The Great Expectations of a Simp

I was Sebastian Pierces paid fixer.

When he serenaded the scholarship girl, I was the one holding the Bluetooth speaker.

When they sneaked around for dates, I bribed the security guards.

High school ended.

The girl, Ivy Green, flew to Paris to chase her fashion dreams. And I signed the contract.

I became Sebastians placeholder fiance. A shield against his familys matchmaking attempts.

He told me the terms were simple: When Ivy returns, the job is over.

I waited.

I went from a fake girlfriend to a contract fiance, and almost to a legally wedded wife.

Five years.

Then, two weeks before the wedding.

Sebastian flew overseas on a private jet and brought her back.

I didn't make a scene. I just slid the diamond ring off my finger. I felt... relieved.

On my way out, I even closed the door for them. Quietly.

Chapter 1

When the news broke that Sebastian Pierce had rerouted the company jet mid-flight, I wasn't shocked.

It was for Ivy Green, after all.

Chloe, my best friend, was stomping a hole straight through my hardwood floor.

"You guys are getting married in fourteen days! Is he insane?"

He wasn't insane. He was just obsessed.

Ivy is currently the 'it girl' of the fashion world. Everyone knows the lore: she is the billionaire CEOs "one that got away."

Reporters used to ask her about it.

Ivy would toss her hair and say, "It doesn't matter who loved whom. I got here on my own merit. Focus on my art, not the gossip."

But last week, the pedestal cracked.

A massive plagiarism scandal.

Her star-studded gala dress turned out to be a rip-off of an unknown designers work. The internet turned on her instantly.

Ivy posted a black screen on Instagram with the caption: Are you trying to kill me?

At breakfast this morning, Sebastian didn't touch his coffee. He was glued to his phone, scrolling.

He had a crucial board meeting at 9 AMthe one meant to sign a strategic partnership with my father, James Sullivan.

Seb never showed up.

With the CEO MIA, Vincent Gallo, the Vice President, swooped in like a vulture and awarded the contract to his own cousins firm.

My phone vibrated against the marble counter. Ten missed calls from my dad.

I didn't need to answer to know he was screaming about incompetence and lost millions.

I called Sebastian. Straight to voicemail.

I called again. Nothing.

By the third try, his phone was off. I didn't hear from him until 11 PM.

He texted me an address. A secluded estate in the hills Id never seen before.

I pulled up to the gate.

The headlights swept over the driveway, illuminating thousands of pink roses. It looked like Valentine's Day had thrown up on the driveway.

They were the same flowers Sebastian used to buy Ivy in high school. I remembered the day he filled the trunk of his Porsche with them to ask her to prom.

The interior of the house wasn't Sebastians usual cold, minimalist style. It was cozy. Artistic.

Definitely Ivys taste.

I walked down the hallway and heard the sound of sharp, ragged gasps. I stepped into the master bedroom.

The scene was exactly what I expected.

Ivy Green was sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed, looking washed out and ghostly, tears streaming down her face. A fresh gauze bandage was wrapped around her left wrist.

Sebastian stood over her, looking completely useless.

His tailored Italian suit was wrinkled, his tie undone. He looked exhausted, his panic barely concealed by his model-perfect face.

I didn't understand why he called me. He has assistants. He has access to the best doctors.

Then he looked up and locked eyes with me.

I knew that look.

It was the same look he gave me junior year when a teacher almost caught them making out under the bleachers.

Fix this, Bianca.

"Ivy is fragile right now," he said, his voice tight. "You handle the logistics."

Whenever he didn't know what gift to buy, or how to smooth over a fight, he looked at me like that.

Back then, Ivy would scream that he was trying to buy her affection. Shed call me his "little corporate spy" or his "charity project."

I would just shrug. "I prefer 'Executive Assistant.' It looks better on a resume."

Sebastian would laugh.

But in the end, Ivy always took the help. And the money.

She had expensive dreams.

In high school, when she accidentally ruined a designer bag, she threatened to starve herself to pay him back.

I was different. I cashed the checks.

When Ivy failed her SATs, she climbed onto the roof of the gym and threatened to jump.

