Become A Goodnovel Author

I've always dreamed of hitting the jackpot overnight.

Every time I step out of the house, my bag contains a 300-gram chunk of yellow citrine, a gemstone believed to attract wealth in my culture. My mouse pad features a vibrant, cheerful lucky cat figurine, and my balcony is adorned with plants believed to bring prosperity, which I tend to with utmost care. Even my toilet seat is emblazoned with a golden ingot.

I'm always meticulously prepared to welcome the God of Wealth into my life.

And yet, Taylor Miller, my company's nemesis, keeps stealing my clients. This month, once again, his sales numbers have surpassed mine.

That sly, insincere man—always smiling with his lips but not his eyes in public while baring his teeth at me in private—was short, cunning, and as sly and cunning as a fox.

We joined the company's sales department around the same time. Technically speaking, he should call me "Senior", but when it comes to his methods, he has no sense of decency or honor.

He was the biggest obstacle on my path to fortune.

Just as I was consoling myself with the thought that a good woman doesn't stoop to fight with a scoundrel, my phone rang.

"Hello!" I perked up immediately, ready to tackle the call with boundless enthusiasm.

After all, being in sales means always staying sharp and professional.

"Hello, is this Sophia Dixon?"

Wow, the voice on the other end was even more enthusiastic and sweet than mine.

I was momentarily taken aback.

"Uh, yes, this is she. May I ask who's calling?"

"Oh, Ms. Dixon, hello! I'm a recruiter from Sands Corporation. On behalf of the Grand Fortune Group, we've reviewed your impressive resume and think you're an exceptional candidate!"

"I…" I was surprised.

"We'd like to invite you to join us as the Chairman's Executive Assistant. The annual salary is one million U.S. dollars, with 30 days of paid vacation, comprehensive benefits, and all living and work-related expenses fully covered. Would you consider this opportunity?"

"Uh?" This sounded way too good to be true. My instincts screamed "scam".

"Ms. Dixon! If you're interested, could you spare some time to come to our office for an interview tomorrow at 2 p.m.?"

"Well…"

Fortune favors the bold, so why not take a chance? What if it's real? It wouldn't hurt to try.

After hanging up, I immediately searched for all available information about the Grand Fortune Group and the phone number they'd used.

From business registrations to tax records and public activities, everything checked out. But I still wasn't convinced. Scammers these days are incredibly sophisticated.

I even called the local anti-fraud hotline to verify.

The officer assured me it was legitimate and praised my strong anti-scam awareness.

My heart raced as I replayed the recruiter's compliment about how "exceptional" I was.

Was I really that outstanding?

Ignoring my boss's relentless calls to drag me back to the office for another all-nighter, I lied about meeting an important client and slipped away.

First stop, a celebrity hairstylist I'd met years ago at an event. I'd always admired his work on social media, where he showcased his star-studded clientele. Now, it was finally my turn.

A few quick cuts, and I was $1, 600 poorer. My heart even ached when I paid.

Was I being reckless?

But as I admired my reflection—sharing the same stylist as A-list celebrities—I couldn't help but feel a touch of star power myself.

Expensive, yes, but undeniably worth it.

Next, I visited a luxury rental boutique to assemble the perfect outfit for the interview. From head to toe—bag, clothes, accessories, shoes—everything was rented.

I even squeezed in an appointment with a high-end beautician for a morning facial and makeup session.

This time, I was going all out.

By 2 p.m. the next day, I stood in the ultra-luxurious suite on the 101st floor of Central Plaza, trembling with nervous anticipation.

The panoramic view of the city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows didn't even register—I was too focused on the moment that could change my destiny.

But instead of grilling me with questions, the blonde, long-legged, mixed-race HR simply told me to stay in the suite for two days to "adjust to the environment".

Wait… was I hired already?

Confused, I mustered the courage to ask why. The HR manager looked at me as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Miss Dixon, as the Chairman's assistant, don't you need to get accustomed to his lifestyle first?"

