass the initial interview. I graduated with a degree in psychology, although I hadn't worked a single job related to psychology since leaving school. But $10,000 could solve a lot of my problems. My younger sister could focus on her SAT prep instead of working three part-time jobs over the summer. My grandmother's nursing care fees would be covered, meaning we wouldn't have to rely on my aunt's charity and endure her constant sneers. Even if I failed the trial period, I'd still walk away with a couple of thousand dollars. But looking at this fierce, competitive "spectacle" in front of me... "Hey girls, are you all here applying for the Sleep Consultant position too?" I asked a few of the beautiful women chatting nearby, just to make sure I wasn't in the wrong place. They looked me up and down, their eyes filled with disdain upon seeing my completely out-of-place, casual outfit. "Obviously." "Heh, 'Sleep Consultant.' Who knows what that actually means," one scoffed. "I heard from people in their circle that the young master, Arthur Vance, used to throw wild parties all the time when he studied abroad." "Yeah, I heard Arthur Vance plays rough. He won't get sleepy until he tortures someone to the point of passing out..." "No wonder they need one girl per night. Who could handle that?" "If you actually think they're paying $10,000 just to have someone read bedtime stories, you're kidding yourself." I shuddered. So it really isn't a decent, legitimate job. Sigh. Looks like I made this trip for nothing. I decided I was going to eat every single gourmet pastry provided in the waiting area to make up for the Uber fare I spent getting to this Upper East Side mansion. Just as I was full and preparing to sneak out, someone called my name loudly. "Next, Chloe Davis." 2 When I pushed the door open, I let out a soft burp. The beautiful assistant leading the way shot me a glare, then bowed slightly to the person inside: "Madam, the candidate you requested is here." The grand hall was opulent, with massive Impressionist oil paintings hanging on the walls. Sitting in the center of a plush sofa was a highly elegant, graceful woman. Her snow-white skin, maintained with mountains of money, made it impossible to guess her real age. She flipped through my written assessment, looking increasingly satisfied. "Are these your honest thoughts?" she looked up, scrutinizing me. At the time I filled it out, I just wanted to leave, so I answered randomly and had completely forgotten what I wrote. I just nodded. "You're hired." Me: ? "People who love money are easy to communicate with. You're exactly who I'm looking for." Mrs. Vance made the decision on the spot. I became the only person hired that day. Simply because my love for money was brutally honest, and I was the least ambitious-looking person in the entire building. 3 The head butler told me I was starting tonight. "The young master hasn't slept a wink in three days." "Why can't your young master sleep?" I asked cautiously. The butler suddenly stopped walking. "You don't need to know that, and please do not ask the young master." As he showed me the layout of the mansion, he went over the rules, ending with a stern warning. "Miss Davis, please strictly adhere to professional ethics. Know what you are allowed to do, and what you absolutely cannot do." "You may coax the young master to sleep, but you may not sleep with the young master." "The young master has already chased away several young women with ulterior motives." "If you are thrown out, do not expect the Vance family to show any mercy." "I wish you success." ... Arthur Vance's bedroom was at the very end of the third floor. Not even moonlight reached it. It was incredibly gloomy. Rumors said that Arthur Vance, the meticulously groomed heir to the Vance empire, had been ruined by his stepmother. Years ago, in a horrific car accident, Arthur's biological mother and their driver were killed instantly. Arthur, who was in the same car, barely survived and spent over six months bedridden recovering. But in those short six months, his father had already remarried, and the new stepmother had even moved into his deceased mother's bedroom. The son who survived completely changed. The once gentle, brilliant golden boy became dark, isolated, and highly volatile. He also developed a bizarre condition where he was entirely unable to fall asleep after dark. The previous Sleep Consultants hired for him either had impure intentions or terrible skills. In short, every single one failed. After getting the job offer, I immediately pulled out my phone and crammed on all the Vance family gossip. Who knew how much of it was true and how much was fake? Whatever. I'm here now, might as well make the best of it. I took a deep breath and knocked on the massive wooden door. $10,000, here I come. 4 "Enter." The voice was freezing and