Sebastian had sobbed, begging her to come down, promising to make her a star.

He drained his personal trust fund to send her to the most prestigious design school in Paris. Millions of dollars, gone.

I used to think she was a gold digger. But then I looked at my own bank account.

We were the same.

She just wrapped her greed in art and trauma. I was honest about it.

True love is for people who can afford to be delusional. I preferred cash.

But being a professional fixer? That comes with a hefty invoice.

Chapter 2

Five years ago, the war between Sebastian and his family reached its breaking point.

His grandfather, Henry Sinclair, had frozen his assets and was forcing him into an arranged marriage with an heiress from an oil family.

"You will marry a woman of your own standing!" Henry had roared.

But Sebastian didn't want an heiress. He wanted Ivy. So, he came up with a plan. A nuclear option.

He didn't drag me into a bed to stage a scandal. Thats too messy.

Instead, he dragged me to the Sinclair Annual Charity Gala.

I was wearing a dress from a thrift store. He was in a tuxedo.

He marched me right into the center of the ballroom, interrupting the orchestra, and grabbed a microphone.

The silence was deafening. Every socialite in New York was staring at us.

I felt the humiliation burning my skin. I didn't belong there, and Sebastian knew it. That was the point.

He pulled me close, his grip bruising my arm, and smirked at his grandfather.

"This is Bianca Lawson," he announced, his voice dripping with arrogance. "She is James Sullivan's dirty little secret. A gutter rat with no name."

He scanned the room, challenging them. "And she is my girlfriend."

Ive always been smart. You have to be smart to survive as the unwanted child James Sullivan finally acknowledged just to use as a pawn.

I understood Sebastians game immediately.

I was a weapon. He was using my "low status" to insult his familys elitism.

He was using me to highlight how pure and talented Ivy was by comparison. Look, he was saying. This is the kind of trash Ill pick just to spite you.

Later that night, after the screaming stopped, he looked at me coldly.

"Bianca, you know who I actually love."

"When Ivy comes back, the contract ends. You walk away. But don't worry... Ill give you a severance package most people only dream of."

Pride doesn't pay the bills. But Sebastian Pierces Amex Black Card? That clears every check.

So, I swallowed my pride and secured the bag. I nodded. "Deal."

Sebastian looked satisfied. "I knew you were pragmatic. Easy to handle."

And now, five years later, it was time for him to handle me. To fire me.

Chapter 3

That explained the notification I got this morning. A wire transfer for $500,000 from Sebastian.

I had stared at the screen, thinking it was a romantic gesture. An anniversary gift.

In three days, it would have been our five-year "anniversary."

I actually felt guilty when I saw the money. I hadn't bought him anything.

Not that I was stingy, but what do you buy a man who owns everything?

Instead, I had booked a private room at a Michelin-star restaurant. I even edited a cinematic video montage on my iPad.

I stayed up all night finishing it just before he called me to come to this villa. The presentation was a timeline of the last five years.

Scene 1: The College Years. Me, attending his 8 AM classes and signing his name while he slept off a hangover.

When the professor called him out, I stood up and said, "Mr. Pierce is unavailable. As his designated brain cell, Ill take it from here."

The class had cheered.

Slide 2: Travel. Skydiving in Dubai. Heli-skiing in the Alps.

His rich friendsCarter Brooks and the rest of the trust fund babieswere too scared to go. Only I jumped with him.

I remember landing, my legs shaking so hard I couldn't stand. He had caught me, pulling me into a hug that felt... real.

Slide 3: Domestic Life. Watching Netflix. Grocery shopping. Me cooking, him eating.

Sebastian hated maids in his personal space. At some point, he started doing the dishes without being asked.

I shook the memories out of my head. I needed to cancel the restaurant reservation.

"Why did you take so long?" Sebastians voice cut through the air. He was frowning at me.

I haven't slept in forty-eight hours. I felt dizzy.

Ivy looked up from the bed. "You are... Bianca?"

I adjusted my face into my best "Public Relations" mask. "Ms. Green. Good to see you."

She wiped a tear, looking tragically beautiful. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this. Its so embarrassing."

