Everyone knows I'm Mila Pruitt's doormat.

What they don't know is the price tag. For three years, I played her pathetic lapdog for two hundred thousand a month.

But now, the contract's up. Three years fulfilled.

The problem? She wants me to keep performing—without the paycheck. I sold my pride for money. A free show? Absolutely not.

——

The banquet hall reeked of perfume and expensive alcohol. It was Mila's birthday, and she was already swaying, cheeks flushed.

I plastered on frantic concern. "Mila, please slow down. Your stomach's been acting up—you'll make yourself sick."

The sharks descended instantly.

"It's her birthday, for God's sake," one sneered, swirling champagne. "Who are you to kill the vibe? Since when does a pet give orders?"

"Know your place, Liam. You're just a dog begging for scraps."

"We're not leaving until we can't stand," a man shouted. "Stop being a buzzkill. You think you matter here?"

Internally, I didn't flinch. Three years had turned their insults into white noise. As long as the check cleared, their barking meant nothing.

Externally, I shrank. Shoulders slumped, lip bitten—the perfect image of a man crushed by inadequacy. It satisfied their need for superiority.

Mila didn't defend me. She basked in it, shooting me a glare sharp enough to draw blood.

"Remember your place, Liam. My life is none of your business. You don't have the right to worry about me. Can't handle it? Get out of my house."

I lowered my head, let out a shaky sigh, and retreated to the kitchen to prepare her hangover soup.

Behind me, the laughter erupted louder.

Leading it was Finn Mason, her assistant.

"Ms. Pruitt, you've trained him well," he jeered. "He'd jump off a cliff if you asked. The man's incapable of leaving you."

His eyes found mine—cold, venomous. Finn came from money, though not Pruitt-level money. He'd taken the assistant job to get into Mila's bed and bank account.

I was the obstacle. He'd tried everything—public humiliation, smear campaigns—desperate to force me out. He wanted Mila to see me as pathetic enough to discard.

Unfortunately for him, my dignity had a price he couldn't match. And Mila had no intention of letting her favorite toy go.

I'd become his thorn. He hated every second.

Mila knew exactly what Finn was doing. She loved the drama—it fed her ego.

Tonight, fueled by wine and arrogance, she escalated the game. In front of everyone, she stumbled over and dropped onto Finn's lap.

His eyes lit up. Greedy delight washed over his face as his arms snaked around her waist.

Just then, I walked out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl of hangover soup.

I froze. Saw Mila nestled in Finn's arms.

With practiced ease, I arranged my features into the perfect mask of a jealous, heartbroken husband.

Mila Pruitt wore a smile of triumphant satisfaction.

I, on the other hand, felt a complicated mix of emotions churn in my chest.

Three years of playing the professional sycophant had taught me a harsh truth: Mila's psyche was twisted, perhaps even a little perverse. She thrived on the humiliation of others.

But did that matter to me? Hardly.

As long as the monthly two hundred thousand dollars hit my bank account on time, I would happily remain her most loyal doormat.

Mila finished the hangover soup I had simmered for her, wiped her mouth, and issued her next command. "I want millet porridge tomorrow to settle my stomach. Have it here before six in the morning."

She didn't wait for a response. "Good. Now get lost."

I contorted my face into a mask of bitterness. Under the mocking gazes of Finn Mason and his entourage, I slumped my shoulders and trudged out of the Pruitt family's luxury mansion, the very picture of a heartbroken man.

The moment I stepped past the estate gates, the misery vanished. A grin stretched across my face.

Today marked the final day of the three-year agreement I had signed with Mila.

For thirty-six months, I had provided her with perfect emotional validation and ego-stroking services. Surely, she would renew the contract. And given the quality of my work, I wondered if the two hundred thousand monthly salary might see a bump?

I was genuinely looking forward to the negotiation.

I climbed onto my battered electric scooter and headed toward the urban village. The wind whipped past me, and I was calculating my potential raise when the roar of an engine surged from behind.

A motorcycle screamed up beside me.

Before I could react, the passenger swung a heavy iron rod directly at my head.

Adrenaline spiked. I jerked the handlebars, barely dodging the lethal blow, but the metal pipe slammed into my shoulder and arm with a sickening thud. The force sent me flying. I hit the pavement hard, my scooter skidding away in a shower of sparks.

Pain exploded through my arm, radiating down to my fingertips.

The motorcycle didn't circle back for a second hit. Instead, the rider slowed just enough for the passenger to shout a warning.

"Stay away from Mila Pruitt! Consider this a small lesson. Next time, we take your life!"

