Chapter 11

"Miss Smith, your audiobook has surpassed a million listens." The platform editor's voice brimmed with excitement. "Once it switches to paid content next month, your estimated monthly earnings will start at least at one hundred fifty thousand."

My hand trembled slightly as I gripped the phone.

One hundred fifty thousand. With the revenue split, I’d take home forty-five thousand a month. Combined with my other side jobs, my sister’s medical bills would finally be covered.

"Mr. Chen wants to collaborate with you on a new book," the editor continued. "The platform has already selected several high-quality IPs for you."

After hanging up, I stood on the bustling street, suddenly feeling the sunlight warmer than usual. Passing a bubble tea shop, I indulged in a rare treat—a fully sweetened pearl milk tea.

The sugary sweetness bloomed on my tongue. It was the first time I’d bought bubble tea with my own money.

By the time I returned to Sky City One, night had fallen. As I wheeled my suitcase toward the entrance, a security guard stopped me.

"Only residents can use facial recognition access," he said, eyeing me skeptically. "Which unit do you live in?"

"Unit 6701, 67th floor," I answered calmly. "I'm the new live-in housekeeper."

The guard hesitated. "Then please contact the owner for verification."

I pulled out my phone and sent William Johnson a WeChat message. After ten minutes with no reply, I tried a voice call.

No answer.

The early autumn night breeze carried a chill. I sat by the fountain, flipping through the new book materials Daniel Chen had sent me. One contemporary romance novel stood out—the female lead’s struggles bore an uncanny resemblance to mine.

"Miss, it’s past midnight," the security guard approached, concerned. "Maybe you should find somewhere else to stay for now?"

I glanced at the still-empty chat window, a pang of bitterness tightening in my chest.

What was I, really? Just a passing whim for William Johnson.

I stood, pulling my suitcase behind me. The moment I turned to leave, a familiar voice cut through the night—

"Emily Smith."

That voice was like a blade, slicing effortlessly through the walls I’d built around my heart.