He Gave Me $800 and Expected Me to Stay?! Yeah, No… Watch Me Turn the Tables Chapter 01

He Gave Me $800 and Expected Me to Stay?! Yeah, No… Watch Me Turn the Tables Chapter 01

Even the kept–woman business was getting hit by budget cuts. 

The city’s golden boy, Viricent Sterling, had his secretary slash my 

monthly $3,000 allowance straight down to $800. 

I was so pissed I hopped on a bike–share bike that same night and 

skipped town. 

Two months later, Vincent Sterling finally tracked down the ‘Wrap 

Queen‘ who’d gone viral overnight. 

On livestream, I was flipping wraps on the griddle and going nuclear 

with the chat: 

*Kept woman? Gold digger? I make more in one day selling 

breakfast wraps!” 

*$3,000 a month and they wanted me on call 24/7. You expect 

someone to live on scraps like that?” 

The live comments were flying: 

“You’re not a gold digger. You’re a working–class hero.” 

That night, Vincent Sterling pulled up in a Rolls–Royce and blocked 

my breakfast wrap stall. 

He tore into me, eyes red. 

“I thought you were vacationing on some island. You’re out here 

selling garbage?” 

“I give you $800,000 a month and that’s still not enough? You skip 

town without even a heads–up?” 

I heard him out and laughed. 

“Your childhood friend Sienna Quinn told me the economy was 

tanking and slashed my $3,000 paycheck to $800!” 

“If I hadn’t run, I wouldn’t even be able to cover your HOA fees next month!” 

Vincent Sterling went rigid. Sienna Quinn’s text landed right then: 

“Vince, the $800,000 for Chloe Paige already went through. She said it wasn’t enough and even asked me for a limited–edition bag.” 

“Ms. Paige, according to this month’s Personal Companion Performance Review, your overall score is only a C.” 

My head buzzed. 

“Ms. Quinn, what is that supposed to mean?” 

Sienna Quinn answered, expressionless. 

“It means your base pay this month needs to be recalculated.* 

“Ms. Paige, the current economic climate is poor. Every industry is cutting costs and boosting efficiency.” 

“Mr. Sterling’s position is that your role also needs to be optimized.” 

I was so anxious I nearly stood up. 

“But we agreed on a $3,000 monthly allowance.” 

“That is the top rate, contingent on perfect attendance and meeting performance targets.” 

Sienna Quinn pushed the review form in front of me. 

“On the thirteenth of last month, Mr. Sterling texted you at two in 

the morning. You took five minutes to reply.” 

“That constitutes a serious dereliction of duty.” 

“Deduction for failure to provide emotional value in a timely manner: $500.” 

I took a deep breath. 

“I had a high fever that day. I’d just taken fever meds and fallen asleep!” 

“Ms. Paige, we look at results, not process.” 

Sienna Quinn tapped the table. 

“Also, on the twentieth, Mr. Sterling took you to a banquet.” 

“You smiled only three times the entire evening, and you refused every toast.” 

“That demonstrates extremely poor service awareness. Deduction: $800.” 

I was shaking with rage. 

“That whole night was hundred–proof liquor. I’m allergic to alcohol.” 

“That is a personal issue and should not be used as an excuse to shirk your duties.” 

Sienna Quinn continued. 

“Finally, given how often you’ve been asking Mr. Sterling for 

emotional reassurance lately.” 

“This is a textbook failure of managing up.” 

“Overall assessment: your final take–home pay this month is $800.” 

She pulled a thin stack of cash from her bag and slapped it on the table. 

“Mr. Sterling said you get paid for the work you do.” 

“If you think it’s too little, you can find your own way to improve your professional skills.” 

I stared at those eight hundred–dollar bills. 

My eyes stung. 

Mom’s prosthetic replacement surgery was next month. 

This $800 couldn’t even buy a screw. 

“Could you… maybe make an exception?” 

I bit down hard on my lower lip. 

“I really need this money. Could I get an advance on next month’s?” 

Sienna Quinn stood up and looked down at me. 

“Ms. Paige, the company has company rules.” 

“Mr. Sterling does not like people with no sense of boundaries.” 

I carefully tucked the $800 into my pocket. 

After Sienna Quinn left, I wiped my face and walked into the kitchen. 

All that was left in the kitchen was half a bundle of cheap dried noodles. 

I’d bought them at the supermarket downstairs for $8. 

I’d already been eating them for a week. 

I boiled a pot of water and dropped in a handful of plain noodles. 

I didn’t even dare add a drop of sesame oil. 