"Seb said youre very... domestic. That youre good at taking care of people."

I looked at Sebastian. His expression was unreadable.

"Take care of her," he ordered. "She hasn't eaten in two days. Make her something light."

"And her clothes..." He gestured to her torn dress. "This is too thin. Go buy her a full wardrobe. Essentials, skincare, everything."

He rattled off a list of demands.

I nodded. Since he fired his housekeeping staff last week for leaking photos, I was the only one left to clean up his mess.

"Consider it done."

My efficiency seemed to annoy him. He stopped talking abruptly.

I was typing notes into my phonespecifically into the "Reimbursable Expenses" app. I looked up when the silence stretched too long.

"Is that all, Mr. Pierce?"

I almost slipped and called him "Seb."

"Seb" was the nickname he allowed me to use to sell the fake relationship to his grandfather. It became a habit.

But Ivy is back now. If I call him "Seb" in front of the love of his life, I might breach the contract.

Sebastians eyes darkened. The air in the room grew heavy.

Since he had no more instructions, I turned to leave.

"Bianca, stop!"

I froze and spun around on my heel. "Yes, Mr. Pierce? Did you forget something?"

He looked furious. His jaw was clenched tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

"Do you have nothing to ask me?" he hissed.

Ask him what?

He was glaring at me with the intensity of a man who wanted a fight. He looked like a sulking prince.

I thought for a second. "Ah. Measurements."

I clicked my imaginary pen. "Ms. Green is still a Size 0, I assume? Or has the stress whittled her down to a Double Zero?"

It was obvious. She was even thinner than she was in high school.

Maybe it was the stress of the scandal, or just the "heroin chic" look of the fashion industry.

Unlike me. I was healthy. Curvy.

Im 5'3" and I don't skip meals. My friends tell me to try Ozempic, but I tell them Im thicc and thriving.

I grew up hungry. I like having meat on my bones now. Besides, if I lost weight, Id just be giving the male strippers less to hold onto at my bachelorette party.

Sebastian laughed. But it wasn't a happy laugh. It was cold. Dangerous.

"Bianca," he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping an octave. "You really are a piece of work."

"Thank you, Sir!" I beamed. "I'll add the overtime to my invoice."

Chapter 4

I bought her a full wardrobe. Saint Laurent, mostly. Underwear, dresses, shoes. The works.

I put it all on Sebastians Black Card. Then I called the Michelin-star restaurant.

When I found out the reservation fee was non-refundable, I almost couldn't breathe.

"Can't I get even fifty percent back?" I pleaded.

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Lawson. Its policy."

"Fine," I sighed. "Just pack it up. Throw it in to-go boxes, I don't care about the plating. Send it to the address I just texted you."

Once the food and clothes were sorted, I did a final inventory check. And I realized I missed something crucial.

Lust follows comfort. I ordered a box of condoms via a delivery app.

I guessed the size. Small. Hopefully, it fits.

If it doesn't, that's not my problem. It's not like Ive ever seen it.

By the time I returned to the villa, Ivy had cried herself to sleep. She was curled up, her hand gripping Sebastians sleeve like a lifeline.

Sebastian hadn't moved an inch. He was frozen in place, watching her.

As I pushed the door open, I saw him leaning down, his face inches from hers.

Seriously? Shes asleep. Is he that desperate?

I froze, panicked, and then realized I should probably just leave. I quietly placed the shopping bags and the supplies on the floor inside the bedroom.

Then I gently closed the door.

I sent Sebastian a text: Mr. Pierce, clothes and food are in the living room. Feel free to grab them when you're done.

As I hit send, I saw our previous messages.

Earlier today, he had texted me from the office, complaining about the board members. Then he had asked me to go BASE jumping off the Burj Khalifa with him.

He said we should fly to Nice for the weekend to see the ocean, then Switzerland for skiing in December to "detox from work."

Maybe because the future is uncertain, people love to plan it.

I had replied: Copy that.

He sent a frowning cat sticker. I spent ten minutes finding a sticker of a hand petting a cat to soothe him.

I even asked: What do you want for dinner?

But by then, the scandal must have broken. He never replied.