With a roar of the throttle, they sped off into the night.

I sat on the asphalt, clutching my throbbing arm, and watched their taillights fade. My brow furrowed.

Was Mila's suitor so insecure he couldn't hold back?

Finn's smug, sneering face immediately flashed in my mind.

Great. Since when did being a paid simp come with occupational hazards?

If Mila wanted to renew the contract tomorrow, she was definitely paying for my medical bills. I needed hazard pay.

Early the next morning, I arrived at the gates of the Pruitt mansion.

My shoulder and arm were swollen, pulsing with a dull ache. Fortunately, nothing felt broken. A few days of rest would clear it up.

I hadn't slept a wink the night before.

It wasn't the pain from the attack that kept me awake, nor fear of the thugs. It was the fact that Mila hadn't transferred my money.

For three years, Mila had never been late.

Yesterday was the final day of our agreement. By the terms of the contract, the funds should have cleared before midnight. I had stared at my phone all night, waiting for a notification that never came.

So, this morning's millet porridge delivery had a dual purpose: breakfast and debt collection.

I pressed the doorbell and waited. Minutes ticked by.

Finally, the heavy oak door swung open.

But it wasn't Mila standing there. It was Finn.

My stomach dropped. He had stayed the night?

Did this mean Mila had finally accepted his advances? Were they officially a couple now?

This was a disaster.

If Finn had secured his position, my services as a placeholder and ego-boost would no longer be required. My career as a high-paid admirer was about to crash and burn.

My expression soured instantly.

In this economy, finding a job that paid two hundred grand a month—without requiring me to sell my body—was nearly impossible. Losing this gig would be catastrophic.

Finn, however, completely misinterpreted my look of financial panic.

He leaned against the doorframe, looking down at me with arrogant disdain. A cold sneer played on his lips.

"In the end, you're nothing more than a bootlicking dog, Gilbert. Did you really think you could compete with me?"

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Was last night's lesson not enough? You actually have the nerve to show your face here today?"

I fixed a cold stare on him.

I'd already suspected he was behind the two bikers who jumped me last night. Hearing him confess it so brazenly lit a fresh spark of rage in my chest.

Finn didn't flinch. A smirk curled his lip.

"You really think your pretty face is enough to keep your job as Mila's lapdog?" He stepped closer, voice dripping with malice. "If I ruin that face, think she'll still keep you around?"

He reached out to pat my cheek—pure, dripping condescension.

Before his skin could graze mine, I snatched his wrist.

His eyes widened. He tried to yank free, but my grip was iron. Shock flickered across his face—clearly he hadn't expected the 'simp' to have any strength.

"My face isn't for you to touch," I said quietly.

His expression twisted. He raised his free hand to strike, cursing, "You ungrateful little—"

I didn't let him finish. My foot drove into his stomach, sending him flying backward.

The kick connected solid. He hit the floor hard, rolling and clutching his abdomen, curling into a ball as he groaned.

In the past, I would've endured his insults. Played the punching bag.

But after last night's ambush, I was done being the victim. Watching him writhe felt like releasing a breath I'd held for three years.

The commotion drew Mila from the bedroom.

She froze, staring at the scene, before her face contorted. "Liam! Have you lost your mind?"

"How dare you touch him? Have you forgotten who you are?" She pointed a trembling finger at the floor. "On your knees. Now. Apologize to Finn."

Seeing her rush to defend him confirmed it. They were definitely together.

Well, my career as a professional doormat was officially over anyway.

I ignored her command, walked over, and placed the thermos on the dining table. "Ms. Pruitt," I said, tone polite but distant. "Here's the millet porridge you asked for. Drink it while it's hot."

"Don't play dumb with me!" she screamed. "I said get on your knees and beg for his forgiveness! Did you hear me?"

On the floor, Finn peeked up, a gleam of malicious triumph in his eyes despite his pain. He loved seeing her defend him. Loved watching me get put in my place.

I looked at Mila and shook my head.

She gaped at me. For three years, I'd been her obedient dog. My defiance short-circuited her brain. Shock quickly morphed into blind rage.

She lashed out, swinging her hand toward my face.

I stepped back calmly, letting her hand slice through empty air.

"You dare dodge me?" she hissed, eyes burning. "Liam, you—"

"Ms. Pruitt," I interrupted, voice cool. "Read the contract. No hitting the face."

I straightened, meeting her eyes dead-on.

"Besides, our three-year agreement ended yesterday. You still owe me my final month's salary. I waited all night for the transfer. It never came."

I added dryly, "Maybe you were too drunk to remember. If it's not too much trouble, please settle the bill."