1 The darling of New York’s elite social circles developed psychosomatic mutism after being dumped by a scholarship student. Her mother, the matriarch of the Reeves family, made an announcement: anyone who could get her daughter to speak again would receive a million dollars. I pushed past a crowd of suitors all trying to coax her with gentle words. "This is a far cry from last night, isn't it?" I drawled. "When you were screaming 'Daddy' in my bed." "I did not!" The words flew out of Isabelle Reeves's mouth before she could stop them. Her mother instantly wired a million dollars to my account. I was over the moon. I started following Isabelle around every day, teasing her, raking in a fortune. She couldn't speak, couldn't hit me, and in her frustration, she found another way to shut me up—with her own mouth. Overnight, my job title went from "Princess's Companion" to "Heiress's Official Boyfriend." Every time I’d drop a risqué comment, she’d demand a physical rebuttal until I didn’t dare say another word. Then, just before our wedding, her first love—the one who’d been beaten down by the real world—came back. That night, Isabelle didn't come home. I took the half-empty box of Durex and the savings I’d amassed over ten years, and I walked out of our penthouse. The condoms, I had delivered to them. The savings, I used to buy a one-way ticket back home. … Isabelle Reeves had never met a man with grit. Jimmy Croft, who had worked his way through an elite university abroad on a scholarship, never bowed to the rich and powerful. For Isabelle, a woman who had everything, that kind of defiance was devastatingly attractive. I considered trying to win her over myself, to make her fall for me instead. But Isabelle had seen too many silver-spoon princes. There was no substitute for the rugged, resilient scholarship student. I was poor too, but my unabashed love for money was a turn-off for her. As the princess's official companion, my high-paying job was on the line now that she had retreated into silence on the other side of the world. So, I took the initiative and sought out Jimmy, hoping to befriend him. As the only two "have-nots" in a sea of "haves" at our university, he was warmer to me than to the trust-fund kids. But the moment I asked, "Could you go see Isabelle?" he threw a glass of wine in my face. "I can't believe you're one of her lapdogs too! Leo, have you no integrity? Can't you see that wealth can't corrupt the virtuous, and poverty can't shake the determined? Will you die if you don't grovel at that princess's feet?" I wiped my face, unfazed. He wasn't wrong. I didn't have his backbone. My entire reason for getting close to him was the money. I’d endured far worse than a splash of wine in my pursuit of a paycheck. But Jimmy refused to see me again. That was a problem. Isabelle had no interest in the wealthy princes trying to "heal her with love." And she had even less interest in a money-grubber like me. But her mother’s offer only said she’d pay a million to anyone who could make her talk. It didn't specify the method. So I dropped my bombshell in public. "This is a far cry from last night, isn't it? When you were screaming 'Daddy' in my bed." "You're lying!" Everyone froze. Isabelle stared, her face flushing crimson as she lowered her head in shame. But I had it all on video. Her mother called me immediately. "Leo, I knew I wasn't wrong about you. Sending you to America with her was the right call. Keep it up. For every additional word she says, I'll give you another million. If you can cure her completely, I'll give you a hundred million." My eyes lit up. I hugged my phone, kissing the screen as I stared at the new million-dollar balance in my account. My unorthodox methods made me famous in our circles. Families with children suffering from depression or anxiety started seeking me out. My shock-jock approach was surprisingly effective. The moment I'd drop a risqué line, even the most withdrawn heiress would flush and snap, "I did not!" And so, under the stunned gazes of onlookers, the blushing faces of parents, and the mortified expressions of the young ladies, I would graciously accept my payment. None of them paid as well as Isabelle's mother, though. After that public humiliation, however, Isabelle clammed up again. I followed her around with my phone, replaying the video, teasing her from every angle, but she wouldn't say another word. Her eyes would turn red with frustration, but her lips remained sealed. I sighed dramatically. "You really don't want me to earn a single cent, do you? Good thing I have other clients..." I answered a call from a new prospect. She stopped in her tracks. This new client was in a hurry and offered me a twenty percent bonus. With no sign of Isabelle speaking anytime soon, I turned to leave. A voice came from behind me. I spun around. "What did you say?" She bit her lip, her eyes red as she glared at me. But no matter how much I prodded, she stayed silent. Just as I was about to turn off the recording, she spoke again. It was a whisper, but perfectly clear. "Don't go..." I immediately sent the video to her mother with a two-word message: "Pay up." Isabelle turned to walk away. I pressed my advantage, rushing after her. "What was that, sweetheart? I didn't quite hear you. Could you say it again? Just like you did last night, when you were choking me and begging me to say it..." Passersby stared in shock. Isabelle picked up her pace. "Sweetheart, don't walk so fast! Or I won't let you cry in my arms tonight!" She nearly stumbled. The princess had never been subjected to such public scrutiny. Seeing me still recording, still spouting nonsense, she desperately came up with a solution— She shut me up with her mouth. 