That abrupt silence was the real end of our relationship.

It started in our junior year of high school. It ended two years after college graduation. I felt a strange pang of nostalgia.

Sebastian Pierce is arrogant, childish, selfish, and dense. But he was generous.

At our engagement party, he had been a little tipsy. He looked at me and said, "Bianca, Im allowing you to stay with me. Indefinitely. You're welcome."

For a moment, I actually thought we would get married. I was wrong.

But looking at the numbers in my bank account, I felt warm inside.

I slid the diamond engagement ring off my finger. I placed it gently on the coffee table.

The restaurant had ignored my instructions to "keep it simple." They sent the cake I ordered.

It was a decadent chocolate ganache cake with gold leaf, and written in elegant icing was: Happy 5th Anniversary, Seb!

I left the ring right next to the cake.

Chapter 5

Sebastian stopped inches from Ivys lips. He pulled back.

He didn't want to kiss her. Not like this. He respected her too much.

Ivy wasn't the charity case anymore. For the last four years, Sebastian had flown to Paris for every single one of her birthdays.

He connected her with top designers, bought her tables at fashion week. But they never crossed the line.

Back then, Ivy had told him clearly: "I'm not coming back. I won't hold you back."

Sebastian had lied, "Whos waiting? Im with Bianca now."

Ivy had smiled, a sad, beautiful smile. "I'm glad. Shes loyal. Shes your little... helper. Shell take good care of you."

"Seb, even if we can't be together, I want you to be happy."

That statement had killed his anger instantly. This was love. Tragic, noble, pure.

They were soulmates who just missed each other in time.

She was the rose that grew from concrete. She deserved to bloom for the world, not be kept in a greenhouse.

He wouldn't trap her. He only needed someone like Bianca by his sidegreedy, practical Bianca.

He couldn't give Bianca his heart, but he could give her marriage, status, and money. That was how their world worked.

Like the transfer he sent her this morning. Carter told him to send $500,000.

"Its a nice, round number," Carter had said. "Like a severance package, but for feelings."

Sebastian thought that was cringe. $500,000 was a nice, round number. Bianca, who used to be unfit to even tie Ivys shoes, should be grateful.

Thinking of Bianca made him irritated. Even though he and Ivy were innocent, wasn't Bianca even a little jealous?

No. She must be angry. Thats why she called him "Mr. Pierce."

His friends always teased him about how obedient she was. "Seb really has her trained. My wife goes nuclear if I even look at a waitress."

"When Ivy comes back, do you think Bianca will stay on as a mistress?"

"Mistress? Please. Shes a glorified bang-maid. If Seb booked a hotel, shed probably check him in and warm up the sheets."

Sebastian never argued. Because it was true.

Just then, his phone buzzed. It was Bianca. She had come and gone.

He glanced at the bedroom door. Then he saw the small box on the floor.

He walked over, picked it up, and read the label. His face went cold. She really did bring them.

It was exactly what his friends had joked about. But now that it had actually happened, Sebastian didn't feel smug.

He felt... insulted. A wave of suffocation hit him.

Ivy stirred on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open. She saw the box in Sebastians hand.

Her face flushed, but a flicker of triumph crossed her eyes. "Seb... please don't."

"I texted you because I was scared. I didn't mean... I'm sorry if I made you misunderstand..."

Before she could finish, Sebastian tossed the box into the trash can.

Ivys expression froze.

"Do I look like an animal to you?" Sebastian snapped.

Ivy relaxed slightly. So, it wasn't that he didn't want her. He cherished her.

"Besides," Sebastian said, pacing. "Youre going back to Paris. I won't be the reason you give up your career."

Ivys face twitched. She tested the waters. "What if... I don't plan on going back?"

"Don't lie to me," Sebastian cut her off. "I know you. Youre not like those other women who just want to get married and have babies. You live for your art."

Ivy swallowed her words.

Sebastian brought in the shopping bags Bianca had left. Ivy looked at the labels and frowned.

"Saint Laurent?" she whispered, looking distressed. "Their creative director said some terrible things about sustainability last year..."

Sebastian immediately understood. He texted Bianca: Ivy doesn't wear this brand. It goes against her ethics. Go buy something else.