depressed. "Good evening, Mr. Vance." A massive wall of floor-to-ceiling windows had only a sliver of the curtains open, revealing the unbeatable New York City skyline. The room only had a few dim sleep lights on, flickering faintly. A subtle, dark fragrance floated in the air. The room was huge. The bottomless darkness felt like it could swallow a person whole. A tall, lean young man stood by the window, holding a glass of ice water, looking distant and unapproachable. He had probably just showered; the water from the ends of his hair dampened his collar. A silk bathrobe traced his perfect physique. The dark, ornate patterns made the skin on the back of his neck, his wrists, and his ankles look even paler and colder. Those broad shoulders, that narrow waist, that perfect V-taper... If you don't show some restraint and dress like this, practically begging for it... No wonder the girls before me got the wrong idea. I coughed lightly twice to make my presence known. "You're the only one today?" The young man turned around and glanced at me. His face, with striking, sharp features, was exposed in the moonlight. His eye sockets were deep, his eye color incredibly cold. Wait, buddy, do you normally do group sleep-coaxing sessions? "Mr. Vance, would you like to rest now?" It was my first time doing this, and I honestly had no idea how to start. Arthur Vance reached out, yanked the curtains shut, blocking out the last ray of moonlight, and walked toward the massive bed. I looked around. I didn't see a single chair I could pull up to the bed. Am I supposed to sit on the young master's bed to coax him? That doesn't seem appropriate. Stand next to the bed? Like I'm giving a corporate presentation? He'd never fall asleep like that. Thankfully, there was a plush, long-pile rug surrounding the bed. I plopped down onto it. I pulled the book I had prepared out of my bag: Peppa Pig. Arthur leaned against the headboard, his eyes lowered. Seeing what I was doing, veins visibly popped on his forehead. Hold on, don't get mad, let me explain. "Hehe, my nephew listens to this every day and falls asleep in five minutes." He let out a cold laugh. "How old is your nephew?" I stammered, "Three..." I started reading Peppa Pig. I read, and I read, and then I zoned out... Shit! It was morning. I wiped the drool off my face. The bed was completely empty, leaving only the imprint of me slumped against the side of it. On my very first day on the job, I fell asleep before my boss did. RIP my career. 5 I thought I was definitely getting fired. I was thrilled. Working one day and getting paid for a whole week? I was ecstatic. But the butler told me the young master was quite satisfied with me and wanted me to keep up the good work tonight. Satisfied? With Peppa Pig?! Taking this money was starting to make my conscience feel a little guilty. On the second night, I changed my approach. I asked the butler for some lotus seeds, longan, and lily bulbs, and made a bowl of soothing sweet soup. Arthur took a reluctant sip and offered his critique: "Too sweet." I only made one bowl. Thinking he didn't want to drink it, I grabbed it back and tasted it. "It's fine! I only put half a piece of rock sugar in it." He stared at his empty hand, then glared at the bowl in my hand, looking a bit angry. And because he was angry, he refused to sleep. Sigh. On the third night, I warmed up some milk for him, lit some aromatherapy incense, and started telling him gossip about my old boss. Yes, "Sleep Consultant" was just a side gig. During the day, I was a regular corporate drone working a 9-to-5. Arthur didn't drink his usual ice water. He held the warm milk I gave him, tilted his head, and listened quietly. His eyelashes were very long. When he focused on someone, he looked incredibly affectionate. If the gossip I was spilling wasn't so utterly unhinged, you'd think he was listening to a symphony. "You said he gets handsy with you guys?" Arthur suddenly interrupted. "Just smacking our butts or patting our shoulders as he walks by." It was disgusting, but the girls were too angry and scared to speak up. His brow furrowed slightly, a trace of emotion rolling through his eyes. That night, I got really hyped up telling the stories, and he was completely engrossed listening. Sleep? What sleep? On the fourth night, I found a very long, incredibly boring, sleep-inducing movie. I dragged him to the mansion's home theater to watch it. I preemptively chugged three cups of black coffee (which tasted like herbal medicine) to ensure I wouldn't doze off before my client did. But when I woke up, the sky had fallen. Not only did I fall asleep. I fell asleep leaning against Arthur. Not only did I lean against him. I also drooled all over his shoulder. "...I'll wash the shirt! I'm so sorry!" I was so terrified I practically bounced up, apologizing profusely. He slowly stood