After I Invoiced the Billionaire for Three Years of Fake Love, He Lost Everything

Lewis Delgado, the prince of the Capital's elite circle, kept me for three years. Everyone in our world said I was his dog.

The day his first love came back from abroad, he told me to get lost. I did more than get lostI handed him a thick stack of documents on my way out.

Lewis assumed it was a letter of remorse. He opened it with a sneer, but the smile froze on his face.

It was an itemized Emotional Services Invoice covering the past one thousand and ninety-five days:

"Hand-holding fee: $5,000/instance. Drink-blocking fee: $20,000/bottle. Faking orgasms: 0-000,000/includes performance premium."

I extended my hand, calm and composed. "Mr. Delgado, settle the balance, and we're even."

Lewis's eyes went red. He tore the document to shreds. "Abigail Fox, did you not have one ounce of sincerity in this house?"

I pulled out a calculator, genuinely puzzled. "Sincerity? That's a separate line item. You never purchased it, Mr. Delgado."

The moment his fingers loosened, the scraps drifted down like snowflakes.

"Abigail. Three years in this house. I treated you so well, and you turned it into a transaction?"

His voice ground out through clenched teeth, vibrating with disbelief and fury.

"Mr. Delgado, let's not rewrite history."

I straightened my spine.

"By 'well,' do you mean the nights you got drunk calling Miss Simmons's name while I sat beside you, mimicking her voice to coax you to sleep?"

"Or do you mean the galas where you paraded me in front of trust-fund brats who called me 'the knockoff'and you stood there and said nothing?"

"Or maybe"

"You're blaming me?"

A cold laugh. He stepped forward, his presence bearing down like a wall.

"Mr. Delgado, please."

I lifted my chin and gave him that flawless, impeccable smile he loved so muchthe professional kind, the kind that never reached the eyes.

"I graduated with a finance degree. I don't make losing deals. In three years, I blocked eighty-six drinks for you, handled twenty-four women angling for my spot, and managed your emotional needs every single night. That's labor. It has costs."

"Reseteighty-six times ten, plus"

I shoved the calculator screen in his face.

"I'll round down. Twenty-four million. And since you're welcoming Miss Simmons home, I'll throw in a two-percent discount. Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness."

Lewis stared at the number. His chest heaved.

"Fine. Fine."

One swipe of his hand sent the calculator clattering to the floor.

He looked at me. "The Fox family still owes me fifty million. You walk out nowhow do you plan to settle that?"

I crouched down, picked up the calculator, and pressed the reset key.

"Your memory's slipping, Mr. Delgado." I stood, brushing the dust off my knees. "Last month, the acquisition I closed for you? The commission plus my base salary covered the last of the debt. The bank statements hit your inbox yesterday."

Lewis didn't check his inbox.

He sank onto the sofa and lit a cigarette.

Smoke curled upward, veiling his eyes.

"So you used me, and now you want to leave?" He exhaled a ring of smoke. "Clarissa just got back and you can't wait to throw attitude in my face?"

"It's the end of a contract." I corrected him. "Our employment relationship terminates today."

The electronic click of a fingerprint lock echoed from the foyer.

The door opened.

Clarissa Simmons stood in the doorway in a white dress, a limited-edition Birkin dangling from her fingers.

She took in the shredded paper scattered across the floor, then looked at me.

"Lewis, did I come at a bad time?" She stayed where she was, her fingers tightening around the bag strap.

Lewis crushed out his cigarette and rose to his feet, walking toward Clarissa.

As he passed me, he deliberately knocked his shoulder into mine.

The shove hit hard.

I stumbled half a step, barely catching my balance.

Lewis took the bag from Clarissa's hand and set it on the cabinet, then turned to look at me.

"Who said you could leave?"

A cold smirk crossed his face.

"When you signed the contract, Supplemental Clause Ten was spelled out in black and white."

"'Until Party A consents to termination, Party B must unconditionally renew for a three-month transition period.'"

He lifted his chin toward Clarissa.

"Clarissa just got back to the country. She's fragilecan't handle stress."

"And I'm not going to find someone suitable on short notice."

