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On the first day of work, my boss, Wayne Richmond, gives everyone a nice bonus to start the year. Some receive 100 dollars, while others receive 200 dollars. When it's my turn, all I get is a piece of A4 paper. The rent, the management fee, and the utility bills, all from last year, are printed on the paper. At the end, I see Wayne's bank account number listed there. Wayne just looks at me haughtily as he says, "Meredith, you took the liberty to take on overtime shifts that last for more than a thousand hours last year. But despite the long hours, you didn't really bring much profit to the table. "That's why you should be the one paying for the property fees and the utility bills, seeing as you've wasted so much resources. This shouldn't be an outrageous request, right?" When I try to argue with Wayne, he just waves a hand at me impatiently. "I'm already charging you the lowest rate. Hurry up and pay the bills. Don't delay the work hours for everyone." As I stare at the piece of paper, I just smile instead of lashing out at Wayne. Everyone in the company doesn't know that I'm actually the owner of the building this company is based in. That means Wayne is giving me, the owner, the bill that he's supposed to be paying. In that case, I shall be retrieving every single cent that I've spent on this company. I won't be playing nice anymore.

My father loved silence. He believed noise was the mark of lesser people, so he installed a decibel meter in our home. Speaking above 40 decibels meant that we would have to pay him 10 dollars, laughing above 60 decibels meant 50 dollars, and crying or throwing a tantrum was a serious offense at 100 dollars per second. The year I turned four, I fell and broke my arm. I did not make a single sound. I bit down so hard that I cracked two teeth, but I saved thousands in noise fees. He praised me for it and called me a "high-value child," one that was worth the investment. I treasured that compliment and observed the rules carefully, keeping the house wrapped in suffocating silence. Then came the stormy night a thief broke in. He had a knife and was creeping toward my mother as she slept, and I watched it all from the gap in the wardrobe where I was hiding. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shriek and wake my father, to do something, anything. However, my eyes drifted to the decibel meter on the wall, and my hand found nothing but an empty pocket. I did not have enough allowance. One scream would cost hundreds, and I simply could not afford it.

After ten years studying interior design overseas, I came back to my hometown to do work that mattered to the people who raised me. I offered the full package, from site survey to soft furnishings. The materials were chosen by hand. The price was fair to the bone. The town had just gone through a redevelopment. Everyone was getting new units. With the new family policy, every family wanted a third bedroom too. My business was good. Customers from the next county were driving in. Then a girl just back from a city college kicked open my studio with her phone on a livestream and her neighbors at her shoulder. "This is the dishonest one. Look at her. She has been ripping the village off." "In the city, an eighty-square-meter unit can be done for twenty thousand dollars. She is charging eighty." "That's a sixty-thousand-dollar margin. Sixty thousand. Right out of our pockets." The village fell in line behind her. They demanded the difference back. When I refused, they smashed my studio. They beat me into a coma. The pile-on online killed me. When I opened my eyes again, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I would refund every single one of them. And then I would tear out every single thing I had installed. Let's see what twenty thousand dollars actually buys you.

Since I've spent a few minutes using the toilet during work hours, I only receive 3500 dollars despite my salary being 20 thousand dollars. I confront my boss, Vivian Dune, immediately. Although she seems fair and just on the outside, she adopts a passive-aggressive attitude with me. "The security footage from last month shows that you've used the toilet for 40 minutes altogether. Don't tell me you're working there, right? "It'll be 500 dollars for every minute you spend in the toilet. That's the new rule of the company. Since you're a veteran employee, you should be the one taking the lead. Honestly, I already went easy on you." I'm a veteran employee who has been working at this company for ten years. Each business deal that I've closed brings the company at least 100 million dollars worth of revenue. But now, I get robbed of my most basic right as a human. Seeing my lack of response, Vivian flashes me a venomous smile. "If you really don't want to work here, you might as well leave. Do you seriously think we need you? Don't forget that your five-year contract isn't up yet. Who in this industry will want to hire you next?" I don't argue with her any further. But when my contract, which only has five days left, comes to an end, she's the one panicking instead.

At the New Year’s team-building event, the intern, Lilith Woods, did not obtain my approval and changed our suburban trip to a seven-day tour of Baline. “Mr. Lucian Stone, I hear a change of scenery can really spice things up. Don’t lock up tonight. I’ll come by for a deep dive into our collaboration.” She pretended to be drunk and fell into my arms while slipping the room key into my pocket in the process. To avoid suspicion, I did not return to the hotel. However, in the middle of the night, the police called me in for questioning—someone had reported a dine-and-dash. Only then did I realize that the reserved budget of $100,000 for the accommodation had long since been exceeded. Lilith had upgraded their room to a presidential suite, feasted on high-end seafood buffets, and even used company funds to buy luxury handbags! When I showed up at their private room, the interns were still casually taking king crabs and several unopened bottles of the Macallan Whisky with them. “Mr. Stone, you’re just in time. Could you please settle the bill?” Lilith looked utterly righteous as she said this with a grin. “Young people like us make mistakes, while adults help to pay the price. You’re not exactly short on cash, anyway. Just think of it as buying my happiness.” I stared at the $700,000 bill and paid it in silence. The next day, the payment invoices made their grand entrance in the group chat, accompanied by my pinned message. [Upon financial review, this team-building event does not meet reimbursement criteria. All expenses will be shared equally among the seven participants.] [Each person will need to pay $100,000, payable immediately. If payment needs to be deferred, please print the proof and submit it to the President’s Office.]

I always had a weakness for handsome men, so I camped out online to grab one of the very first AI incubi. The brand's whole pitch was seduction tuned a hundred percent to its owner's taste. But every time I got within ten minutes of Lucien Crane, he'd force-start a system cleaning cycle, go dark, and idle out. "Master, please don't overuse me. Bacteria buildup can cause a malfunction." Left unsatisfied every single time, I finally went to customer service, and the rep looked as baffled as I felt. "An incubus unit would never break off contact with its owner. We'd recommend restarting him at home." But on the drive back, I happened to scroll past a livestream from my live-in housekeeper. The title sat right there in bold: How a Seasoned Queen Subdues In Her AI Incubus. The lighting was low. The man's earlobes were flushed, and he knelt on one knee, every inch of bared skin crossed with messy whip marks. My housekeeper wiggled her red-painted toes, all smiles. "This one's got real stamina. Five hours straight and he never once tapped out." As the comments poured in, envious, a chill ran through me. So the so-called "cleaning system" was just his excuse to slack off and idle. Behind my back, he was happily playing somebody else's obedient little sub. If he wouldn't serve me the way he was built to, then he could wait to get shipped back to the factory and scrapped for parts.