I was about to pick up the bowl when my phone suddenly rang. 

It was Ms. Carter from the orphanage. 

“Chloe, Mom’s leg is hurting again.” 

Ms. Carter’s voice was tight with worry. 

“The doctor said if we don’t replace the prosthetic soon, it could get 

infected.” 

My heart clenched hard. 

“Ms. Carter, how much are we still short on the surgery?” 

“About another $50,000.” 

Ms. Carter sighed. 

“Chloe, scraping by in the big city isn’t easy 

for 

you either.” 

“If it really doesn’t work out, we’ll think of something else. 

I cut her off fast. 

“I’ll figure out the money You just take good care of Mom.” 

I hung up and stared at the clumped noodles in the bowl. 

The tears finally hit the bowl. 

$50,000. 

For Vincent Sterling, that: was probably the price of one bottle of 

wine. 

For me, it was Mom’s life. 

I wiped my tears and found Vincent Sterling’s texts. 

The chat was nothing but my morning and evening check–ins every single day. 

And his replies were always just a short “Mm.” 

I took a deep breath and typed. 

“Mr. Sterling, are you free tonight? I want to see you.‘ 

Ten minutes after the message went out. 

No reply. 

I gritted my teeth and called him. 

The phone rang for a long time before he picked up. 

“What is it?” 

“I want an advance on next month’s pay. Is that okay?” 

Even the kept–woman business was getting hit by budget cuts. 

The city’s golden boy, Viricent Sterling, had his secretary slash my 

monthly $3,000 allowance straight down to $800. 

I was so pissed I hopped on a bike–share bike that same night and 

skipped town. 

Two months later, Vincent Sterling finally tracked down the ‘Wrap 

Queen‘ who’d gone viral overnight. 

On livestream, I was flipping wraps on the griddle and going nuclear 

with the chat: 

*Kept woman? Gold digger? I make more in one day selling 

breakfast wraps!” 

*$3,000 a month and they wanted me on call 24/7. You expect 

someone to live on scraps like that?” 

The live comments were flying: 

“You’re not a gold digger. You’re a working–class hero.” 

That night, Vincent Sterling pulled up in a Rolls–Royce and blocked 

my breakfast wrap stall. 

He tore into me, eyes red. 

“I thought you were vacationing on some island. You’re out here 

selling garbage?” 

“I give you $800,000 a month and that’s still not enough? You skip 

town without even a heads–up?” 

I heard him out and laughed. 

“Your childhood friend Sienna Quinn told me the economy was 

tanking and slashed my $3,000 paycheck to $800!” 

“If I hadn’t run, I wouldn’t even be able to cover your HOA fees next month!” 

Vincent Sterling went rigid. Sienna Quinn’s text landed right then: 

“Vince, the $800,000 for Chloe Paige already went through. She said it wasn’t enough and even asked me for a limited–edition bag.” 

“Ms. Paige, according to this month’s Personal Companion Performance Review, your overall score is only a C.” 

My head buzzed. 

“Ms. Quinn, what is that supposed to mean?” 

Sienna Quinn answered, expressionless. 

“It means your base pay this month needs to be recalculated.* 

“Ms. Paige, the current economic climate is poor. Every industry is cutting costs and boosting efficiency.” 

“Mr. Sterling’s position is that your role also needs to be optimized.” 

I was so anxious I nearly stood up. 

“But we agreed on a $3,000 monthly allowance.” 

“That is the top rate, contingent on perfect attendance and meeting performance targets.” 

Sienna Quinn pushed the review form in front of me. 

“On the thirteenth of last month, Mr. Sterling texted you at two in 

the morning. You took five minutes to reply.” 

“That constitutes a serious dereliction of duty.” 

“Deduction for failure to provide emotional value in a timely manner: $500.” 

I took a deep breath. 

“I had a high fever that day. I’d just taken fever meds and fallen asleep!” 

“Ms. Paige, we look at results, not process.” 

Sienna Quinn tapped the table. 

“Also, on the twentieth, Mr. Sterling took you to a banquet.” 

“You smiled only three times the entire evening, and you refused every toast.” 

“That demonstrates extremely poor service awareness. Deduction: $800.” 

I was shaking with rage. 

“That whole night was hundred–proof liquor. I’m allergic to alcohol.” 

“That is a personal issue and should not be used as an excuse to shirk your duties.” 

Sienna Quinn continued. 

“Finally, given how often you’ve been asking Mr. Sterling for 

emotional reassurance lately.” 

“This is a textbook failure of managing up.” 

“Overall assessment: your final take–home pay this month is $800.” 

