If anyone ever tells you that being the private assistant to a young, billionaire CEO is a dream job, send them to me. I'll give them a reality check. The reality is: you're not an assistant; you're walking furniture that happens to have health insurance and a life insurance policy paid for with your own blood and sweat.
Being Alaric Valerius's assistant? It's more like being a chick targeted by an eagle every single second—or worse, a desk ornament rigged to explode if the wrong button is pressed.
In short, the "dream job" is a mere myth concocted by HR teams to trap naive souls like me.
This morning, I stood before the mirror in my tiny apartment—a studio so small that if I stretched out my arms, my left fingertips would touch the bathroom door and my right would hit the neighbor's wall. I stared pitifully at the white bandage wrapped around my left arm. The System's 'Pain Tolerance' skill was truly god-tier; the post-stabbing pain from last night was gone, replaced by an agonizing itch beneath the gauze that made me want to scratch it with a steel ruler.
But the itch on my arm was nothing compared to the irritation in my heart when I remembered the "Two-Meter Rule" Alaric declared after the restaurant incident.
"Starting tomorrow, you are not to be more than two meters away from me."
I knew it wasn't because Alaric had suddenly fallen in love or cared about his assistant's welfare. Heaven forbid, I'm still as straight as a brand-new steel ruler. Alaric is the type of CEO who is purely calculating. He views me as a "mobile asset" that almost got "broken" during the Le Saphir incident.
In his head, I'm an investment that must be protected so he doesn't lose out and have to go through the hassle of interviewing a new assistant.
[System: "Good morning, my favorite Corporate Slave! Your balance is now 10 MP. Warning: Target detected within a 10-meter radius. Tip: Don't wear your refillable perfume today; Alaric's nose has a highly sensitive 'scent of poverty' sensor."]
"Too late, I already sprayed the flea-market lavender refill!" I whispered in a panic, frantically searching for an odor-neutralizing spray.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
My thin apartment door was pounded with enough force to make any burglar think twice about entering. When I opened it, sure enough, Alaric Valerius was standing in my dingy hallway, clad in a custom-made suit that probably cost enough to buy this entire building block. Behind him, Seraphina stood tall, her face flatter than a paved road.
Alaric stepped inside uninvited, his eyes performing a rapid scan of every corner of my room. He looked at my pile of laundry in the corner and the instant noodle wrappers on the table with an expression usually reserved for nuclear waste.
"This place is a threat to the productivity and safety of a Valerius Group asset," Alaric stated, covering his nose with a silk handkerchief that smelled of sandalwood. "This room is too cramped for the two-meter radius I requested. Seraphina, prepare a team to clear this place out. Sterilize everything worth taking; throw the rest away."
"Huh?! Sir, I just paid the monthly rent in full yesterday!" I shouted in a panic.
"Five minutes, Arlan. Pack your things that still have functional value. Let Seraphina handle the rest. You're moving to the executive quarters in the headquarters today. I won't have my assistant suddenly developing asthma from the dust in this place," Alaric commanded, his eyes fixed on his watch.
Once we arrived at the Valerius Group headquarters, the two-meter rule turned into a comedic disaster that was sheer mental torture. My chair was placed exactly beside Alaric's imposing seat in the boardroom. The distance was literally measured with a laser ruler by Seraphina.
"Mr. Alaric... pardon me. Why is Mr. Arlan sitting... so close to you?" asked Mr. Bambang, the Finance Director, with cold sweat dripping down his forehead.
Alaric didn't even look up. "Arlan is in an asset-monitoring period. He has a massive debt to settle. Just consider him a desk ornament that can talk. Continue your report, Bambang."
A desk ornament? At that moment, I desperately wanted to turn into a flower vase just so I wouldn't have to endure the questioning stares of ten directors.
After the meeting, Vivian and Isabella suddenly appeared in Alaric's office. Isabella brought a car brochure, while Vivian carried a wooden food tier.
"Arlan! I brought special ginseng chicken soup for you," Vivian said with a very sweet smile.
I was just about to reach for it when a large hand snatched the container first. Alaric's hand.
"He's on a strict recovery diet to ensure the stab wound doesn't leave a scar that lowers the visual value of my assistant," Alaric said expressionlessly.
Isabella wasn't about to be outdone. She shoved a glossy brochure in my face. "Arlan, pick a bulletproof car from my family's catalog. I don't want a 'smart' assistant like you getting hurt again just because Alaric's security system is so stingy."
"Ladies... hic... thank you so much for the concern," I tried to intervene before they started pulling each other's hair. "How about we discuss this during an official lunch next week? Mr. Alaric will treat us at the safest place possible, right, Sir?"
I summoned the courage to nudge Alaric's leg under the table. Alaric let out a sharp grunt but finally gave a curt nod. "Yes. Next week. Now, please leave. I have a very important technical matter to attend to with my assistant."
That night, in the executive quarters which was as big as a soccer field, I was lying down scrolling through my phone. Suddenly, an SMS arrived from a mysterious number.
[Unknown: "Arlan Vane, do you think Alaric will still trust you if he finds out your old man was the one who 'accidentally' spilled a cup of coffee onto Valerius's main server ten years ago, causing billions in losses? Your secret is in my hands!"]
I gaped. Huh? So my family's big scandal was just because my dad was a legendary klutz who spilled coffee? That's not a scandal; that's a tragedy of errors!
Suddenly, the connecting door to my room swung open. Alaric walked in wearing only a black undershirt and shorts. He carried a dusty, dark brown folder.
"Arlan, I just found a record from the old archives department," Alaric said, showing me a bill for server damage compensation with a figure that made my eyes nearly pop out. "It turns out your father has an unpaid 'coffee debt.' And according to corporate law, that debt falls to you."
"Sir... I can explain... hic!" I cried out in panic.
Alaric walked closer, staring at me with terrifying intensity. The distance between us was now less than a meter. The scent of his sandalwood perfume was overpowering, locking me in place.
"Since you won't be able to pay back these billions, it means you must work for me forever just to pay off the interest. The two-meter rule is being tightened to a one-meter rule starting tomorrow morning. Prepare yourself, Arlan."
At that point, I realized this wasn't just some ridiculous security rule anymore. These were invisible handcuffs, shackling me for life to the man in front of me.
[System: "LMAO! You're doomed, Arlan! Welcome to the life of an 'Eternal Debt Slave'!"]
I immediately buried my face in the super-plush silk pillow.
"HELP! I WANT TO RESIGN FROM THIS WORLD RIGHT NOW!"