Once again, I got yelled at by my boss, Malcolm Lowe. In tears, I opened the WhatsApp chat with my online boyfriend, whom I had never met.

"Babe, my boss criticized my proposal again today."

He replied almost instantly, "What? He criticized you? He's such a jerk."

"Sleep easy tonight, honey. I'll handle the proposal for you."

The next day, I handed Malcolm the version my online boyfriend had revised.

He read through it in silence—a long, heavy silence—before looking up with a strange expression.

Even his voice trembled slightly. "Did you write this proposal?"

***

As a fresh graduate, I'd pulled an all-nighter to finish a proposal I was finally somewhat satisfied with.

The next day, during the meeting, my boss, Malcolm, held my draft with a look of utter disdain.

"Trash belongs in the bin. Who wrote this?"

Malcolm had returned from studying overseas—heir to a prominent family, fiercely intelligent, and handsome enough to rival a movie star.

My friends enviously joked that I was lucky enough to admire a cute guy every day while getting paid.

But only I knew just how harsh Malcolm could be.

Hesitantly, I raised my hand.

His razor-sharp gaze landed on me in an instant.

"How did someone like you even get in? The HR department clearly needs a serious review."

The meeting room was full of people. I blushed in embarrassment, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

Unsurprisingly, I was asked to stay behind after the meeting.

I stood while Malcolm stayed seated.

With a deep frown, he tossed my proposal onto the floor.

"I'll give you one last chance. If I see trash like this again, you can pack your things."

Humiliated, I bent down to pick up the papers, not even daring to glance at him.

My eyes stung with unshed tears. Head lowered, I hurried out of the office.

I slipped into a secluded corner where no one would see me and finally let the tears fall, releasing all the frustration and hurt I'd been holding in. Then, with a shaky pout, I opened the WhatsApp chat with my online boyfriend.

After sending him a crying emoji, I typed, "Honey, my proposal got criticized by my boss again today."

After I'd secured my post-graduate admission, my mother fell critically ill, wiping out all our savings.

So, I gave up the offer and started working instead.

At first, money was still tight—until a friend suggested I try live-streaming without showing my face.

I began recording vlogs about the handicrafts I made in my free time.

To my surprise, people actually gifted me to support my live stream.

And then one viewer—my now online boyfriend—dropped gifts of several hundred thousand dollars, becoming my number one supporter.

For a fresh graduate from an ordinary family, that amount was astronomical.

To thank him, I friended him.

He wasn't harsh like Malcolm.

Whenever I felt low, he knew just how to comfort me. One thing led to another, and we became a couple.

Ever the sweet man, he replied almost instantly.

"Aww, poor babe. Come here, let me hug you. He's such a jerk."

"I'm sure everything you write is amazing."

"After all, you're so clever with your hands, your crafts are always perfect."

But as he tried to comfort me, I only felt more upset.

"But I worked so hard on that proposal... I stayed up all night. And he still yelled at me in front of so many people."

My online boyfriend sent back a string of the kissing emojis I had sent to him earlier.

"Don't let it get to you, babe. As a fresh graduate, you're just starting out—it's totally normal. Crying is good. Let it all out. Some things just take time and patience.

"Hey, I want to see a smile, alright? Don't worry about the proposal anymore—get some rest tonight. I'll handle it for you."

His gentleness melted the tension in my chest.

I wiped my red-rimmed eyes, feeling a little better.

"What's the point of crying?"

I flinched at the voice.

Malcolm stood nearby, elegantly wiping his hands with a tissue. He looked a bit angry.

"If you can't seize opportunities and take your time with everything, you'll end up like your proposal—and like this tissue."

He tossed it neatly into the bin.

Then he glanced indifferently at my red eyes.

"Instead of wasting time crying here, go back to work."

I braced myself until Malcolm finally walked away. The moment he left, I felt tears welling up again.

What could have happened to him to make him speak such harsh words?

Yet, I had to admit—this was an excellent company, and I had worked too hard to earn my place here.

Not to mention, my mother was still ill. I couldn't afford to lose this job.

I dragged my exhausted body back to my desk.

There she was, the colleague I disliked the most, whose desk was next to mine. Almost immediately, she started making snide remarks again.

"I've always wondered how you managed to get in here. But then again, you do have one clear advantage—your face. You must be so grateful for that seductive look of yours."

Too drained to retort, I sank into my chair dejectedly.

Although my online sweetheart had offered to review my proposal, I decided to work on it myself—I didn't want to trouble him.

After all, every adult had their own business to attend to.

I kept revising until the end of the workday, and the proposal still lingered on my mind all the way home. Later that night, I finished up the remaining parts.

Then I sent the revised version to him.

To my surprise, he received the file almost instantly—as if he were online 24/7.

About half an hour later, he sent words of encouragement.

"Babe, is this your first draft? It's a bit rough, but for a beginner—and a first draft at that—it's really impressive.

"Sleep well tonight, OK? I'll make a few tweaks for you."

I felt like crying, but my tears had already run dry.

"I've actually revised it several times already... Is it really that bad?"

After a brief pause, he sent a string of hugging emojis.

"Not at all! You've improved so much. What matters most is the effort you put in, babe."

"Just ignore your boss. From everything you've told me, he sounds like one of those toxic people who have no real expertise. Guys like him only care about venting their own frustrations."