Oh. That made sense.

Still, I couldn't resist asking another question.

"Miss HR, may I ask, what exactly makes me so exceptional?"

The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to slap myself.

My breathing quickened, my throat went dry, and I was torn between fearing I'd lose this golden opportunity and worrying it was all an elaborate scam.

Sensing my doubt, the HR manager reassured me.

She admired a major deal I'd handled two years ago—a case so challenging that both parties had walked away completely satisfied.

Ah, that case! It had been a masterpiece, one that had stunned the entire industry.

Her praise reignited my confidence.

I, Sophia, was finally turning my luck around!

Before leaving, she handed me a set of car keys, saying I could drive any of the luxury cars parked downstairs, depending on my mood or outfit.

Even after she left, I felt like I was dreaming.

Soon, I was indulging in caviar, white truffles, and the company of two European hunks with perfect eight-pack abs at my beck and call.

Curious, I poked one of their chiseled pecs. Firm and springy.

This hedonistic lifestyle was straight out of a fantasy.

But deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was no such thing as a free lunch.

The words of an old saying echoed in my mind, "Every gift from fate carries a hidden cost."

What price would I have to pay?

Finally, I received a notice, the Chairman would arrive the next day.

Excited and nervous, I barely slept. At dawn, I got up to prepare for his arrival.

But I waited and waited. By noon, there was still no sign of the Chairman—only a contract delivered to me.

The contract stated that I would inherit the Grand Fortune Group's assets, totaling one hundred billion dollars.

I stared at the endless string of zeros, feeling like I was drowning.

"Chairman!" I screamed into the vast, empty living room.

To my shock, the door swung open, and in walked Taylor.

Dressed in designer brands from head to toe, with a sapphire pin gleaming on his chest, he still wore that infuriatingly fake smile.

"What are you doing here?" I snapped, instantly switching to battle mode.

Years of rivalry had conditioned me to react this way.

"Didn't you just call for the Chairman?" Taylor replied with a smirk.

"Stop it!" I barked, turning to the two hunks. "Throw him out!"

To my astonishment, they both bowed respectfully to Taylor. "Welcome back, Mr. Miller, Chairman of the Grand Fortune Group!"

I glanced at the portrait of the Chairman on the wall, utterly bewildered. "Taylor! You fraud! What's going on?"

The two hunks, who had been meek as lambs around me, now ordered me to show respect to the Chairman.

As Taylor leisurely lit a cigar, the truth dawned on me.

"Taylor, are you doing this to humiliate me, to see me make a fool of myself? Or… do you adore me? Just say it! Why are you spending all this money on me?"

I mentally calculated the cost of everything Taylor had orchestrated—venues, props, staff—but couldn't come up with a total.

Before I got a result, I collapsed onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, , utterly defeated.

"Taylor, why?"

"Marry me," he said.

"Still putting on the show? You deserve an Oscar for that performance!" I shot back sarcastically.

"If you want to become a billionaire, you have to marry me," he said, his tone serious.

"Does it have to be this way?" I found myself asking, against all logic. "Everyone knows we're like two blades constantly clashing, always at each other's throats."

Unfazed, he pulled out a photo and placed it in front of me.

It was a picture of an Arab sheikh with a woman who looked exactly like me.

"Blame your uncanny resemblance to the 280th descendant of Brynlee Robles, a legendary beauty from the ancient era," he said.

What?

"Billionaire or lifelong pauper—your choice."

I…

After 18 hours of relentless questioning, Taylor finally explained everything.

A week ago, we were still mortal enemies, locked in a bitter rivalry.

On what seemed like an utterly ordinary night, just like any other when Taylor drank himself senseless as part of his job entertaining clients, something extraordinary happened.

He was carried by several people into a luxurious villa. When he woke up the next morning, a group of excited Arab men surrounded him, claiming he was the long-lost son of their sheikh.

I scrutinized Taylor from head to toe. Where on earth did he have even a trace of foreign genes?