Could you imagine pushing your boss onto a bed?

Isabella woke up in a hotel bed, her eyes opening to see the man beside her. The images of last night's passionate encounter flooded her mind, leaving her completely stunned. The man she had slept with was none other than Sebastian Whitmore, the powerful owner of Hawthorne Manor and her direct superior at Riverton.

Rumor had it that any woman who dared to climb into his bed with aspirations of becoming Mrs. Whitmore would eventually disappear from Riverton without a trace, meeting a grim fate. She was still young and wanted to live many more years. It seemed her best option was to leave before he woke up.

She quietly got out of bed and picked up her clothes from the floor. They were torn, evidence of the night's intensity. Last night had been an accident; there was a company dinner at the restaurant downstairs, she drank too much, and blacked out. She thought it was just a vivid dream but vaguely remembered being on top...

Isabella hurriedly left without noticing that she dropped a resume on the floor while grabbing her bag.

Back at Cedar Grove Apartments.

She returned to her rented apartment at seven in the morning. Her roommate and best friend Sophie came out of her room. "Isabella, why are you coming back from outside? You didn't come home last night."

Isabella and Sophie were both orphans who grew up together in an orphanage, went to school together, and entered society together, relying on each other for support.

Feeling awkward, Isabella lied casually, "Sophie, well... we had a company dinner at the Grand Meridian. It was quite far away, and I drank too much. I didn't want to wake you up by coming back, so I stayed at a colleague's place."

"Oh," Sophie said without much thought, her expression dull. "By the way, do you have my resume? I asked you to print it yesterday. Today is the last day for applications. If I can't find a job soon, I'll be in big trouble."

Hearing this, Isabella remembered and quickly searched her bag but couldn't find the resume anywhere. She couldn't recall where she might have lost it.

"I'm sorry, Sophie," Isabella said apologetically. "I lost your resume."

Sophie smiled softly. "It's okay. I'll print it myself later. I might not get the job anyway; I don't have a degree, so it's hard to find work. If nothing else works out, I'll try looking in factories or selling clothes in malls. Just don't forget about me when you make it big."

Compared to Isabella, Sophie felt inferior due to her looks and lack of education, which made her sensitive and self-conscious.

"Sophie, don't say that," Isabella encouraged her. "We agreed to share our fortunes and hardships together. What's mine is yours. When I make money, I'll take care of you."

Sophie suddenly asked seriously, "Isabella, if what's yours is mine, would you give up a man if we both liked him?"

Isabella laughed. "In my heart, you're number one. There are plenty of men out there; if one goes away, another will come along. You're my only sister."

Sophie smiled back. "Just kidding with you. Go change your clothes and get ready for work; you smell like alcohol. Drink less next time."

"Okay," Isabella replied as she entered her room. The thought of going to work made her nervous.

Although she was just an intern and the chances of meeting someone as busy as Sebastian Whitmore were slim, she still worried about it.

If he found out it was her who slept with him last night, he would surely think she was a scheming woman after his wealth and status and would ruin her career in Riverton or worse.

Rumors said those women who 'disappeared' were all secretly dealt with by him.

Sebastian Whitmore stood at the top of the pyramid while she was just an insignificant ant at the bottom-two parallel lines that should never intersect.

Isabella shook her head as if trying to convince herself that last night was just a dream and prayed that he wouldn't remember her.

The room had been so dark; he probably didn't remember what she looked like, right?

At the hotel, Sebastian Whitmore finally woke up and sat on the bed shirtless with tousled hair exuding an air of restrained desire. His chiseled features radiated cold sharpness while his strong chest overflowed with masculine energy.

With a throbbing headache from last night's hangover, he tried to recall what happened.

If not for the bloodstain on the sheets, he would have thought it was all just a dream.

His gaze fell on something on the carpet-a resume. He picked it up: "Sophie Clark..."

Was this the woman from the last night?