Blake Rowe had just finished selling us another pipe dream. Once the company went public next year and secured financing, everyone in this room would be considered a founding shareholder.

The very next second, his wife's voice sliced through the air.

"Rose, my son is out of school. Go pick him up."

I tore my gaze from the document on my screen and tilted my head, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Joanna, this content pitch is urgent. Mr. Rowe needs it by end of day."

Her brows knitted together. "If it's due today, then come back and work overtime! During work hours, isn't it normal for a leader to assign additional tasks?"

Pressure tightened around my ribs. I had joined this company before I even graduated. In two years, my salary had crawled from 3,500 to 4,500 dollars. I was the copywriter, editor, operations manager, and client liaison all rolled into one. Yet it felt less like I was a marketing professional and more like a high-end nanny who happened to bring her own laptop.

I grabbed my coat. Before I could reach the door, Joanna barked another order.

"Pick up some meat for dinner, too."

"Okay." I nodded. "But Joanna, I'm reminding you one last time—my job title is Operations."

——

Her forehead creased, her tone sharpening into a blade of reprimand. "Isn't operations just working for someone? The kindergarten is right downstairs. You could have been there in the time you spent arguing!"

I saw the impatience in her eyes.

Swallowed my retort.

Outside, the temperature had plummeted ten degrees. The wind cut straight to the bone.

The elevator descended. First floor: the studio. Eleventh floor: the boss's private residence. Two years ago, they lived in an 80-square-meter two-bedroom apartment. Now they occupied a sprawling 200-square-meter luxury flat.

Blake loved to encourage me. He swore that once the company went public, he'd give me stock options. He promised that if I followed him and worked hard, I'd be driving a Benz and living in a villa sooner or later.

But in reality?

My salary had barely budged.

Rent was 1,000. Daily expenses were 1,000. I sent another 1,000 to my family. In a year, I couldn't even save 20,000. I had to agonize over buying a simple 100-dollar down jacket.

When I tried to resign last time, Blake had earnestly persuaded me to stay.

"Ms. Floyd, this company treats you like family! After the IPO, you'll be a founding elder. You'll achieve financial freedom! We're just in the darkness before the dawn right now. We have to break through it together!"

Now he drove a Porsche and lived in a luxury flat.

I was still making 4,500.

If I got sick, a single month of medical bills would wipe out my earnings.

Haohhao attended the kindergarten near the residential complex. Ten-minute walk—not far. The round trip took half an hour at most.

After picking him up, I took him to the commercial street to buy the meat Joanna demanded. While waiting for the elevator, I ran into an older neighbor from the 7th floor bringing her granddaughter home.

She chatted me up. "You're the nanny hired by the family on the 11th floor, right? I see you all the time." She leaned in conspiratorially. "To be honest, you're a smart girl. You know there's money in nannying. The one my family hired doesn't even do overnights, and she costs me 6,500. I see you leaving at ten every night. You must be making eight or nine thousand, easy."

The polite smile on my face froze.

I gave a vague, noncommittal response.

Only after she exited with her granddaughter did I let out a heavy sigh. Working overtime until ten was the norm. I also had to help Joanna watch the kid and mix formula. Now I had to come in half an hour early for school drop-offs and pick-ups.

And yet, I didn't even make half of what a standard nanny earned.

As soon as I walked through the company doors, Joanna stood there, hands on her hips.

"Rose Floyd, did you use picking up the kid as an excuse to slack off? You're a full fifteen minutes later than yesterday! I didn't send you out to play! It's freezing outside—what if Haohhao gets sick?"

A deep breath. I forced down the rising bile of irritation. "Joanna, it's five hundred meters from the kindergarten to the shops. A fifteen-minute round trip is reasonable, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't think that just because you've been here two years, you can be disrespectful. This is a professional relationship. You need to respect your superiors when you speak."

My fingers dug into the plastic handles of the grocery bag until my knuckles turned white.

When I wanted a raise, we were "family" and I needed to be understanding.

Now that I was defending myself, it was a "professional relationship" and I had to respect my leader.

I dropped the meat on her desk, my voice deadly calm. "Joanna, I'm getting back to work. Remember to transfer me the money for the meat."

I sat down and woke my computer. A notification popped up immediately—a trending post: *Don't let small companies steal your passion.*

The top comment read: *[The boss's way of rewarding your ability to endure hardship is to give you more work, not more money.]*

I froze for two seconds, reflecting on my last two years.

The first year, the accounts showed results. One viral video brought the company 100,000 in revenue. Blake's reward? Assigning me five new accounts.

The second year, all six accounts broke 500,000 followers. The company's quarterly revenue topped a million. With no change in my workload, Blake assigned me even more content.

I had asked for a raise twice. Both times, Blake said young people shouldn't be too calculating. He told me to look at the long-term returns—stock options and a partnership once we went public.

Every application for a salary increase was rejected.

I opened a recruiting app and uploaded my resume.

In less than ten minutes, my inbox was flooded.

**Isabella Lambert:** *[Ms. Floyd, your experience and skills are a perfect match for our Operations position. Probation salary is 8K, full benefits, and housing allowance. Do you have time to chat?]*

Before I could reply, Blake Rowe called me into his office.

