บททั้งหมดของ OOPS! I'M THE BOSS'S FIANCÉE.: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

I had exactly three dollars and fifty cents in my right pocket, and I needed four to pay the subway fare back to my dump of an apartment. I was sitting in the massive glass lobby of Montenegro Enterprises, digging through the bottom of my knockoff purse for a stray coin buried between lint and gum wrappers, when a flawless voice sliced through the corporate chatter."Miss Camila?"My head snapped up, the purse strap smacking me right under the chin. A blonde woman, poured into a tailored suit that probably cost more than my vital organs on the black market, was walking straight toward me. Before I could string a single sentence together to explain that I was here for the night-shift janitorial vacancy, she slipped a heavy gold lanyard around my neck. The letters gleamed under the recessed lighting: VIP Access – Executive Suite."We’ve been eagerly expecting you. Showing up fifteen minutes late is a fascinating power move, I must admit," the blonde said, giving me a smile that didn't q

The word "fiancée" kept bouncing off the walls of my skull with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball. I stood frozen in the center of the office, waiting to wake up on my air mattress with a stiff neck, but the thick carpet beneath my feet and the smell of expensive leather confirmed this was real.I barely had time to process that I had just gotten engaged to a billionaire I met three minutes ago, when the frosted glass door violently swung open again.Maximiliano Montenegro marched in with the urgency of a man who controlled the rest of the world’s time. In his right hand, he held a bound stack of paper as thick as a cinder block. Before I could even make a sound, he raised his arm and dropped the massive brick of paper onto my mahogany desk.The impact echoed like a gunshot."Sign," he ordered.I jumped, cautiously approaching the desk. The document had a black cardstock cover with silver embossed letters: Prenuptial Agreement, Asset Merger, and Terms of Corporate Cohabitation.I sw

The clock read nine-twelve in the morning. I desperately needed caffeine, or my brain, already fried from the stress of signing a fraudulent contract, was going to shut down completely.The problem was the coffee maker in my office.Calling it a "coffee maker" was an insult. That chrome monster embedded in the mahogany wall looked like the control panel of a space shuttle. It had two analog pressure gauges, four stainless steel nozzles, and a touchscreen with options written entirely in Italian. I was used to boiling water in an aluminum pot and stirring in a spoonful of off-brand instant coffee. This was alien territory.I tapped a button that said Espresso Doppio and then grabbed a little metal pitcher sitting to the side, assuming it was for heating milk. There was a red lever with the word Vapore. Sounded harmless enough. I pushed the lever down.It was like opening the gates of hell itself.A blast of industrial-pressurized steam shot out of the nozzle with a deafening shriek, sl

I stormed out of the boardroom walking so fast my secondhand heels practically threw sparks against the polished wood. I wanted to get to my office, lock the door, and have a panic attack in peace. My legs were shaking. I had managed to fool twelve of the most ruthless executives in the country using a metaphor about marinated pork, but I knew my streak of luck had a limit.I reached the private elevator at the end of the hall and slammed the down button so hard I nearly caved the panel into the wall.The polished steel doors slid open. I shot inside like lightning, glued my back to the rear panel, and prayed the metal doors would shut before anyone could speak to me. There were only four inches left to seal my escape when a massive hand, sporting a watch that cost as much as my entire life, shoved itself into the gap.The doors retreated with an obedient buzz.Maximiliano Montenegro stepped into the cube.The space, which a second ago had felt luxurious and wide, shrank dramatically

The Google search bar blinked on my laptop screen with the relentless mockery of modern technology. The results yielded three monasteries in the Alps, but absolutely none of them were dedicated to producing Gruyère cheese in sensory deprivation. My lie was a house of cards teetering on the edge of a cliff.I was about to close the tab to look up cheap flights or tutorials on how to forge a new identity, when my busted cell phone vibrated against the mahogany desk.The noise made me jump. I grabbed the device, fully expecting another text full of insults from Gutierrez, my landlord, demanding my imminent eviction.But it wasn't the landlord. It was a push notification from my low-budget bank app.Transfer received.I opened the message with a trembling thumb, ignoring the cracked glass scratching my fingertip. The screen took ten agonizing seconds to load, courtesy of the corporate tower's free Wi-Fi. When the numbers finally snapped into focus, my heart actually stopped. I literally f