Chapter 1

I once thought relationships worked like the strictest double-entry books: every debit had a credit, and the two always balanced.

Every sacrifice and every demand could be made to balance perfectly on the ledger of life.

Then I met Ian Vale.

To save my father, who had been left in a vegetative state, I signed a five-year contract with Ian.

He was my creditor. I was his clearly priced "Mrs. Vale."

We agreed on three rules: accounts only, no love;

We would act the part, but we would not fall for each other.

I thought that once I cleaned up his messy books and cleared the debt, I could walk away intact.

Then I was cornered in an alley, and he charged in like a madman, holding me with bloodshot eyes.

"Nora, who gave you permission to reduce us to a line item?"

0I stood in the corner of the banquet hall, holding a glass of champagne.

The crystal chandeliers caught on the jewels of socialites and wealthy wives until my eyes ached.

Not far away, Ian Vale was surrounded by a group of business leaders.

He wore a perfectly tailored black couture suit. His posture was straight, and his eyes carried a cold sharpness beneath their careless calm.

He was always like this. Even when he did nothing, every eye in the room found him.

I lowered my head and glanced at the brown paper portfolio in my hand.

Inside was not the brochure for tonight's charity auction, but a Final Financial Audit Report and a signed Divorce Agreement.

I took a deep breath, set my champagne on a passing waiter's tray, and walked straight toward him.

The crowd parted on its own as I approached.

Their eyes held curiosity, contempt, and polished fake courtesy.

They all knew I was Mrs. Vale. They also knew I was little more than the senior financial auditor Ian kept at his side.

I stopped in front of him.

He arched an eyebrow. His deep gaze settled on my face, waiting for me to speak.

I said nothing. I only handed him the portfolio calmly.

"What is this?" He did not take it. His voice was low, edged with displeasure at being interrupted.

"I have balanced the books for the past five years." I looked into his eyes and said each word clearly. "Mr. Vale, we are even." As his pupils tightened, I pushed the portfolio into his hand, turned, and walked out of the banquet hall without looking back.

I pushed open the heavy carved doors, and the cold night wind rushed into my face.

I pulled my trench coat tighter around me, but my thoughts drifted back to five years ago.

To a rainy night just as cold, the night I lost everything.

Five years earlier.

I dragged a heavy suitcase and stood in front of the black iron gate of Ridge Manor.

The rain was falling heavily, hitting my umbrella with a dull sound.

I was soaked, as if I had just been fished out of the water.

The iron door slowly slid open to both sides.

An old man wearing a gray suit, gray hair but energetic, walked out holding a black umbrella.

He looked me up and down, there was no contempt in his eyes, only a businesslike look.

"You must be Ms. Nora Shaw." He stepped aside slightly. "I'm Martin, the butler here. Mr. Vale is waiting inside." I nodded. My throat was too dry to make a sound.

The luxury inside the manor was beyond my imagination.

The high dome, the huge crystal lamp, the Persian carpet that makes no sound when stepped on.

There is a faint smell of cedar in the air, which is so oppressive that it makes people breathless.

Ian Vale is sitting on the huge leather sofa in the living room.

He was wearing a black shirt with a slightly open collar and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms.

He was playing with a silver lighter in his hand, and the sound of "click, click" was particularly clear in the empty living room.

That was the first time I really looked directly at this man.

The youngest and most ruthless tycoon in the city.

And, after my father's company collapsed and his failed suicide attempt left him in a vegetative state, the only "good man" willing to pour enough money into that bottomless pit.

Of course, his good intentions come with a hefty price tag.

"Sit." He didn't raise his head, but nodded his chin towards the sofa opposite.

I walked over and stood up straight instead of sitting down.

"Mr. Vale, I'm here." My voice was trembling, but I tried to make it sound calm.

He finally raised his head and stared at me with his sharp eyes like an eagle, as if he was assessing the value of a commodity.

He picked up a document from the coffee table in front of him and threw it in front of me.

"Take a look and sign if there's no problem." I picked up the document.

Debt Settlement Agreement.

There are not many terms, but every one of them coldly reveals the calculations of the capitalists.

1. The term is five years.

During that time, I had to live at the manor as "Mrs. Vale" and appear with him whenever he needed me in public.

2. I will serve as the chief financial auditor of his private and core industries and be responsible for cleaning up all bad accounts.

3. The massive debt my father owed would be offset by five years of my labor, my time, and my "identity."

At the end of the five-year period, both debts will be paid off.

4. Non-interference in each other's private lives.

He lives in the main building and I live in the annex building.

I looked at the neatly printed fonts and felt a little funny.

My father is an old-school accountant. He taught me abacus, double-entry accounting, and professional ethics.

But the only thing he never taught me was how to do accounting when a person regards himself as an asset to pay off debts.

I turned to the last page and looked at the figure that would take me even an ordinary person working for ten lifetimes to pay off.

I took out an old pen from my bag.

That was a gift from my father when I passed the CPA exam.

I took off the cap of my pen and signed the words "Nora Shaw" in the place of Party B.

The force penetrated the back of the paper, as if signing a life and death certificate.

After signing, I pushed the contract back.

"Mr. Vale, I've signed it." He glanced at the signature, put the contract away in the drawer, and threw a bunch of keys on the table.

"The room in the annex building, the access card for the study, and the code for the safe." His tone was unimpressive. "My accounts are very messy, and I don't like others to lie to me. If the accounts are done wrong or leaked, you can't afford the consequences."

"Understood." I lowered my eyes.

"Martin, take her to the room." He stood up and turned upstairs without hesitation.

Martin came over and picked up my suitcase.

"Nora, please come with me." The room in the annex building is very spacious, but the decoration is minimal and gives off a deserted feel.

A bed, a set of wardrobes, and a large desk.

Martin put down the box, explained a few rules, and then left.

The moment the door closed, all the strength in my body seemed to be drained away.

I slumped down on the chair in front of my desk, took out my phone, and pulled up the calculator.

That huge total debt, divided by 1825 days.

A number accurate to two decimal places pops up on the screen.

That was the daily "depreciation cost" of my next five years.

I looked at that number and my eyes were hot, but I bit my lip to prevent tears from falling.

This is a deal.

Since it is a transaction, as long as the accounts are clear, it will be settled one day.

I placed the old pen squarely on the table.

From today on, I am no longer Nora Shaw, the up-and-coming auditor.

I am Ian Vale's debtor.

A tool that is clearly priced.

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