He sat in his leather boss chair, sipping tea. "I heard what Joanna said earlier. Ms. Floyd, don't argue with her. I recognize your professional ability. The accounts you manage have generated significant revenue. You alone are worth several employees." He paused for dramatic effect. "After we hire more staff next year, we'll move you into management."

I adjusted my coat and looked at him in silence.

He said the same thing last year.

He said the same thing the year before that.

But the recruitment notice was never posted.

Why? Because I did everything. Blake held meetings and made decisions. Joanna handled the money—tightly—and only hired a part-time accountant for the books. Copywriting, editing, operations, client relations—that was all me.

I was worth several people, so there was no need for him to waste money hiring anyone else.

I stared him down. "Since I'm worth several people, why do I only get 4,500?"

Blake blinked.

"Mr. Rowe, I manage six accounts in different verticals. I pitch content for six different directions every day. I get two days off a month. Even when I'm home, I'm replying to clients. I brought in million-dollar revenue, yet my year-end bonus was 1,000 dollars and three boxes of fruit." My voice remained steady. "I can wait for you to hire people next year, but management can't survive on four thousand five, can they?"

Blake's face darkened instantly at the mention of money.

"The company is struggling right now. Rent, utilities—these are all costs. Even with revenue, the net profit isn't high." He sighed, pivoting to lecture me on the job market. "Companies out there are all bait-and-switch operations—just sales jobs in disguise. What can you actually learn in a place like that?"

He stood up and walked around the desk to pat my shoulder, his tone dripping with earnest manipulation.

"Ms. Floyd, I'm grooming you like my own little sister. I take you on business trips to learn on the company's dime. Haven't I brought you to every team-building event? When we go public, you get stock options. When we hire, you get management. Why are you calculating over petty short-term profits? Don't worry—follow me, and I won't treat you badly."

My nails dug into my palms.

It was always the same script.

"I understand," I said flatly.

He waved a hand, dismissing me. "Polish that copy a bit more. And work overtime tonight to finish the documents for my business trip tomorrow."

I turned on my heel and walked out.

The moment I was back at my desk, I sent Isabella Lambert my contact information.

*[Here is my number. If you have time, we can talk in detail.]*

Two years ago, fresh out of college, I knew about Isabella's company. It was a significant player locally. But back then, I believed a startup would offer me more comprehensive development.

Back then, Blake and Joanna were friendlier. The colleagues were harmonious. We really did feel like a family. I watched the company grow, pouring my sweat into every brick and beam of this place.

But now I finally understood.

The bricks and beams of a company never belong to the employees.

At 9:30 p.m., I shut down my computer and emailed the content pitch to the boss. I also exported the raw footage I had shot during work. Aside from my daily tasks, I had my own account recording daily life. Usually, I was too busy to edit, but today was different.

For two years, I had completed every task above and beyond standard.

I didn't owe this company a thing.

Saturday was my day off. Yesterday, I had chatted with Isabella Lambert, and we scheduled an interview for Monday.

With my mind made up, I finally allowed myself to sleep in. But before I could even eat breakfast, Joanna messaged me, ordering me to come to the office to monitor the data.

*[Joanna, today is my day off,]* I reminded her.

Her call came through immediately.

"Rose Floyd, why has your attitude been so terrible lately?" she demanded. "If I had time, I'd watch it myself! Haohhao is sick, and Blake is on a business trip. You're his elder, for god's sake. What is wrong with coming over to check the data? You're one of us. Why are you making such a fuss over a simple favor?"

Speechless.

"Joanna, your family matters have nothing to do with me. I get one day off a week. I have no obligation to come in today."

I hung up.

She called again.

And again.

When she realized I was serious, she sent a barrage of texts.

*[Rose Floyd, I am so disappointed in you.]*

*[You watched Haohhao grow up. I didn't expect you to be so cold-hearted when he's sick!]*

*[Blake was even talking about signing a share-gifting agreement for you and raising your bonus. You're freezing us out.]*

I didn't reply to a single one.

Then I saw her post on social media. A public condemnation.

*[These days, sincerity is never returned. My son is sick. I asked Ms. Floyd to come check the data, and she ignored me. I gave her a job, paid for her travel to learn, and gave her a raise. My son even calls her "Auntie," but in the end, she has no heart.]*

She attached screenshots of our chat.

Below the post, a mob of commenters cursed me for having no conscience.

*[Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. Once her wings hardened, she stopped caring about the people who helped her.]*

*[What an ingrate. Watch out, OP—after she resigns, she'll probably try to expose your company and bite back.]*

A headache bloomed behind my temples. Their family drama had nothing to do with me. The last time Joanna claimed Haohhao was sick and demanded I cover for her, she had actually gone out partying. Not to mention, I brought them millions in revenue, yet I was still forced to pick up their kid, run errands, and buy their groceries.

Why didn't she put *that* in her post?

I took screenshots of the entire chat history.

Including the parts she left out.

The next day at work, Joanna glared at me the moment I walked in. Her eyebrows shot up, her expression harsh.

"Yesterday, Haohhao had a fever of thirty-nine degrees. Blake was away. I told you to come watch the data, and you still refused. Rose Floyd, do you still listen to company orders or not?"

My voice dropped an octave, firm and cold.

"Joanna, I am a company employee, not your family's nanny."

"Your son's illness is not my responsibility. My responsibility is to do my job."

Her chest heaved with indignation. Her lip curled in contempt.