"Until I hire a proper caretaker, you'll stay and attend to her."

I froze for a moment.

"Doesn't Mr. Delgado find my presence... an eyesore?"

Lewis said nothing. He just stared at me, his gaze glacial.

I drew a deep breath and pressed the calculator in my hand back to life.

"That'll be extra."

The next morning, six a.m. sharp.

I was up and in the kitchen right on time.

Lewis had a chronic stomach conditionbreakfast was always fresh-ground black soy milk and a warm sandwich.

Clarissa had low blood sugar. No matter how late she slept in, she needed her bird's nest soup.

All of it was in my professional repertoire.

At seven thirty, Lewis came downstairs.

He wore a charcoal custom-tailored suit, his tie hanging loose and unknotted.

Before, I would have walked over, taken the tie from his hands, and risen on my toes to knot it for him.

That was my "Warm Morning" servicetwo thousand dollars per occurrence.

Today, I stayed behind the counter, head down, slicing fruit.

Lewis walked to the dining table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

He glanced at the empty table, then at me.

"Tie," he said.

I set down the knife, dried my hands, and walked over to him.

But I didn't take the tie. Instead, I pulled out my phone and opened the payment screen.

"Tie-knotting service, two thousand per session." I held the screen in front of his face. "Mr. Delgado, scan first."

Lewis went still.

He stared at the QR code. His chest rose once, sharply.

"Abigail Fox." He used my full name. "Are you that obsessed with money?"

"Professional standards." My expression didn't waver. "No credit."

Footsteps sounded on the staircase.

Clarissa drifted down in a silk nightgown, her cheeks flushed with the softness of sleep.

"Lewis, fighting this early in the morning?" She walked to his side and reached for the tie in his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Let me help. Abigail used to be a socialiteshe's not cut out for this kind of thing."

She rose on her toes and fumbled with the tie around his neck, her movements clumsy and unpracticed.

Lewis didn't push her away. His eyes stayed fixed on me.

Clarissa tried three times. The knot came out crooked, the tie hanging limp and lopsided around his collar.

"Ugh, this is so hard." She stuck out her tongue. "Lewis, am I hopeless?"

He pulled his gaze away from me and looked down at her. "It's fine. I'm not in a rush."

He took her hands gently and guided them through the knot.

The two of them stood close, their breath mingling.

I stood to the side and checked my watch.

Seven forty-five.

"Mr. Delgado. Miss Simmons." I spoke up. "Per the agreement, my working hours begin when you sit down for your meal. Since this is currently a tutorial session, I'll head back to my room."

I turned to leave.

"Stop." Lewis's voice cut through the air like a blade.

I stopped.

"Come here." He pointed at the bird's nest soup on the table. "Clarissa's hands are too delicate for hot dishes. Feed her."

A blush crept up Clarissa's cheeks. "That's not necessary, Lewis. I can manage on my own..."

"Let her do it." Lewis looked straight at me, his eyes devoid of warmth. "She took the money. She does the work."

I walked to the table and picked up the bowl of steaming bird's nest soup.

I stirred it once with the spoon, letting the heat curl upward in thin wisps. Then I scooped up a spoonful and brought it to Clarissa's lips.

Clarissa glanced at Lewis, then opened her mouth.

The instant the spoon touched her lips, she flinched. Her head jerked back, and her hand swatted the bowl away.

"It's burning!" she cried.

The porcelain bowl hit the floor.

Scalding soup splashed out, most of it landing on the back of my hand and my wrist.

The skin flushed red immediately.

Clarissa clutched her chest, eyes brimming. "I'm so sorry, AbigailI didn't mean to, it was just so hot..."

Lewis pulled Clarissa toward him, checking her face and neck.

"Are you burned?" His voice was tight with concern.

Once he confirmed she was fine, he turned to look at me.

Two glistening blisters had already risen on the back of my hand.

His gaze lingered on them for exactly one second. Then it moved away.

"You can't even handle something this simple," Lewis said. "Clean it up."

I lowered my hand. The blisters grazed the hem of my sleeve, and a sharp sting shot through my skin.

