Never Mess With His Lucky Charm

Word on the street was that the boss’s pet project—his precious little mistress—was suffering from a severe case of maincharacter syndrome and had just been parachuted into the office as his personal assistant.

I cut my vacation short immediately, booked the first flight back, and tucked myself into a corner of the office just to watch the trainwreck unfold.

First, she managed to kill Charles’s fivethousanddollar imported Japanese bonsai by watering it with boiling water. Her reasoning?

She was deeply concerned that cold water would shock its root chakra. Then, at the quarterly investor summit, she actually served organic apple juice boxes and graham crackers.

She claimed the corporate world was far too toxic and she wanted to help everyone heal their inner child.

I was thoroughly enjoying the show until she decided to kick open my office door. She started throwing files, sweeping things off my desk in a manic frenzy.

I rushed forward to stop her. "Stop it! Those are multimillion dollar active contracts! Don't touch them!" She stopped, looking me up and down with sneering eyes. "Hmph.

So you’re Charles's wife. The one hogging the best office in the building!" I froze, completely thrown off.

Before I could even correct her, she went completely off the rails. "You horrible woman! Why can't you just let him go?

Why won't you divorce him and let us be happy?" "Don't you know that the one who isn't loved is the real intruder here?" My jaw hit the floor. His wife?

Did she honestly think I had the corner office because of some marital claim?

Was it even remotely possible for her to grasp that I had this office because I was the company's undisputed top earner?

The golden goose whose good moods literally dictated our profit margins? … My silence only fueled Misty's confidence. She assumed she had struck a raw, unloved nerve.

She put her hands on her hips, practically vibrating with triumph. "You're so old. Why can't you be mature like me? This is a business, and business is about efficiency.

Yet you use your marriage to Charles to steal the best workspace. Aren't you embarrassed?" A laugh bubbled up in my throat.

She made it sound like I had clawed my way into this office, begging for scraps. In reality, Charles had practically begged me on his knees to move in here.

He had discovered, with an almost religious superstition, that whenever I was happy, our sales numbers skyrocketed.

I told him it was just a statistical anomaly, but he refused to listen.

When the company grew and went public, he insisted on stacking every highstakes contract right here in my office, hoping they’d soak up my good luck.

I looked at this girl, whose brain seemed to have stopped developing somewhere in middle school, and tried to find the patience to explain.

But she stepped closer, shoving a manicured finger hard against my forehead. "You don't even have a college degree, yet you're taking up space here!

Do you have any idea how many qualified, hardworking people you're robbing of a livelihood?

You're malicious!" She looked so deeply pained, as if she were a crusader for social justice. I stared at her, then actually let out a dry laugh.

Word around the office was that Misty had dropped out of high school and bought her associate’s degree from some unaccredited online mill. "Misty, let's talk about nepotism and taking up space.

Our entrylevel requirement is a Master's degree. What exactly are your credentials?" Her face flushed a violent crimson. She pouted, her lower lip trembling. "I'm different.

I'm his baby. Charles said I'm allowed to grow at my own pace." I couldn't help it. I snorted. But the sound triggered something in her.

Her eyes welled with tears. "I have a pure heart! You horrible woman, how dare you mock me!

I’m going to help Charles get rid of you!" Before the words had even fully left her mouth, she lunged at my desk, grabbing a thick stack of finalized contracts and ripping them in half. "Hey!

Stop!" I scrambled to grab them. Anything kept in my office was irreplaceable. "Put those down!" I yelled, panic sharpening my voice. "Those are worth millions of dollars!

You can't afford to pay for this!" She startled, freezing at my tone. I seized the moment, pushing past her to snatch the torn pages, trying desperately to smooth out the creases.

But then, a sudden, heavy force slammed into my shoulder. She had shoved me. Hard. I lost my balance, stumbling backward.

My head collided violently with the sharp edge of the mahogany desk. A whitehot flash of pain shot through my skull.

When I put my hand to my forehead, it came away slick with bright, hot blood. "Are you out of your mind?!" I screamed.

She blinked, stunned by the blood, but then her face contorted.

Her lower lip quivered, and giant tears spilled over. "You yelled at me!" She wailed, a shrill, piercing sound, as if she were the victim of a brutal assault.