He rage-texted about Malcolm for several messages straight, which stabilized my mood.

"Thank you, babe. I think I'll take your advice and get some good sleep then."

That night, I had the best sleep since I'd started this job.

My online boyfriend truly was as reliable as ever. When I woke up the next morning, there it was—the revised version of my proposal, already sent to my phone.

"You got this, babe," he had even sent.

I checked the time—he'd sent it at 2:00 a.m. My heart swelled.

Malcolm had kept me up all night, and now my online boyfriend had stayed up because of me.

I quickly sent him a stream of kissing emojis.

Then I threw on some clothes and hurried to work.

The moment I stepped into the office, that irritating colleague of mine piped up loudly again.

"Well, well, if it isn't Leona! Look at that glow—you certainly don't look like someone who pulled an all-nighter. Who kept you company last night?"

She rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, and by the way, Mr. Lowe looks like he didn't sleep a wink. He seems completely drained. Maybe someone's proposal really got under his skin."

I ignored her and headed to the printer to get the latest version of my proposal.

My silence only seemed to fuel her.

"Wow, Leona's off to produce more trash," she sneered.

Gathering the printed pages, I turned and walked straight toward Malcolm's office without giving her so much as a glance.

"So arrogant," she called after me. "You'd better brace yourself—who knows? You might just get yelled at till you cry again."

It seemed Malcolm indeed hadn't slept well. I could even see the dark circles under his eyes.

He rubbed his temples, his expression unchanging when he saw me.

Malcolm was an intensely detached person. Rumor had it he wasn't interested in women—a true workaholic, married to his job.

I tentatively handed him my proposal.

He took it without a word, scanned it expressionlessly.

Then he glanced at it a few more times and suddenly looked up at me with a strange intensity. As he continued reading, his eyes kept drifting back to me, his gaze unreadable.

He went through every single page.

"Did you write this proposal?"

Even his voice trembled slightly.

Was he so angry at my proposal that he could hardly speak?

I nodded stiffly, cheeks flushing, bracing for his criticism.

"Do you know how to make ceramics?"

"Give me another chance. I promise I'll... What?"

We had spoken almost at the same time.

He looked at me, his gaze scrutinizing, his expression still severe.

I nodded silently, not daring to say another word.

He then rubbed his temples again, stared at me a moment longer, then finally waved me away.

Was he satisfied or not?

Confused, I returned to my desk.

Seeing my gloomy expression, that annoying colleague lit up with delight.

"Well, well. What happened to the confident Leona? Did Mr. Lowe tear into you again?"

She announced loudly, clearly hoping the whole office would hear.

A few colleagues glanced over curiously, but quickly turned back—they were used to this kind of scene.

My resentment toward this company, Malcolm, and that insufferable colleague hit a boiling point. I wanted to slap them both right then and there.

Before I could vent my anger, Malcolm's assistant, Alaric Robson, approached.

"Mr. Robson! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

The annoying colleague instantly dropped her arrogance, replacing it with a fawning smile.

Alaric ignored her and delivered Malcolm's message directly to me.

"Leona, since Mr. Lowe's other assistant is on sick leave, you're temporarily assigned as his personal assistant. You'll accompany him on a business trip this weekend."

My forced smile tightened.

That damn capitalist—even my weekend wasn't safe?

Why me? To be his personal punching bag?

Before I could respond, the annoying colleague stared at me in disbelief.

"Her? Why?" she protested. "Mr. Robson, you know how incompetent she is. And she always upsets Mr. Lowe!"

Her face was a mask of disdain.

Irritated as I was, her reaction sparked something in me. I hadn't wanted to go—but now, I'd changed my mind.

Gracefully, I offered Alaric a polished, professional smile. "Of course, Mr. Robson. I'll take good care of Mr. Lowe."

Fuming, the colleague could only watch as Alaric walked away.

The moment he was out of sight, she pointed a finger at my face.

"You're just a fresh graduate! Even Mr. Lowe said you were trash!" she snapped. "What underhanded tricks did you use to climb up?"

I pushed her hand away before it got any closer.

"Beauty is my weapon. You're just old, faded, and twisted—you see everything through a dirty lens. And just so you know, Mr. Lowe praised me highly in his office. He said I did an excellent job—that he'd never seen a genius like me."

Since we were outside Malcolm's office and he couldn't hear, why not boast a little?

Her face twisted, but then an odd smile crept onto her lips.

By the time I sensed something wrong, Malcolm was already standing right behind me.

He was so close I could feel his breath.

Uneasy, I took a small step away, not daring to look up.

A bad feeling washed over me—my lie was about to become a slap in my own face, and that woman would surely make the most of it.

"Mr. Lowe, you heard Leona, right? So arrogant—and such a boaster!" she announced triumphantly.

Colleagues were now watching intently, and some even pulled out their phones to record.

I clenched the hem of my blouse, certain I was about to become the office laughingstock.

"Leona's right. I'm very satisfied with her revised proposal."

The moment Malcolm said this, the office fell into total silence. Not a sound could be heard.

My eyes widened as I stared at him in disbelief. His lips pressed into a thin line of silent fury, his presence so intimidating it felt like a pressure that made the air thick.

He turned to my colleague, his voice stern. "I'm not even going to waste my breath on you. What's the point? You've been here for over ten years with zero improvement.

"I don't even remember your name. From tomorrow, don't come back. You're fired."