"Of course," I said.

I bent down and gathered the shards of porcelain from the floor.

My fingers bled where the edges bit in. I didn't make a sound.

At eight that evening, a private banquet was held at the Delgado Mansion.

It was a welcome-home celebration for Clarissa.

Lewis handed me a black staff uniform and assigned me to serve drinks and direct guests.

I was the former companion. Now I was the waitstaff.

Everyone in the Capital's elite circle treated it as entertainmenta chance to watch the fallen Fox heiress make a fool of herself.

I changed into the uniform and moved through the crowd with a tray balanced on my palm.

Someone deliberately clipped my shoulder. Wine sloshed over the rim.

"Well, wellisn't that Abigail Fox?" A woman in a red dress covered her mouth, laughing. "What happened, didn't Lewis give you a severance package?"

I recognized her. She'd once tried to cozy up to Lewis, and I'd been made to down three shots of hard liquor on her behalf.

"Beth Finch." I pulled a cloth from my apron and wiped down the tray. "The champagne runs ten thousand a bottle. You just knocked over half a glass. That's five thousand in damages. Card or wire transfer?"

The color drained from her face. "Are you out of your mind?"

"If you'd rather not pay," I tipped my chin toward Lewis across the room, "that's my employer over there. You're welcome to file a complaint. He can dock it from my wagesthough he usually requires the responsible party to reimburse ten times the amount."

Beth glared at me, then walked away.

In the center of the hall, Lewis had Clarissa on his arm as they made their rounds, toasting guests.

Clarissa wore a couture gown. Around her neck hung a sapphire necklace.

I'd seen that necklace before.

It had belonged to my mother. It was also the most valuable thing I'd ever pawned to Lewis.

I stood in the shadows, watching the sapphire catch the light.

Lewis seemed to sense my gaze. He turned his head.

He raised his glass in my directiona distant, mocking salute.

A faint smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

Clarissa followed his line of sight, then leaned close and whispered something in his ear.

Lewis nodded.

Clarissa gathered her skirt and walked toward me.

She stopped in front of me, her fingers trailing along the necklace.

"Abigail, Lewis told me this necklace was your mother's." Clarissa smiled. "It's beautifulI absolutely love it. He said he's giving it to me. You don't mind, do you?"

I stared at the sapphire.

"It's his property." My voice dropped low. "It has nothing to do with me."

"As long as you don't mind." Clarissa plucked a glass of red wine from a passing tray. "As a thank-you, let me toast you."

She held the glass out to me.

I reached for it.

Clarissa's fingers released.

The wine glass never made it into my hand. It slipped past my fingers and landed squarely on her skirt.

Red wine splashed across white fabric, blooming like a stain of blood.

"Ah!" Clarissa shrieked, stumbling back two steps, and then she was on the ground, legs crumpled beneath her.

The room went dead silent.

Lewis shoved through the crowd and reached her side, pulling her to her feet.

"What happened?" His voice was low and dangerous as he took in her disheveled state.

Tears spilled down Clarissa's cheeks. "It's not Abigail's fault... I didn't hold on tight enough... Maybe she just couldn't bear to part with that necklace..."

Lewis's head snapped up toward me.

I looked right back at him.

I didn't explain myself. Explanations weren't part of the job description.

"Apologize," Lewis said.

I didn't move.

"Abigail. I said apologize." He stood, closing the distance between us by one deliberate step. "You're a server here tonight. You stained a guest's dress. Shouldn't you apologize?"

Everyone around us was watching. Enjoying the show.

I ran the math.

If I refused, he'd likely withhold my entire remaining paymentmaybe even use it as an excuse to keep the necklace.

If I apologized, I'd lose my dignity but walk away with the money.

Dignity didn't pay bills.

I bent at the waist. A full ninety-degree bow.

"I'm sorry, Miss Simmons." My voice was steady. "My hand slipped and I stained your dress. I'll cover the dry-cleaning costs in full."

Lewis stared at me. Then a cold laugh broke from his throat.

"Cover the costs? You think you can afford it?"

He grabbed a bottle of red wine from the table.

Pulled the cork.