I sat there on the floor, holding my bleeding forehead, utterly speechless. She was the one crying? The noise quickly drew a crowd. Shadowy figures gathered at the glass doors.

Then, a massive frame pushed through the onlookers. "What the hell is going on in here?" I looked up, hoping a colleague had finally come to help me.

Instead, I saw a hulking, musclebound man whose cheap suit looked like it was begging for mercy against his bulging chest.

He glared down at me with pure hostility. "Who are you?" I muttered, my head spinning.

Before I could make sense of it, Misty launched herself across the room, burying her face into his chest. "Jax!" Jax? I blinked. Great.

It wasn't just one parasite; she’d brought her whole family onto the payroll. Misty sobbed hysterically into his shirt. "Jax, this awful woman hit me!" Excuse me?

I stared at them, my head throbbing, blood dripping down my cheek. Who hit whom? Jax hovered over her, frantically inspecting her hands. "What did she do?

Why is your hand red?" Her hand was barely pink—probably from the force of shoving me. Misty pointed a trembling finger at me. "It was her... this old hag.

I just asked her to leave the office, and she attacked me! Jax, she humiliated me. I don't want to live anymore!" Her wailing intensified.

The sheer drama of it made my head hurt worse than the actual wound.

Jax turned his gaze back to me, his jaw clenched. "So you're the bitter old hag who refuses to sign the divorce papers." I raised an eyebrow. Bitter old hag? Divorce papers?

Charles certainly had a lot of skeletons in his closet. And why did everyone think I was his wife? Outside, the whispers from the hallway grew louder. "Who is that?

She actually dared to cross the boss’s girl?" "I think it’s his wife. She barely ever comes to the office." "Oh, right.

I heard their marriage has been dead for years, but she refuses to sign the papers. Poor Misty has to live in the shadows.

Honestly, Misty is basically the lady of the house anyway." Even in my pain, my inner gossipmonger was fascinated. We had this much drama in the company?

Why did I know none of this? And why didn't these people recognize me? Ah. Because I hated being tied down.

Charles had quickly realized that forcing me to clock in from ninetofive destroyed my mood, which in turn tanked our quarterly earnings.

So, he had arranged for me to work fully remote, traveling under the guise of "market research." I spent my time traveling on the company dime, eating well, and coincidentally signing massive contracts along the way.

Most of the newer hires had never actually seen my face. To them, I was just the mythical, stubborn wife.

I took a breath, trying to clear my head. "This is a misunderstanding..." Misty wiped her eyes, her voice dripping with venom. "You're a bad woman.

You stole this office, and you stole Charles! Jax, destroy everything in here! Destroy it!" Destroy? I looked at the folders scattered across the floor.

If these bid documents and contracts were destroyed, several multibilliondollar projects would fall through, and the company would go under. "Stop this nonsense!" I barked.

Misty flinched, shrinking behind her brother. "Jax, she's screaming at me again!" Jax stepped forward, his arm swinging in a wide, vicious arc.

The slap landed across my face with a sickening crack. "You bitch! Who gave you permission to speak to my sister like that?" My vision went blurry.

My cheek burned, swelling instantly. I sat there, entirely stunned. Me. Gloria. Fivetime consecutive sales champion.

The woman Charles treated like a fragile porcelain doll because my happiness literally funded his lifestyle.

The last time I went through a breakup, a sudden storm had damaged our warehouse, and Charles had personally driven me to a lounge to buy me drinks just to cheer me up—which miraculously led to a massive public donation that rebuilt the facility.

The time I got sick, our sales department lost every major lead until Charles hired a private medical team to treat me at home.

Today, I was being publicly assaulted in my own office because of his mistress. Jax wasn't done. He grabbed me by my collar, dragging me up until I was on my toes.

He pointed his free hand at Misty, who was still dryheaving with theatrical sobs on the floor. "Look at what you did to her!

She’s a young girl, and you’re just a pathetic old woman. Have you no shame?" The murmurs outside grew, but nobody stepped in.

Nobody wanted to cross the boss’s muscle. "If you don't make my sister forgive you today," Jax snarled, his hot, foul breath in my face, "I'll make sure you don't walk out of here." He shoved me back.

My head cracked against the bookshelf, leaving me dizzy. I stood up slowly, leaning against the wood for support, and pulled my phone from my pocket. I tapped Charles's number.