Then he led Ivy to the dining table. She looked at the rich, heavy French cuisine.

"Oh," she said softly. "This looks... heavy."

Sebastian texted Bianca again: Ivy can't eat this heavy cream and butter. Shes been fasting. Go to Nobu and get the Sashimi Salad. And make sure its the one on 57th Street.

"It's okay," Ivy said, playing the martyr. "I can try to eat it."

"No," Sebastian said firmly. "You deserve the best."

He thought for a moment, then sent another text to Bianca: Ivy needs fresh air. I'm taking her to the cabin upstate. We'll be back before the anniversary dinner.

He waited. Usually, Bianca replied instantly. Copy that. On it. Done.

Five minutes passed. Nothing.

Sebastian frowned and dialed her number. The number you have reached is not in service.

Blocked? He stared at his phone in disbelief.

Then, he looked down at the table. The cake. Happy 5th Anniversary, Seb!

The candlelight flickered off something shiny next to the icing. He froze.

It was the engagement ring.

Chapter 6

The weather was perfect. Sunny. Clear skies.

A great day for a road trip. An even better day to move out.

With the "anniversary transfer" of half a million dollars secured in my account, I didn't just leave. I evaporated.

I made sure Ivy wouldn't see my face when she woke up. I checked into the Executive Suite at the Four Seasons.

I ordered room service, took a hot bath, and crashed.

Before I closed my eyes, I posted a photo on Instagram. Just a picture of my empty ring finger against the high-thread-count hotel sheets.

Caption: Contract Expired. New Era.

I slept like the dead. When I woke up, my phone was dead, too.

I plugged it in. The moment the screen lit up, it nearly vibrated off the nightstand.

Dozens of texts. Ten missed calls. All from Sebastian.

I skimmed through the wall of blue bubbles. The toxicity was radiating off the screen.

Bianca, where are you? I didn't authorize you to leave yet. The handover isn't complete. Get back here and finish your job.

Then, a photo.

It was my engagement ring. He had thrown it into the trash can, right on top of the ruined chocolate cake.

If you leave now, don't bother coming back.

Oh. So he was firing me. Perfect.

I didn't reply. I blocked his number.

I ordered a mimosa and opened TikTok. The algorithm was already working overtime.

The "Ivy Green Scandal" didn't just stay in Paris. It went nuclear stateside.

The designer she ripped off wasn't some anonymous nobody. His handle was @Sirius.

Real name: Roman Valerius.

And he had just landed in New York. A grainy paparazzi shot was circulating.

It was blurry, but you could tell the man was lethal. Black hair, piercing green eyes, 6'3", and built like a fighter.

He looked less like a fashion designer and more like a hitman who walked off a runway.

The photo was deleted almost immediatelysomeone powerful was scrubbing the internet.

In the middle of this PR nightmare, Sebastian decided to be a hero.

He posted on his official Twitter: Bottom feeders will always hate the view from the top.

The comments were brutal.

Bro, she stole a dress design. Thats not a swan, thats a thief.

Imagine defending a plagiarist just because shes your ex.

Then, Roman Valerius posted. Two sentences that broke the internet.

The blind man threw away the moon because he couldn't see its shine.

So, I came to catch it.

Cryptic. Poetic. Nobody understood it. But the internet loves a theory.

Wait... Ivy's nickname in high school was 'Moon', right?

Is Roman saying he came back for Ivy?

OMG. Did he expose the plagiarism just to get her attention? That is so toxic. I love it.

Enemies to Lovers arc?

The comment section was a war zone. Roman didn't post again.

Ivy, who had been hiding for days, suddenly saw an opening.

She posted a sad selfie: You can't force a vibe. Chasing a reflection just leaves you empty-handed.

The narrative shifted instantly. The stans and the bots started flooding the comments:

Sirius is obsessed with Ivy!

He framed her for plagiarism to gaslight her into dating him!

Poor Ivy. Shes the victim here.

Meanwhile, I was in the hotel lobby, waiting for my Uber.

"Excuse me."

A deep, velvety voice stopped me.

Chapter 7