up, rubbing the shoulder I had been crushing all night. His long, elegant fingers started unbuttoning his shirt. I immediately turned my back— Daytime indecency is highly inappropriate! A soft dress shirt was thrown over my head, blocking my vision, and a large hand patted my head. "Dry clean only." On the fifth night, I dragged the long-limbed Arthur into doing hot yoga. But my technique was flawed, and I almost bent him in half backwards. If it had been a different kind of "bending," he probably would have chased me out and beaten me up. On the sixth night, I had him take a medicinal petal bath, then told him to lie face down on the bed. As the essential oils dripped onto his beautifully sculpted back muscles, I clearly felt Arthur shudder. I rubbed my palms together to warm them up and, copying a YouTube video, gave him a sleep-inducing massage. But for some reason, the muscles under my hands grew stiffer the more I massaged them. Wherever I pressed, it turned rock hard. The thin layer of muscle under my hands grew hotter and hotter, breaking out in a fine sweat. His face was buried in the pillow, and the tips of his ears were absurdly red. I whispered, "Mr. Vance, do you have a fever?" Then I was grabbed by the collar and thrown out of the room. Immediately after, the sound of running water came from the bathroom. Tsk, this young master. Not only is he hard to coax to sleep, but he's a germaphobe too. I washed my hands spotlessly clean before I started the massage! On the seventh night, before the sun even set, Mrs. Vance called me in for questioning. She was a bit surprised I had managed to last six days, but she didn't call me in to encourage me; she gave me an ultimatum. "Arthur still hasn't been able to fall asleep after dark these past few days." "I heard you almost broke his legs?" I forced an apologetic smile. "Not broken, not broken. Tonight will definitely be the night." "If you don't succeed tonight, don't bother coming back next week." Tonight, it was do or die! 6 So that night, I brought a bottle of dry red wine to see Arthur. He was wearing the same silk bathrobe from the first time we met. The color was slightly different; this one was dark red. The fabric clung to him, highlighting the peaks and valleys of his muscles. The belt was tied loosely, his chest faintly visible through the deep V-neck. Dressing like this, what is he trying to do? I looked away, poured two glasses of wine, and handed one over. "Mr. Vance, thank you for putting up with my nonsense these past few days." We had tried every sleep remedy in the book, even though they all failed. He took the wine glass but didn't let go, his palm wrapping over my freezing cold hand. "Do you want me to drink this?" He stared at the dry red wine coating the inside of the glass, looking thoughtful. Getting drunk makes you sleepy. I refuse to believe I can't drink you under the table. I nodded. He suddenly tightened his grip, yanking my hand toward him. Holding my hand, he downed the entire glass in one gulp. As I was staring in shock, his eyes locked onto my lips, and he suddenly leaned down— My lips were pried open by a soft, hot tongue. My jaw was pinched and tilted upward. The rich, intoxicating aroma of wine exploded between our lips as the sweet liquid was fed into my mouth. I choked in shock and shoved him away. The scarlet liquid spilled all over both of us. I struggled to stand up, but Arthur's eyes darkened. He pinched my jaw again and fed me the other half of the glass. His lips were glistening, and the emotional tidal wave in his eyes was terrifyingly hot. My brain buzzed. An inexplicable, burning heat ignited in my chest, traveling from the points where he touched me all the way through my limbs. Arthur Vance had a volatile personality, but his body was truly a masterpiece crafted by the gods. From the strands of his hair down to his ankles, he hit every single one of my aesthetic preferences perfectly. By the time I fully processed what was happening, Arthur was already pinned back into the pillows by me. I took back the initiative. I only had one bold idea in my head: Make him cry. Arthur lay on his back, the corners of his eyes flushed red, his expression dark and unreadable, his breathing rapid. His bathrobe was half-undone, the collar wide open, his pale chest stained with a red hue. I grabbed his neck, my hand sliding down that collarbone I had been admiring for days. "Mr. Vance, are you feeling sleepy?" He let out a low, deep laugh, his voice incredibly raspy. "What do you think?" Saying that, he grabbed my knees and pulled me forward, positioning me exactly where he thought I should sit securely. I smiled faintly, leaning down intending to kiss his bobbing Adam's apple— Click. A faint sound sliced through the quiet night. I paused, finally realizing something was wrong. The next second, the world spun upside