The Jilted Assistant Is A Zillionaire

Grace crossed her legs elegantly on the sofa. She leaned back. Her eyes drifted slowly across the floor and stopped at the edge of the bed.

A single pink lace bra strap was poking out from beneath the bed skirt.

Hayden followed her gaze. His heart slammed against his ribs. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He casually walked over to the bed and kicked the strap deep under the frame with his heel.

He turned around and forced a bright, eager smile. "Why did you come all the way up here so late? Is something wrong at work?"

Grace looked up. Her eyes were sharp, cutting straight through his fake concern. "Am I not welcome here?"

Hayden felt the hair on his arms stand up. He ran a hand through his messy hair nervously. "No, of course you are. I just worry about you working so late." He took a step toward the bar cart. "Let me get you some water."

Grace raised her hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Go take a shower," she ordered. Her voice left no room for argument. "You smell like cheap perfume. It is making me sick."

Hayden froze. He lifted his collar to his nose. He could smell Jacey's heavy floral scent clinging to the fabric. His throat went dry. He nodded quickly.

He turned toward the bathroom. Then he stopped. He remembered the ticking time bomb locked inside the closet.

Hayden turned back to Grace. He forced a tight smile. "I need to grab some clean pajamas from the closet first."

Grace leaned her head against the sofa. She gestured toward the closet door with an open palm. Her eyes danced with dark amusement. "Go ahead."

Hayden practically ran to the closet. He fumbled with the metal latch, his hands shaking. He pulled the door open, slipped inside, and pulled it shut behind him.

The closet was pitch black. The second the door clicked shut, Jacey lunged out of the darkness. She dug her manicured nails into Hayden's forearm.

"Why am I locked in here like an animal?" Jacey hissed, her voice trembling with rage and humiliation.

Hayden winced in pain. He clamped his hand over her mouth and shoved her backward. Her spine hit the hard wood of the custom suit cabinets.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to her ear. "Keep quiet," he breathed. "If we survive tonight, I will buy you that limited-edition Birkin bag tomorrow."

Jacey's body went stiff. The promise of the bag outweighed her pride. She stopped fighting. But she was furious. She sank her teeth into the fabric of his shirt, biting his shoulder hard.

Outside, Grace sat perfectly still. The closet was heavily insulated, but she could hear the faint rustling of fabric and the muffled thud of bodies hitting the wood. Her stomach turned with disgust.

Inside the closet, Hayden grabbed a silk robe off a hanger. He shoved Jacey away and warned her one last time with a harsh glare she could not see in the dark.

He opened the door and stepped out. He smoothed his face back into a calm expression.

Grace looked at him. She stared directly at his chest. "Your buttons are misaligned," she said flatly.

Hayden looked down. In the struggle, his shirt had been pulled sideways. He quickly fumbled with the buttons. "I was just... taking it off too fast."

Grace did not call him out. She just tilted her chin toward the bathroom door. "Shower."

Hayden did not waste another second. He walked quickly into the bathroom and shut the heavy glass door. A moment later, the loud rush of water hitting the tiles filled the room.

Grace stood up from the sofa. She walked slowly around the room, owning the space.

She stopped at the nightstand. She picked up the second champagne glass Hayden had hidden behind a picture frame. She held it up to the light. A bright red lipstick stain marked the rim.

Grace let out a sharp, cold laugh. She slammed the glass down on the marble top of the nightstand. The sharp clink of glass on stone echoed loudly through the room.

She made sure the person in the closet heard it.

Inside the dark closet, Jacey jumped. She slapped both hands over her mouth, terrified to make a sound.

Grace walked to the heavy wooden door of the closet. She stopped. She ran her fingertips lightly over the doorframe. She knew the woman trying to steal her life was shivering just inches away.

Grace raised her hand and curled her index finger.

The water in the bathroom continued to run, creating a loud, steady roar that masked the silence in the bedroom.

Grace stood directly in front of the closet. She brought her knuckle down hard against the wood.

Thud. Thud.

Inside the pitch-black space, Jacey gasped. She bit down on her own hand to keep from screaming. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.

Grace leaned forward. She pressed her lips close to the narrow gap between the door and the frame.

"I know you are in there," Grace whispered. Her voice was slow, icy, and completely devoid of emotion.

The words hit Jacey like a physical blow. She stumbled backward in the dark. Her back slammed into the tie rack. The metal hooks rattled loudly against the wood.

Grace smiled. It was a cold, terrifying expression.

"You do not have to hide," Grace said softly through the crack. "Your cheap perfume already gave you away."

In the dark, Jacey's face burned with intense humiliation. She was wearing a limited-edition Chanel fragrance. Being called cheap by an assistant made her blood boil.

Jealousy and rage clouded Jacey's judgment. She balled her hands into fists. She took a step toward the door, ready to throw it open and slap Grace across the face.

But her hand stopped inches from the handle. Hayden's threat echoed in her mind. If she ruined his commercial value, she would get nothing.

Jacey dropped her hand. She sank slowly to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Tears of pure frustration and shame spilled down her cheeks. She was trapped.

Grace waited ten seconds. When the door did not open, her disgust deepened.

"Since you like the dark so much," Grace whispered, delivering the final blow, "enjoy the closet. It is the biggest role you will ever get."

Jacey shivered. She did not understand the financial threat. She just thought the woman outside was insane.

Grace turned her back on the closet. She walked over to the bed.

She picked up Hayden's backup tablet. It was the device he used for reading scripts and private messaging. Because Grace managed his life, she had installed a backdoor passcode months ago.

She typed in a complex string of numbers. The screen unlocked instantly.

Grace bypassed the normal apps. She tapped on an icon disguised as a local weather application. A secondary password prompt appeared. She typed it in.

The screen shifted, revealing a hidden, encrypted messaging interface.

It opened directly to Hayden and Jacey's chat history. The screen was filled with explicit photos, graphic texts, and detailed conversations about how to drain Grace's resources to fund Hayden's production company.

Grace did not blink. Her pulse did not rise. She reached into her designer bag and pulled out a specialized, high-speed USB drive.

She plugged it into the tablet. She ran a pre-written data extraction script. Lines of code flew across the screen as the drive began sucking every text, photo, and audio file from the hidden app.

The progress bar moved rapidly.

Suddenly, the rushing water in the bathroom stopped.

The silence in the room was deafening.

Grace stared at the screen. Ninety-five percent.

The sound of the glass shower door sliding open scraped against the tiles.

Ninety-eight percent.

Hayden's wet footsteps slapped against the bathroom floor. He was reaching for a towel.

A small chime sounded from the tablet. One hundred percent.

Grace yanked the USB drive out. She shoved it deep into her bag. She locked the tablet screen and tossed it back onto the bed exactly where she found it.

She walked back to the sofa, sat down, and picked up a copy of Vogue from the coffee table. She flipped it open just as the bathroom door swung wide.