After signing the contract with Jessica, she observed me with a curious gleam in her eyes before saying, "Being my personal assistant has its requirements. There are aspects about you I'm not entirely satisfied with, and you'll need to address them."

A chill ran down my spine. So, it was a setup; maybe Jessica was just having fun at my expense.

She stood up and approached me, "I appreciate attractive people, and I know you do too. Your appearance is a bit too disheveled for my taste."

She handed me a card, "This is a membership card for the salon I go to. You'll need to update your look as per my instructions."

Then she handed me another card, "This is a gift card for Burlington Mall. You should get some new clothes."

I nervously picked at my fingernails, "Well, I…"

Jessica looked at me, "What’s the problem?"

I struggled to explain, "I... I don’t want to buy any clothes. Especially, I don’t want to wear dresses. If wearing dresses to work is a requirement, I..."

Jessica raised an eyebrow, "Alright, if you don’t want new clothes, that’s fine. But your hair..."

I clenched my fists, "I’m not comfortable with men handling my hair."

Jessica paused, considering, before suggesting, "How about this? I can arrange for the salon to provide a private room for you, with a female stylist, so you’ll have complete privacy. How does that sound?"

I looked up and nodded slightly, "Okay. Honestly, I do want to look polished and presentable. It's just that I haven't done anything with my hair in a really long time."

I’d been cutting my hair on my own for ages; it was far from any recognizable style.

I hadn’t had long hair in a while.

Jessica didn’t press further. She took me to her usual salon. As a top-tier VIP, the salon accommodated all her requests.

The place was deserted, and the female stylist worked silently, without unnecessary chatter. She just focused on her task.

Gradually, I began to relax.

Once she was finished, I emerged with a voluminous, lively hairstyle. The stylist had a keen sense of style and gave me a chic vintage bob.

Jessica clapped her hands in delight, "My instincts are spot on. Aren’t you just like VOGUE's Anna? You’re even more stunning."

My cheeks flushed instantly.

As Arjun switched on the light, his gaze fell on my new look.

"You..."

He hesitated, the words he initially intended to critique me with seemed to evaporate.

"You look… great."

After a long pause, that's all he could manage.

I got to my feet.

"That outfit you've got on..."

Arjun stared at me, confused.

Earlier, after getting my hair done, Jessica had taken me to a shopping mall.

"If you're not into dresses and prefer a casual vibe, then let’s skip the dresses," she said.

She introduced me to Lululemon.

"Oh wow, Kayleigh, how have you been hiding that amazing waist of yours under those baggy tees all these years? What's the matter? Why are you keeping that fabulous figure under wraps?"

Jessica exclaimed, putting an arm around my waist after I changed.

My waist was starting to feel warm.

My preferences are perfectly normal. Totally normal!

Maybe I did look incredible in Lululemon. Arjun was eyeing my figure, showing a rare hint of approval.

"You've changed. What's up with you today?"

I didn’t answer directly but said, "I’m wiped out today. I’ll crash in the guest room. Your snoring is like a chainsaw, and I can’t get any rest."

With that, I turned and headed to bed.

Arjun stood in the living room, his jaw dropped, taking a long while to snap out of it.

"How odd..." he finally muttered.

Arjun's current annual salary is a million dollars, which positions him as an executive at his midsize company. My mother-in-law sings his praises as if he's the rarest gem on Earth. Yet, in this bustling metropolis, an income like Arjun's isn't particularly exceptional.

We first secured a place in the city—a modest apartment—with the support of my grandmother and uncle. Grandma wisely set aside part of her savings as an early inheritance for me. Then my uncle, in his usual generous manner, presented me with a substantial gift. "Use it however you want, niece. I've got more than enough. Consider this $30,000 yours."

I felt guilty accepting it, but my mom insisted that I should. Uncle's catering business was flourishing, with people traveling from all over to savor his creations. Mom would say, "Your grandma passed her skills to your uncle, not me. Spending some of his money is only fair." I didn't pay her much attention. Back then, she viewed the life of a chef as unglamorous and dismissive of makeup opportunities, rejecting my grandma's craft.

My uncle’s financial help came purely out of concern for me. Eventually, when Arjun was promoted, I persuaded him to repay my uncle. With Grandma and Uncle’s contributions, I was able to manage the down payment on a tiny 600-square-foot old apartment in the city. Despite its small size, the location was fantastic.

At that time, Arjun's salary was quite favorable compared to his peers. But the pressure to buy a home quickly was intense—we always worried about the instability of renting. Even an old, small place like ours stirred envy among Arjun's colleagues: "Wow! Just arrived in the city and already own a place. That’s impressive."

Later, we sold that apartment and purchased a larger home. To my mother-in-law, I became the woman living a carefree life. It seemed that the reality of me doing laundry, cooking, and keeping the old apartment in order—making sure Arjun came home to a warm meal and a cozy bed—was just an illusion, utterly meaningless in her eyes.