down. I was thrown off the bed by Arthur. He rolled me up in the blanket, gathered all the clothes I had shed during our struggle, and threw the whole bundle into the bathroom. "Don't bother coming back tomorrow." Through the frosted glass door, Arthur's voice was cold and hard. "With these photos, that woman will never let you step foot in the Vance estate again." Photos? A shiver ran down my spine. I suddenly understood Arthur's inexplicably proactive and ambiguous behavior. What a brilliant honey trap. The warning from Mrs. Vance right before I was hired flashed through my mind: Whoever dares to climb into Arthur's bed won't be allowed to take a single penny with them. If these photos were exposed, wouldn't all my hard work over the past seven days be completely wasted? My brain instantly sobered up. I pressed myself against the door, begging desperately: "Mr. Vance, I was wrong. You can file a complaint against me, but can you please open the door first?" No response from outside. I kept begging, "What I did just now was wrong. I shouldn't have gotten handsy with my boss." The silhouette outside the door shifted, seeming to hesitate. "I just want to apologize to you face-to-face." The door opened. Arthur had his back to me, his voice angry. "Are you dressed?" I took a deep breath and walked step by step until I was right behind him. "Dress for what? Since you're going to—" Then I violently kicked my leg up! I aimed directly at the leg I had almost broken a few days ago and stomped down with all my might. Caught completely off guard, he dropped to his knees on the floor. Taking advantage of the moment, I yanked the belt off his bathrobe and swiftly tied his hands and feet together. Finally, I bit down hard on that trembling Adam's apple. "If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me!" If I lost my job... He wasn't going to get a wink of sleep tonight either. 7 "Get off!" "You got it." I obediently shifted my weight downward. "Hiss... don't move!" The young man's voice was terrifyingly hoarse, sounding like he was grinding his teeth into dust. He told me to get off, I literally went down, and now he doesn't want that either. Tsk. So hard to please. Arthur's hands were tied behind his back, his ankles bound together, and the other end of the belt was secured to the bedpost. He was arched over, his dark red bathrobe pulled down to his elbows, his forehead damp with sweat, enduring immense pain. I checked the spot I had kicked earlier; there was no redness or swelling. Why was he acting like he was in so much agony? "Get out..." He tells me to get out and I just leave? Then all my tough talk was for nothing! We haven't settled the score yet! But honestly, foot pain... can it really hurt this much? Arthur's eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing heavy. His eyelids were flushed, his lips slightly bleeding. The Adam's apple I had bitten rolled slightly beneath his thin skin. Broken, muffled groans escaped his lips, like he was desperately trying to suppress something. Watching him made my face burn and my mouth go dry. Could this be an advanced version of a honey trap? I jumped off the bed. Using some life hacks I learned from TikTok, I efficiently dug out every single hidden spy camera and recording device in the room. I pulled out all the memory cards and tossed them next to Arthur's face. "No evidence for you now." Just as I was feeling smug, I heard the man chuckling into the bedding. "Are you an idiot? Have you never heard of cloud storage?" Right now, he was clearly the meat on the chopping block and I was the butcher, yet I still felt an overwhelming sense of defeat, like he had me completely figured out. I decided to go all in. I rummaged through the nightstand, found the silk sleep mask Arthur wore during the day, and slipped it over his eyes while he was distracted. The dark green mask hugged his sharp facial contours perfectly. A high bridge of the nose, a strong brow bone. A tight jawline radiating dangerous sex appeal, his Adam's apple bobbing with every breath. "Chloe Davis!" The sudden darkness made him instantly tense up, his voice trembling. "Oh, so Mr. Vance actually knows my name." I provocatively scratched him under the chin. After being called "Hey, you, that girl, come here" for days, I was already pissed off. My fingertips trailed down from his burning cheek. "Do you know how to write my name?" The muscles under my hand instantly tensed. I poured the rest of the dry red wine into a glass and dipped my fingertips into the scarlet liquid. Then, on his sweat-sheened abs, I started writing, pressing down hard with every stroke! 