She pulled a thin stack of cash from her bag and slapped it on the table. 

“Mr. Sterling said you get paid for the work you do.” 

“If you think it’s too little, you can find your own way to improve your professional skills.” 

I stared at those eight hundred–dollar bills. 

My eyes stung. 

Mom’s prosthetic replacement surgery was next month. 

This $800 couldn’t even buy a screw. 

“Could you… maybe make an exception?” 

I bit down hard on my lower lip. 

“I really need this money. Could I get an advance on next month’s?” 

Sienna Quinn stood up and looked down at me. 

“Ms. Paige, the company has company rules.” 

“Mr. Sterling does not like people with no sense of boundaries.” 

I carefully tucked the $800 into my pocket. 

After Sienna Quinn left, I wiped my face and walked into the kitchen. 

All that was left in the kitchen was half a bundle of cheap dried noodles. 

I’d bought them at the supermarket downstairs for $8. 

I’d already been eating them for a week. 

I boiled a pot of water and dropped in a handful of plain noodles. 

I didn’t even dare add a drop of sesame oil. 

I was about to pick up the bowl when my phone suddenly rang. 

It was Ms. Carter from the orphanage. 

“Chloe, Mom’s leg is hurting again.” 

Ms. Carter’s voice was tight with worry. 

“The doctor said if we don’t replace the prosthetic soon, it could get 

infected.” 

My heart clenched hard. 

“Ms. Carter, how much are we still short on the surgery?” 

“About another $50,000.” 

Ms. Carter sighed. 

“Chloe, scraping by in the big city isn’t easy 

for 

you either.” 

“If it really doesn’t work out, we’ll think of something else. 

I cut her off fast. 

“I’ll figure out the money You just take good care of Mom.” 

I hung up and stared at the clumped noodles in the bowl. 

The tears finally hit the bowl. 

$50,000. 

For Vincent Sterling, that: was probably the price of one bottle of 

wine. 

For me, it was Mom’s life. 

I wiped my tears and found Vincent Sterling’s texts. 

The chat was nothing but my morning and evening check–ins every single day. 

And his replies were always just a short “Mm.” 

I took a deep breath and typed. 

“Mr. Sterling, are you free tonight? I want to see you.‘ 

Ten minutes after the message went out. 

No reply. 

I gritted my teeth and called him. 

The phone rang for a long time before he picked up. 

“What is it?” 

“I want an advance on next month’s pay. Is that okay?” 

Even the kept–woman business was getting hit by budget cuts. 

The city’s golden boy, Viricent Sterling, had his secretary slash my 

monthly $3,000 allowance straight down to $800. 

I was so pissed I hopped on a bike–share bike that same night and 

skipped town. 

Two months later, Vincent Sterling finally tracked down the ‘Wrap 

Queen‘ who’d gone viral overnight. 

On livestream, I was flipping wraps on the griddle and going nuclear 

with the chat: 

*Kept woman? Gold digger? I make more in one day selling 

breakfast wraps!” 

*$3,000 a month and they wanted me on call 24/7. You expect 

someone to live on scraps like that?” 

The live comments were flying: 

“You’re not a gold digger. You’re a working–class hero.” 

That night, Vincent Sterling pulled up in a Rolls–Royce and blocked 

my breakfast wrap stall. 

He tore into me, eyes red. 

“I thought you were vacationing on some island. You’re out here 

selling garbage?” 

“I give you $800,000 a month and that’s still not enough? You skip 

town without even a heads–up?” 

I heard him out and laughed. 

“Your childhood friend Sienna Quinn told me the economy was 

tanking and slashed my $3,000 paycheck to $800!” 

“If I hadn’t run, I wouldn’t even be able to cover your HOA fees next month!” 

Vincent Sterling went rigid. Sienna Quinn’s text landed right then: 

“Vince, the $800,000 for Chloe Paige already went through. She said it wasn’t enough and even asked me for a limited–edition bag.” 

“Ms. Paige, according to this month’s Personal Companion Performance Review, your overall score is only a C.” 

My head buzzed. 

“Ms. Quinn, what is that supposed to mean?” 

Sienna Quinn answered, expressionless. 

“It means your base pay this month needs to be recalculated.* 

“Ms. Paige, the current economic climate is poor. Every industry is cutting costs and boosting efficiency.” 

“Mr. Sterling’s position is that your role also needs to be optimized.” 

I was so anxious I nearly stood up. 

“But we agreed on a $3,000 monthly allowance.” 

“That is the top rate, contingent on perfect attendance and meeting performance targets.” 

