I had the worst luck in the world. During a live-streamed audition for a dating reality show, my dress was lifted by a gust of sea wind, exposing me to the entire internet. The screenshots went viral instantly. I was the laughingstock of the year. But that humiliating accident somehow "awakened" a paralyzed billionaire who hadn't felt desire in years. His younger brother offered me eighty million dollars on the spot. The job? "Spend his birthday with him." I signed the contract and became his private companion. Every day, I walked past him in high heels. He could look, but he couldn't touch. But the one who went crazy first wasn't him. It was his brother. 1 I swear I must have been cursed. My flashing incident was trending #1. As soon as my stilettos hit the red carpet, a gust of wind off the Pacific lifted my white skirt, Marilyn Monroe style, but without the grace. The producers didn't cut the feed fast enough. The comments section exploded. "That innocent vibe is killer!" "Is she here to date or to commit a crime?" "Wife material!" I stood there frozen, the sound of shutters clicking like gunfire around me. I wanted to die. The worst part was, I didn't even want to be there. I was filling in for my childhood best friend, Chloe. She had a fever and a swollen face, so she shoved me into the dangerous white dress. "Just stand there for me! You're so conservative you radiate holy light. They definitely won't pick you! Just do it!" I shouldn't have listened to her. Three hours later, I was curled up on a deserted stretch of Malibu beach, burying my face in my knees. Last week, I got laid off. Yesterday, my boyfriend of seven years dumped me. He said I was as exciting as a dusty Bible in a convent, then slept with a girl he just met nineteen times in three days. And today, the whole world had seen my underwear. "Excuse me." A gentle, unfamiliar male voice broke the silence. I looked up. A young man stood there in a crisp white shirt, smiling perfectly. "Hi, I'm Ethan Vance. I'd like to talk to you." He pointed behind him. At the end of the wooden boardwalk, a silver-grey wheelchair sat in the shadows. The man in the wheelchair wore a dark black shirt. His features were sharp as a knife, his eyes cold as ice. But when his gaze landed on me, his pupils dilated—shock, delight, and a terrifying hint of... greed. Before I could refuse, Ethan ushered me into a black sedan. The leather seats smelled of expensive cologne. The wheelchair was folded in the trunk. The man, Sterling Vance, stared at me the whole ride. He looked like he was dissecting a struggling butterfly. Suddenly, he spoke. "I remember every angle of your skirt lifting." My face burned. I reached for the door handle, but Ethan tossed a thick document onto my lap. Agreement for Psychological Stress-Induced Physiological Rehabilitation Companionship. 42 pages. It detailed everything: appear within his visual range daily, wear "elegant yet alluring" attire, maintain eye contact for no less than 20 seconds, provide physical comfort if necessary to stabilize mood, guide physiological recovery... "You want me to be a fluffer?" I laughed angrily. "A companion," Ethan corrected softly. "Don't misunderstand." He wrote a check. Ten million dollars. One month. Until his brother's birthday. As long as I "appeared as I did today," he guaranteed Sterling wouldn't touch me. Of course, supplementary agreements could be signed if needed. It sounded even more perverse. My phone buzzed. It was my dad's assistant: "Miss Harper, the company's funding chain broke. We're short eighty million. Your dad is threatening to jump off the roof." I closed my eyes and whispered, "I'll sign. But I want eighty million." "Eighty million? Miss, did you read the part where he won't touch you under the basic agreement?" "Doesn't that depend on my skills?" I shot back. "A woman elegant, charming, and innocent enough to make your brother lose control with a single look." "Deal. Not just companionship. If you cure his physiological disorder, you get eighty million." Ethan smiled. "Until July 14th, you are my brother's... exclusive gift." 2 When I officially moved into the Vance estate, I realized it wasn't a house. It was a fortress. Face ID entry, sensor elevators, private security guards... Sterling lived on the top floor of the main wing. The whole space was sealed off like a palace. As the "Special Companion," I lived one floor below him. So close, yet worlds apart. The most absurd part was the man who showed up at my door, claiming to be my training coach. "Hello, darling~" The man wore a pink polka-dot shirt and oversized red sunglasses. "I'm Wyatt. I'm here to turn you into a weapon of mass seduction." I stared at his flamboyance, speechless. "..." "Today we start with Lesson One: Sexy Body Language!" Wyatt clicked a laser pointer at a PowerPoint presentation. "Topic: How to give a man heart palpitations without triggering a sexual harassment lawsuit while walking." "This... this is too much..." I wanted to quit. "Quit and pay the breach of contract fee. Eighty million," Wyatt sang, holding up eight fingers. "Come on, put on this dress and walk ten meters." He tossed me a cream-colored lace dress. It was even more revealing than the one Chloe gave me. I changed, my hands trembling. Wyatt shouted from the hall, "Don't walk too steady! Be like a willow in the wind... like you just finished a tango and want to collapse but can't. Rebellious but weak." I took a deep breath and walked from the