8 A few days ago, for the sake of my sleep-coaxing career, I specifically went and learned massage techniques. But after only a few presses, the young master threw me out and ran off to shower, acting like I had contaminated him. "Didn't you say my hands were dirty?" I muttered as I wrote. "Now I'm going to use my dirty hands to write on your body, stroke by stroke!" I've always had a naturally cold constitution; my hands and feet are freezing year-round. Wherever I "wrote," the skin beneath my "pen" turned bright red. By the end, the writing was illegible. The sweat and wine blended together, making his skin look as red as if he were having a severe allergic reaction. Arthur completely lost his ability to speak. The only sound was his wet, heavy panting. His fists were clenched tightly behind his back, his knuckles completely white. Some deeply repressed emotion was on the verge of losing control. Looking at the young master I had bullied so thoroughly, my brain felt like it was short-circuiting. While I was zoning out, the wine glass tilted, and the remaining liquid poured all over Arthur. The red wine trailed down his chest, over the V-line, and pooled down. Soaking into the dark red bathrobe. The sweet, intoxicating scent of alcohol exploded in the air. My heart raced. Staring at the wine spilled all over him, a terrifying thought flashed through my mind: I want to lean down and clean it up for him... No, no, no! Chloe! Lust is a knife dangling over your head! Arthur looked like he was in absolute agony. After screaming my name, he hadn't said a single word. If it weren't for his increasingly rapid breathing, I would have thought he passed out. He curled his body up like a tightly drawn bow, every muscle tense to the extreme. I gently tried to roll him over, but he desperately twisted away, seemingly trying to hide something. I glanced down, noticing the massive, poorly concealed tent pitching in his robe, then looked at the dry red wine in my hand... "Arthur Vance! There was something in the wine?!" I let out a delayed, high-pitched screech. Arthur smirked coldly. "You didn't know?" How the hell was I supposed to know?! So that's why he asked, "Do you want me to drink this?" He thought I spiked it! "If I knew, do you think I would have let you kiss... kiss me for that long?!" Thinking back to how he pinched my jaw, kissing me while feeding me the wine... he was trying to drag me down with him! What a sinister motive! Truly an evil capitalist with no good intentions! "I didn't know there was something in the wine." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Makes sense. Seeing as you didn't even know where to sit." Hey! You don't have to insult me too! "Then do you know who spiked it?" Arthur seemed to see through everything, but he just wouldn't say. I brought the dry red wine. It was a $99 bottle I bought from the supermarket when it wasn't on sale, which hurt my wallet. But those kinds of drugs are supposedly very expensive. A single pill probably costs more than my entire bottle of wine. The empty wine glass rolled onto the floor... The glasses were provided by the butler. The butler had no reason to harm his own young master. So the target had to be me. But why use a kamikaze tactic just to mess with a lowly temp worker like me? Weren't they afraid the drug would be too strong and I'd actually sleep with their young master? "I thought you were smart." Arthur scoffed. "I overestimated your ambition." Now I was angry. Insulting my intelligence was one thing, but saying I had no ambition?! I am greedy for money and I love good-looking men. How does that mean I have no ambition?! Saying that, I yanked him closer to me, completely ignoring the red marks the belt left on him. "Since the misunderstanding is cleared up and I wasn't trying to murder you... can we just keep tonight a secret? And my paycheck..." "No. You're not getting it." "You!" Fine! Playing nice doesn't work, huh? Then I'll play hardball! "If you don't pay me, I'll go ask Mrs. Vance. If Mrs. Vance doesn't pay me, I'll go to the tabloids and expose your entire family!" I threatened. "Heh. Make sure you contact a few different outlets." How could his 98.6-degree lips utter such freezing words?! I was just debating my next move to torture him when I suddenly heard a knock on the door. "Arthur, it's me." The voice was languid and seductive. "I heard noises coming from your room. Are you okay?" It was Mrs. Vance. Arthur's stepmother, Susan. 