Sienna Quinn pushed the review form in front of me. 

“On the thirteenth of last month, Mr. Sterling texted you at two in 

the morning. You took five minutes to reply.” 

“That constitutes a serious dereliction of duty.” 

“Deduction for failure to provide emotional value in a timely manner: $500.” 

I took a deep breath. 

“I had a high fever that day. I’d just taken fever meds and fallen asleep!” 

“Ms. Paige, we look at results, not process.” 

Sienna Quinn tapped the table. 

“Also, on the twentieth, Mr. Sterling took you to a banquet.” 

“You smiled only three times the entire evening, and you refused every toast.” 

“That demonstrates extremely poor service awareness. Deduction: $800.” 

I was shaking with rage. 

“That whole night was hundred–proof liquor. I’m allergic to alcohol.” 

“That is a personal issue and should not be used as an excuse to shirk your duties.” 

Sienna Quinn continued. 

“Finally, given how often you’ve been asking Mr. Sterling for 

emotional reassurance lately.” 

“This is a textbook failure of managing up.” 

“Overall assessment: your final take–home pay this month is $800.” 

She pulled a thin stack of cash from her bag and slapped it on the table. 

“Mr. Sterling said you get paid for the work you do.” 

“If you think it’s too little, you can find your own way to improve your professional skills.” 

I stared at those eight hundred–dollar bills. 

My eyes stung. 

Mom’s prosthetic replacement surgery was next month. 

This $800 couldn’t even buy a screw. 

“Could you… maybe make an exception?” 

I bit down hard on my lower lip. 

“I really need this money. Could I get an advance on next month’s?” 

Sienna Quinn stood up and looked down at me. 

“Ms. Paige, the company has company rules.” 

“Mr. Sterling does not like people with no sense of boundaries.” 

I carefully tucked the $800 into my pocket. 

After Sienna Quinn left, I wiped my face and walked into the kitchen. 

All that was left in the kitchen was half a bundle of cheap dried noodles. 

I’d bought them at the supermarket downstairs for $8. 

I’d already been eating them for a week. 

I boiled a pot of water and dropped in a handful of plain noodles. 

I didn’t even dare add a drop of sesame oil. 

I was about to pick up the bowl when my phone suddenly rang. 

It was Ms. Carter from the orphanage. 

“Chloe, Mom’s leg is hurting again.” 

Ms. Carter’s voice was tight with worry. 

“The doctor said if we don’t replace the prosthetic soon, it could get 

infected.” 

My heart clenched hard. 

“Ms. Carter, how much are we still short on the surgery?” 

“About another $50,000.” 

Ms. Carter sighed. 

“Chloe, scraping by in the big city isn’t easy 

for 

you either.” 

“If it really doesn’t work out, we’ll think of something else. 

I cut her off fast. 

“I’ll figure out the money You just take good care of Mom.” 

I hung up and stared at the clumped noodles in the bowl. 

The tears finally hit the bowl. 

$50,000. 

For Vincent Sterling, that: was probably the price of one bottle of 

wine. 

For me, it was Mom’s life. 

I wiped my tears and found Vincent Sterling’s texts. 

The chat was nothing but my morning and evening check–ins every single day. 

And his replies were always just a short “Mm.” 

I took a deep breath and typed. 

“Mr. Sterling, are you free tonight? I want to see you.‘ 

Ten minutes after the message went out. 

No reply. 

I gritted my teeth and called him. 

The phone rang for a long time before he picked up. 

“What is it?” 

“I want an advance on next month’s pay. Is that okay?” 

Even the kept–woman business was getting hit by budget cuts. 

The city’s golden boy, Viricent Sterling, had his secretary slash my monthly $3,000 allowance straight down to $800. 

I was so pissed I hopped on a bike–share bike that same night and skipped town. 

Two months later, Vincent Sterling finally tracked down the ‘Wrap Queen‘ who’d gone viral overnight. 

On livestream, I was flipping wraps on the griddle and going nuclear with the chat: 

Kept woman? Gold digger? I make more in one day selling breakfast wraps!” 

$3,000 a month and they wanted me on call 24/7. You expect someone to live on scraps like that?” 

The live comments were flying: 

“You’re not a gold digger. You’re a working–class hero.” 

That night, Vincent Sterling pulled up in a Rolls–Royce and blocked my breakfast wrap stall. 

He tore into me, eyes red. 

“I thought you were vacationing on some island. You’re out here selling garbage?” 

“I give you $800,000 a month and that’s still not enough? You skip town without even a heads–up?” 

I heard him out and laughed. 

