Chapter 5: Terms and Conditions

The next day, in the waiting area outside the office.

The lobby smells like burnt coffee and expensive cologne. The leather sofa squeaks under me as I stretch out, ignoring the stares from the assistants. Let them talk. I flop onto the sofa, swinging my legs, the divorce agreement in my hand. The morning sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and I sip my coffee, feeling oddly calm.

Lillian’s three female assistants are all stunned.

The trio—Angela, dark-haired and brisk; Priya, all nerves; and Chloe, glued to her phone—freeze in their tracks, eyes wide.

"Assistant Shane, you, you… want Ms. Carter to come out and see you now?"

Angela’s voice cracks. She glances at my rumpled T-shirt and jeans, then at the official folder in my lap.

"At least wear a suit! And how can you sit in Ms. Carter’s exclusive chair?"

Chloe hisses, eyeing the gold-embossed nameplate I’m currently using as a coaster. Oops.

"Right, Ms. Carter is meeting guests now and said she won’t see anyone."

Priya twists her hands, shooting nervous glances toward the frosted glass office doors. I just smile, unbothered.

The system anxiously keeps popping up with tasks.

[Help, a man and woman alone in a room.]

[Bro, your head is practically glowing neon—how can you still be in the mood to drink coffee?]

[Hurry, go in and break up the male lead’s spell!]

It’s like being nagged by a helicopter parent—relentless, loud, and impossible to mute.

No rush. Lillian the rich lady gives me half a million a month; waiting for her is only fair.

I tip my coffee in salute to the system and scroll through the sports scores on my phone. If patience is a virtue, I’m about to be a saint.

The system gets angry: [Warning: if the host does not complete the side task, you will be shocked immediately.]

My hands clench. I glare at my reflection in the glass coffee table. “Try it, I dare you.”

Damn, is this system nuts?

I mouth the words, feeling like a character in a sitcom about to lose it. "Of course it’s nuts," I mutter.

It already shocked me twice yesterday—my throat is still sore.

Every time I swallow, there’s a faint ache—a not-so-gentle reminder of who’s really in charge.

I really don’t want any more punishment.

If only there was a way to uninstall this damn system. I make a mental note to look it up later.

Actually, in the original book, my stand-in ending was tragic—sent to a psych ward and tortured.

I’ve read enough to know that if I keep playing by the book, things end badly. Like, “Lifetime Movie Network” levels of bad.

Just as I get up to refill my coffee, the office door is pushed open from the inside.

The click of heels, the whiff of jasmine perfume, and suddenly—she’s there.

It’s Lillian.

Her face is flawless, but she pins me with a look that could freeze the Chicago River solid. I set my cup down, all bravado draining away.