9 A minute ago I was boldly threatening to go to Mrs. Vance, but now that she was actually here, I chickened out. If she saw this room, this bed, her stepson, and the state he was in... I probably wouldn't just lose my paycheck; I'd end up as the defendant in a lawsuit. Arthur's face changed drastically. In three quick moves, he broke free from the remaining restraints on his hands and feet and ripped off the sleep mask. Then, he used the bedsheets to wrap me and all my belongings into a massive bundle and stuffed me directly into his massive wardrobe. "Don't make a sound," he ordered with a cold face, shutting the wardrobe doors. He also grabbed an incredibly ugly winter coat on his way out. I have been a law-abiding citizen for over twenty years. This was my first time hiding in a closet as a voyeur. It was stressful, thrilling, and terrifying. I held my breath and peeked out through the crack in the doors. I saw Arthur quickly pull his bathrobe shut, tie the belt tightly, throw on the ugly winter coat, and zip it all the way up to his chin. He was completely, hermetically sealed. "Why are you wearing so many layers? Are you not feeling well?" the woman asked in a sweet voice. "No. What do you want?" Arthur only opened the door a crack, standing rigidly behind it, with no intention of letting anyone in. "Arthur, I'm very worried about you." The voice was melodic and filled with deep concern. First she hires someone to coax him to sleep, then she visits him in the middle of the night. For a stepmother to go to these lengths, it's truly commendable. I was just getting moved by this display of billionaire family bonding when I was suddenly blinded by a flash of white skin. Susan forced her way into the room. Arthur instantly sprang back, like he had touched something filthy. I quickly clamped a hand over my mouth. The scene unfolding in front of me was absolutely shocking. The Mrs. Vance who was so elegant and poised during the day was now knocking on her stepson's door in the middle of the night wearing a sheer, lace slip dress. Her cleavage was half-exposed, her curled hair was loose, and her cheeks were flushed. Her immaculately maintained skin glowed softly in the moonlight, and the way she looked at Arthur was so deeply affectionate and ambiguous, she looked like a lovestruck teenager. She reached out, wanting to adjust Arthur's collar, but he immediately dodged, completely unreceptive to her advances. "I'm fine. You should go back. My dad will be home soon." "Your dad? Who knows where he's off messing around. Where's the girl?" Susan ignored her stepson's clear signal to leave and walked straight into the bedroom. She glanced at the messy bed. "Wearing a sleep mask at night?" I broke out in a cold sweat. She paced around the room, and just as she was about to walk up to the wardrobe— "You don't need to look for her. I kicked her out." Arthur's tone was hostile as he blocked Susan's path. "I thought you liked her?" Arthur sneered. "Whether I liked her or not, couldn't you see it on your security cameras?" I shivered. That little punk played me again. So the cameras were installed by Mrs. Vance, and she knew every single move we made over the past few days. My paycheck... is definitely completely gone now. "I was only worried about your safety, that's why I..." Mrs. Vance took a step closer, her eyes glued to her stepson, practically pulling strings of affection. "Were you worried she was going to climb into my bed, or were you worried I was going to voluntarily sleep with—" SLAP! The crisp sound of a slap echoed through the room. A clear, red handprint quickly formed on the side of Arthur's face. But the very next second, Susan acted like she had a split personality, her voice full of heartbreak: "I'm sorry, Arthur, I just got anxious." She tried to touch her stepson's face, but he turned his head away to avoid her. "None of those girls are genuine, they're all just after your money. Only I..." "Then thank you so much for your concern, Mother." Arthur sneered. "Don't call me Mother! I am not your mother!" Susan suddenly snapped, backing Arthur up against the edge of the bed. "You used to call me Ms. Susan..." Arthur scoffed. "Oh, so you still remember that you used to be my tutor." Listening to this conversation, I felt like the oxygen in the wardrobe was running out. My brain couldn't process the sheer volume of information being thrown at me. I was a little dizzy. No wonder Mrs. Vance was so hyper-sensitive to the candidates' outfits during the interview and picked me, the most unremarkable one. No wonder she repeatedly emphasized that I could coax him, but absolutely could not sleep with him, and forbade me from having any inappropriate thoughts about Arthur. No wonder Arthur said that if Mrs. Vance found those photos, I would never be allowed back. Mrs. Vance is in love with her own stepson?! If that's the case, then why did she make Arthur drink the spiked red wine? The butler gave me the spiked glass. It was obvious who gave him the order. Staring at the security cameras, knocking on the door at the perfect moment... She wanted to use me to drug Arthur, and then step in to take my place so she could sleep with him... I violently shuddered. Holy shit! Can someone please Men in Black flash my memory right now?! After accidentally stumbling upon the biggest, dirtiest secret of a billionaire family, am I even going to make it out of here alive?
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