“Your childhood friend Sienna Quinn told me the economy was tanking and slashed my $3,000 paycheck to $800!” 

“If I hadn’t run, I wouldn’t even be able to cover your HOA fees next month!” 

Vincent Sterling went rigid. Sienna Quinn’s text landed right then: 

“Vince, the $800,000 for Chloe Paige already went through. She said it wasn’t enough and even asked me for a limited–edition bag.” 

“Ms. Paige, according to this month’s Personal Companion Performance Review, your overall score is only a C.” 

My head buzzed. 

“Ms. Quinn, what is that supposed to mean?” 

Sienna Quinn answered, expressionless. 

“It means your base pay this month needs to be recalculated.* 

“Ms. Paige, the current economic climate is poor. Every industry is cutting costs and boosting efficiency.” 

“Mr. Sterling’s position is that your role also needs to be optimized.” 

I was so anxious I nearly stood up. 

“But we agreed on a $3,000 monthly allowance.” 

“That is the top rate, contingent on perfect attendance and meeting performance targets.” 

Sienna Quinn pushed the review form in front of me. 

“On the thirteenth of last month, Mr. Sterling texted you at two in 

the morning. You took five minutes to reply.” 

“That constitutes a serious dereliction of duty.” 

“Deduction for failure to provide emotional value in a timely manner: $500.” 

I took a deep breath. 

“I had a high fever that day. I’d just taken fever meds and fallen asleep!” 

“Ms. Paige, we look at results, not process.” 

Sienna Quinn tapped the table. 

“Also, on the twentieth, Mr. Sterling took you to a banquet.” 

“You smiled only three times the entire evening, and you refused every toast.” 

“That demonstrates extremely poor service awareness. Deduction: $800.” 

I was shaking with rage. 

“That whole night was hundred–proof liquor. I’m allergic to alcohol.” 

“That is a personal issue and should not be used as an excuse to shirk your duties.” 

Sienna Quinn continued. 

“Finally, given how often you’ve been asking Mr. Sterling for emotional reassurance lately.” 

“This is a textbook failure of managing up.” 

“Overall assessment: your final take–home pay this month is $800.” 

She pulled a thin stack of cash from her bag and slapped it on the table. 

“Mr. Sterling said you get paid for the work you do.” 

“If you think it’s too little, you can find your own way to improve your professional skills.” 

I stared at those eight hundred–dollar bills. 

My eyes stung. 

Mom’s prosthetic replacement surgery was next month. 

This $800 couldn’t even buy a screw. 

“Could you… maybe make an exception?” 

I bit down hard on my lower lip. 

“I really need this money. Could I get an advance on next month’s?” 

Sienna Quinn stood up and looked down at me. 

“Ms. Paige, the company has company rules.” 

“Mr. Sterling does not like people with no sense of boundaries.” 

I carefully tucked the $800 into my pocket. 

After Sienna Quinn left, I wiped my face and walked into the kitchen. 

All that was left in the kitchen was half a bundle of cheap dried noodles. 

I’d bought them at the supermarket downstairs for $8. 

I’d already been eating them for a week. 

I boiled a pot of water and dropped in a handful of plain noodles. 

I didn’t even dare add a drop of sesame oil. 

I was about to pick up the bowl when my phone suddenly rang. 

It was Ms. Carter from the orphanage. 

“Chloe, Mom’s leg is hurting again.” 

Ms. Carter’s voice was tight with worry. 

“The doctor said if we don’t replace the prosthetic soon, it could get infected.” 

My heart clenched hard. 

“Ms. Carter, how much are we still short on the surgery?” 

“About another $50,000.” 

Ms. Carter sighed. 

“Chloe, scraping by in the big city isn’t easy for you either.” 

“If it really doesn’t work out, we’ll think of something else. 

I cut her off fast. 

“I’ll figure out the money You just take good care of Mom.” 

I hung up and stared at the clumped noodles in the bowl. 

The tears finally hit the bowl. 

$50,000. 

For Vincent Sterling, that: was probably the price of one bottle of wine. 

For me, it was Mom’s life. 

I wiped my tears and found Vincent Sterling’s texts. 

The chat was nothing but my morning and evening check–ins every single day. 

And his replies were always just a short “Mm.” 

I took a deep breath and typed. 

“Mr. Sterling, are you free tonight? I want to see you.‘ 

Ten minutes after the message went out. 

No reply. 

I gritted my teeth and called him. 

The phone rang for a long time before he picked up. 

“What is it?” 

“I want an advance on next month’s pay. Is that okay?”