2 This time, I was the one left speechless. Even after she pulled away, I was dumbstruck. But she was talking. Her words were still a bit shaky. "Do you... do you say those... things to... to them, too?" I slowly raised my phone. "Don't tell me you're jealous." "Stop filming!" She slapped my phone down. "How... how much are they paying you?" I hesitated, unsure if I should reveal my trade secrets. She shoved a black card into my hand. "I... I have money." She hadn't spoken in so long that her words came out slower than they used to. But her mother was ecstatic. A ten-million-dollar wire transfer hit my account instantly. "Keep it up, Leo. Get her back to her old debate-team form, and I'll add a bonus." I was thrilled. But Isabelle quickly threw a bucket of cold water on my plans. After giving me the black card, she stopped speaking again. Her final instruction to me was, "You... you're only allowed to say those things... to me." So, she’d bought exclusive rights to my dirty jokes. It seemed I wouldn't be earning that hundred million after all. But, on the bright side, Isabelle’s black card had no limit. And after her mother saw the video of her kissing me, my monthly "allowance" of five hundred thousand dollars was raised to a million. Long-term, it wasn't a bad deal. 3 On graduation day, I ran into Jimmy again. He was wandering through job fairs, résumé in hand. The other princes and princesses from our elite university had family businesses waiting for them. Only he had to pound the pavement, hustling for a high-paying job. He glanced at the luxury shopping bags in my hands and sneered. "I hear you've stooped to serving that little princess." I didn't bother answering and turned to leave. "Leo!" he called out, his voice laced with a strange, bitter anger. "Do you really think a girl from a family like that sees you as a person? To put it nicely, you're her 'boyfriend.' To put it bluntly, you went from being the princess's companion to being her boy toy!" I turned back. "I know." "You—!" "Are you looking for a job?" I asked brightly. "Want me to put in a good word for you? Great pay, easy work, three-day weekends, full benefits~" "I don't need your help!" he spat, shooting me a look of utter disappointment. "I'm not like you, content to debase myself! I'll find my own way!" He stormed off, leaving me standing there. I touched my own face. Where else was I going to find a job that paid a million dollars a month to sleep with a stunningly beautiful woman with killer curves and a passionate nature? I wanted to earn a respectable living too. But not everyone gets to be respectable. All the talk about being cheap or a social climber meant nothing compared to the simple comfort of knowing where my next meal was coming from. If Isabelle ever got tired of me, at least I’d have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life. In a way, wasn't that its own kind of success? I just never expected her to "play" with me all the way to the altar. When the engagement ring slipped onto her finger, I thought I was dreaming. Isabelle still didn't talk much. The doctors said her stress-induced speech trauma might be permanent. The few sentences I'd managed to squeeze out of her were already a miracle. It turned out she had channeled all her unspoken words into an insatiable desire in the bedroom every night. It turned out she had been confessing her love through her actions for ten years. I held the bouquet of roses. I thought, Maybe I've stumbled into the real thing. A blind squirrel finding a nut. But at a party after our engagement, I saw Jimmy for the first time in years. 4 The seams on Jimmy's suit were frayed, making him stick out like a sore thumb among the expensive couture of the city's elite. I'd heard the company he'd finally landed a job at was on the verge of bankruptcy. He’d had a few girlfriends over the past decade, but they all ended for the same reason: money. He had pulled a lot of strings just to get an invitation to this business summit with the Reeves Corporation. His eyes twitched when he saw the engagement ring on my finger. "You and Isabelle?" I nodded. His companion nudged him. "You know him?" "Know him?" Jimmy smirked, uncorking a bottle of wine. "He's the one who stole my girlfriend." A cascade of cold wine drenched me, sending a shiver through my body. His friends were shocked. "Jimmy! What the hell is going on?" Jimmy lifted his chin. "My girlfriend was Isabelle Reeves." "What?!" He savored my humiliation. "Leo, you're cheaper than a ten-dollar whore." I wiped my face. And picked up a bottle of wine. Unopened. I smashed it over his head. Glass shards and red wine rained down from his hair. He clutched his bleeding head and screamed, "Are you insane?!" I looked down on him. "That day you threw wine on me, I didn't retaliate, because that was between us. But now, Isabelle is my fiancée. You're spreading rumors about the man she's going to marry. I'm not going to be so nice this time." His face went pale. The memory of that first wine-throwing incident had given him an unearned confidence, making him walk around like he owned me for the rest of our university days. "You think you can do whatever you want now that you've latched onto my ex-girlfriend?" Jimmy gritted out. "If I hadn't left her, do you think you would have had a chance? A boy toy, played with by a rich girl for ten years. You really think you're some kind of tycoon now?" His face was a mask of pure mockery. The guests had stopped to watch. Isabelle's mysterious boyfriend had always been a hot topic of gossip. But she never revealed any information about me. Some speculated I was the scion of a mysterious foreign dynasty; others guessed I was the long-lost heir of a powerful family. Jimmy's single word—"boy toy"—shattered all their illusions. Just as the humiliation was becoming unbearable, Isabelle appeared. She took my hand, the matching diamond on her ring finger glittering brightly. With that one gesture, everyone knew whose side she was on. Jimmy’s face went white. At this crucial moment, just as everyone was about to dig into my background, Isabelle, who cherished every word, spoke. "He... is my... fiancé." Her speech was slightly halting, but her tone was firm. The crowd immediately turned their disdainful gazes on Jimmy. "I know him. He's some low-level manager at a small firm. Couldn't keep a girlfriend to save his life. I think he's the one who wants to be Ms. Reeves's boy toy." "Hah. Her fiancé of ten years is just a 'boy toy' in his eyes? The nerve of some people." Jimmy wanted to argue, but his face just turned a deeper shade of red. Isabelle took me home. To reward her, I cooked a feast. But Isabelle didn't touch her food. She was glued to her phone. When I urged her to eat, she showed me an urgent company document and left. She didn't know her laptop was still open. And on the screen, I saw that she had just accepted Jimmy's friend request.
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