Before it could ring, a small hand snatched the phone away. "What are you doing, sweetie?" Misty held the phone, tilting her head with a look of mock innocence. "Are we trying to post a little status update?

Let me help you." "Give it back," I said, reaching for it.

She ducked away easily, and Jax grabbed my arms, pinning them behind my back. "Misty, give me the phone," I said, trying to keep my voice level, though anger was clawing at my throat.

Misty raised the camera, snapping several quick photos of my bloodstreaked, swollen face. "Stop!" I turned my head, but Jax forced my face back toward the lens.

I struggled against his grip, my voice shaking with rage. "You are going to regret this." Misty giggled. "Why are you trying to scare me?

I'm just trying to help you, sweetie." She looked down at the screen, her eyes lighting up with malicious curiosity. "Ooh, who are all these contacts with the stars next to their names?

Are these your little sugar daddies?" My blood ran cold. Every single contact with an asterisk was a highprofile client I had spent years cultivating.

One of them was the CEO of Nova Tech, with whom we were scheduled to sign a massive, companydefining contract tomorrow morning.

If anything went wrong with that deal, the company would collapse. "Those are the company's VIP clients!

Don't touch those names!" My voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Misty, please. Do not mess with those contacts. Give me the phone." She didn't listen.

If anything, my panic only excited her.

She selected the photos of my beaten, bloody face and hit "send" to every starred contact. "Oops," she gasped, tapping her cheek with faux innocence. "I hit send." She smiled, bright and vacuous. "It's okay, sweetie.

Now your sugar daddies can see the real you. That way, you'll know who really loves you! Aren't I helpful?" The room seemed to tilt. "Recall the messages! Use the unsend button!

Those are our most critical accounts!" With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I wrenched myself free from Jax's grip and lunged toward her. But Jax was faster.

He tripped me, and as I hit the floor, his heavy boot came down hard on the side of my face, pinning my head to the carpet.

I ignored the pain of my skin scraping against the floor. "Unsend them!

There is a billiondollar deal on the line!" Misty just stood there, smiling down at me as the seconds ticked away, rendering the messages permanent.

Rage boiled over. "Misty, you are a brainless, pathetic idiot!" I screamed, my voice muffled by the carpet. "You've ruined everything!

Everything is gone!" Jax ground his boot harder into my temple. "Who gave you permission to talk to my sister like that?" Just as he prepared to put his full weight down, a familiar voice cut through the air. "What is all this racket?

Don't you people have work to do?" The crowd outside parted instantly. "Move, move, the boss is here!" Jax quickly lifted his boot, his face shifting from thuggish rage to a slick, sycophantic grin.

I lay there like a discarded rag. Charles walked into the office, his sharp gray suit impeccable. Misty immediately threw herself into his arms. "Charles!

You're finally back!" She clung to his arm, rubbing her face against his sleeve, her voice dissolving into soft, trembling whimpers. "You have no idea what your wife did to me!" She held up her slightly pink hand. "She hit me, Charles!

And she called me a brainless idiot! She refused to leave the office, and when I tried to reason with her, she just went crazy.

Jax only stepped in to protect me..." She buried her face in his chest, sobbing softly. "Did I do something wrong, Charles? Why does she hate me so much?

I was only trying to help..." Jax chimed in, looking suitably righteous. "Mr. Shen, she was brutalizing my sister.

I couldn't just stand by and watch." "Enough," Charles said, raising a hand.

His gaze swept across the ruined office, past the torn papers, and finally landed on me, crumpled on the floor, my face a mess of blood and tangled hair.

A flash of irritation and disgust crossed his features. "We've been over this," he said coldly. "There is nothing left between us.

Why do you keep dragging this out?" He tossed a set of divorce papers onto the floor in front of me. "Just sign it.

This isn't good for anyone." Misty quickly scooped up a pen from the desk and shoved it toward my hand. "Sign it, hurry!" I didn't have the energy to argue.

Using what little strength I had left, I scribbled my signature on the line. Charles looked slightly surprised by my sudden compliance.

But as he took the papers back and his eyes slid down to the signature line, he froze.

He stared at the name written in my familiar, sharp handwriting: "Gloria." His pupils dilated, and the color drained completely from his face.

When he looked down at me again, his eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated terror.