Red liquid poured down from above my head.

Ice-cold. Sticky. Reeking of alcohol. It streamed over my eyes, seeped into my mouth.

"That's what covering costs looks like."

He set the empty bottle on the table.

I kept my eyes shut, enduring the wine as it dripped down my face, my neck, soaking into my clothes.

"Understood, Mr. Delgado." I wiped a hand across my wine-streaked face. "Are we even now?"

Clarissa, shaken by her "ordeal," spiked a high fever that evening.

Lewis summoned his entire private medical team to the villa.

I had a fever too.

Wine left to dry on skin, combined with days of running on fumesmy body had finally given out.

But I was in the maid's quarters. Nobody knew.

10 p.m.

My phone buzzed.

The hospital.

"Ms. Fox, your father has suffered a sudden cardiac arrest. He's being resuscitated now. We need a surgery payment of fifty thousand dollars, and it has to clear within thirty minutes."

I sat up in bed. The room tilted.

I checked my balance.

Thirty thousand.

Everything else had gone to debts. My wages from this job still hadn't been deposited.

I staggered out of the room and up the stairs to the second floor.

The master bedroom door was ajar.

Lewis sat on the edge of the bed, holding a glass of water to Clarissa's lips.

I pushed the door open.

He turned with a scowl. "Who told you to come in here? Get out."

I gripped the doorframe to keep myself upright.

"Lewis." My voice came out raw. "Pay me my wages. Now."

"Are you out of your mind?" He set the glass down, lowering his voice. "Keep it down. Clarissa just fell asleep."

"My father is in the hospital being resuscitated." I locked my eyes on his. "I need the money. It's what I'm owed."

Lewis stood, walked to the door, shoved me into the hallway, and pulled the door shut behind him.

In the corridor, he looked down at me from his full height.

"Your father's being resuscitated?" A scornful smile. "Abigail, you'd really stoop to this kind of lie just to squeeze money out of me? Didn't you say last month he was getting better?"

"It's true." I grabbed his sleeve. "Please. Just give me what you owe me. Even twenty thousand now would be enough."

Lewis shook my hand off.

I slammed into the wall and slid to the floor.

"No." Lewis straightened his cuffs. "You want the money? Kneel here. Kneel until dawn, and I'll believe you."

He turned to go back to his room.

"Lewis!" I called after him. "That's a person's life."

Lewis stopped. He didn't turn around.

"Clarissa just had a nightmare. She needs someone with her." His voice was flat. "Stop making noise, or you won't get a cent."

The door closed.

The hallway fell into a dead silence.

I pulled out my phone and sent messages to every contact in my list, begging to borrow money.

No one replied.

The friends I'd once had blocked me long ago.

Minutes crawled by. Seconds dragged.

Until midnight.

My phone buzzed again.

A text message. From the hospital.

Patient Zachary Foxresuscitation unsuccessful. Time of death confirmed: 11:58 PM. Family members are requested to come to the hospital to complete the necessary procedures.

I stared at the words on the screen.

I recognized every single one of them. I just didn't want to understand what they meant strung together.

From inside the bedroom came Clarissa's soft, honeyed voice: "Lewis, I'm scared..."

Then Lewis's gentle murmur: "Don't be afraid. I'm here."

I braced a hand against the wall and slowly pulled myself to my feet.

The fever seemed to have broken.

My body was strangely cold. Strangely light.

I turned and walked downstairs.

Back in the maid's room, I opened my suitcase. Inside were a few old clothes. Nothing else.

I took out the Emotional Service Invoicethe ledger I'd kept for three yearsand set it on the table.

I picked up a pen and wrote a single line on the last page.

Funeral expenses: Priceless.

Status: Paid in full by Abigail Fox.

Balance: All debts settled.

I tore out the page and taped it to the door.

Then I dragged my suitcase out through the front gates of the Delgado Mansion.

It was pouring outside.

I didn't bother with an umbrella.

The rain washed the lingering smell of red wine from my skin.

I pulled the SIM card from my phone and dropped it into a storm drain by the curb.

This time, I didn't need a calculator.

Our accounts were closed.