end of the corridor, pinching the hem of the dress. But my heel slipped on the polished floor, and I nearly wiped out. "Stop!" Wyatt lunged forward. "You look like a drunk toddler, not a seductress!" "You do it then!" I snapped. "I teach, I don't test. If I were a woman, you wouldn't have this job." As we argued, a soft whirring sound came from the other end of the hall. Sterling's wheelchair stopped silently at the top of the stairs. He was wearing a dark grey shirt today, buttoned all the way up. His face was pale and ascetic. He stared at me without speaking, but his knuckles were white as he gripped the armrests. I realized I was still wearing the "training dress." My heart skipped a beat. "Walk again," Sterling said suddenly, his voice raspy. I froze. "What?" "Those steps you just took." His gaze locked onto my thigh, visible through the lace. "Do it again." The air solidified for three seconds. Wyatt grabbed my arm and hissed in my ear, "Eighty million! Don't forget the eighty million! Walk!" I gritted my teeth, went back to the end of the hall, turned, and walked toward him step by step. I looked up, trying to mimic the eye contact technique Wyatt taught me: Glance, look away, then look back with hesitation. Sterling watched me, his expression growing colder by the second. When I reached him, he suddenly said, "In the future, don't look at me like that when you walk." "You asked me to walk!" I laughed in disbelief. "Walking is allowed," his eyes darkened. "Looking is not." "What do you want from me?" I whispered. Sterling lowered his eyes, slowly turning his wheelchair around. His voice sounded like it was being dragged out of his chest. "People who play with fire... should be afraid of getting burned." He left. His back was cold enough to freeze the air. Wyatt whispered in my ear, "Congrats. He's showing symptoms." "What symptoms?" "Physiological reaction!" He looked ready to dance. "Oh my god, I can see you counting cash in the Maldives already!" I rubbed my temples. "You certainly have sharp eyes." I turned around and saw a glass of warm milk on the table. It was still steaming. I knew only Sterling had been there. 4 I didn't tell anyone I dreamed about Sterling that night. In the dream, I was practicing the "seductive glance back" in the hallway. The lights were soft. I wore the cream lace dress, swaying towards him. When I looked back, I crashed right into his deep, dark eyes. He looked like he'd been electrocuted. His wheelchair slammed into the wall with a dull thud. I woke up covered in cold sweat, heart pounding. That morning, Wyatt took a leave of absence. I finally had a moment of peace to walk in the garden. The garden was the only place in the estate without cameras. I walked along the gravel path, silently rehearsing Wyatt's instructions: Left foot light, right foot drags, show 30% ankle, don't look back too fake... I muttered to myself, "I feel like a weirdo." "You look like one, too." A cool male voice cut in. I jumped, nearly tripping. Sterling had appeared out of nowhere. His wheelchair was parked by the colonnade. The wind ruffled his black clothes. He held a book but wasn't reading. "Stalking me again?" I stepped back warily. "Your footsteps are too loud," he said calmly. "I heard you." "Seen enough?" "No." He put the book down and slowly wheeled closer. "Continue." My legs went weak. "I'm not acting anymore." "You're afraid of me?" He stopped, staring at me intently. "...No." "Yes." He seemed to read the twitch of my lips. "You're afraid I'll get close, and you're afraid you'll fall for me." The words hit me like an arrow. "Are you crazy?" I blurted out. "Are you sick?" He didn't get angry. He actually smiled faintly. "Indeed. My medical report says 'Post-Traumatic Adaptation Disorder,' with 'deviated physiological response to stimuli' in parentheses." I opened my mouth but couldn't speak. He suddenly reached out and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. The gesture was gentle, like a lover's touch. "Do you know what you smell like right now?" he whispered. "W-what?" "A trapped animal." He enunciated each word. "You look like a little pet that wants to run but doesn't know where to go." My face burned. Before I could retort, a voice interrupted. "Brother, breakfast is ready." Ethan stood on the stone steps, smiling innocently. "Harper, come join us? The chef made pumpkin gratin, your favorite." I let out a breath and practically ran toward him. But Ethan leaned in and whispered, "Don't be fooled by my brother's serious face. He wasn't always like this." "What do you mean?" "He used to love sketching figures." Ethan winked. "Realism. The kind where you measure proportions with your eyes." I was speechless. "After the accident, he stopped talking. The doctors say... he might have suppressed it for too long. Who knows why he only reacts to you." "You mean I'm like a switch?" "Maybe," he sighed. "I'm just worried about you. You don't know his state. He's... deep." I looked down at my shoes, feeling heavy. Of course I didn't know Sterling Vance. The man with eyes full of forbidden fire... I couldn't read him, and I didn't dare to try. "If you want to quit this game," Ethan patted my shoulder, "I'll help you." I looked at him. He stood in the sun, his smile as clean as spring water. I turned back to the colonnade. Sterling was gone. The sunlight hit the tire tracks he left behind, looking like a path leading into an abyss.
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