The letter came in the morning — thin, creased, and cruel.
Yinlin stared at the official notice trembling in her hands, her breath catching as she read the new numbers. The rent had increased again. Twice in two months. The amount was enough to empty her savings and then some. The hallway buzzed with neighbors' voices — angry, bitter, scared.
"Again?! They can't just keep raising it!"
"I'm already behind on last month!"
"This place isn't even worth that much!"
Outside her door, Mr. Gao from 3B pounded his fist against the stairwell railing. A mother cradled her baby with one arm while waving the rent slip with the other. Even Ah Jia, the teenager who usually had her earbuds in and mouth shut, was pacing, muttering curses under her breath.
Yinlin didn't join them. She closed her door slowly, shut out the noise, and leaned her back against it. Her knees nearly gave out beneath her.
How would she make it through this month?
She thought of Mei — her daughter, her bright-eyed reason for enduring everything — and the panic twisted into something more dangerous. She didn't cry. She couldn't. There was no time for that.
Instead, she changed into her uniform, and walked out like everything was normal.
The sound of the neighbors' frantic voices and Mr. Gao's heavy fist had been muted by the thin wood of the door, but the cold dread of the rent notice lingered like a shadow in the small kitchen. Yinlin tucked the creased paper into a drawer beneath the chipped ceramic plates, a desperate promise to herself that she would not look at the numbers again until the door was shut behind Mei.
She was already dressed in her crisp, navy silk uniform, but she wore a cheap cotton apron over it, trying to reclaim a sense of normal labor. The small frying pan hissed with two eggs—one for her, one for Mei.
"Mama, look!"
Mei, was seated at the tiny folding table, her thick dark hair already brushed into two slightly uneven pigtails. Her dark brown eyes shone with enthusiasm. She had forgone her rice porridge to finish a masterpiece she'd started the night before, drawing with a stubby crayon on construction paper.
"It's a city," Mei announced, holding up the chaotic array of bright colors. "And this purple swirly thing is the 'Mei's Pink Factory.' It makes all the fun stuff like pink ice cream and flying bikes."
Yinlin flipped an egg, forcing her attention away from the silent, predatory presence of the bill. "The factory looks very important," she said, her voice soft and even. "Who works there?"
"Only smart people," Mei stated firmly, tapping a figure that looked vaguely like a cat with spectacles. "And this is me, the boss!"
"Of course," Yinlin smiled—an easy, natural smile this time, drawn out by her daughter's fierce, creative logic. "An excellent job. Now, big boss Mei, your toast is ready."
They ate quickly. Mei chattered around mouthfuls of egg, asking a cascade of questions only a truly curious four-year-old could invent.
"Mama, why is the sky blue when clouds are white? Is the sky just wearing a blue shirt?" "And Mama, does the sun ever get sleepy?" "Mama," Mei paused, her brow furrowing, reflecting a concern she'd absorbed from the hallway noise. "Why does Mr. Gao always shout now? Is he angry at the sky?"
Yinlin reached across the table and wiped a smear of butter from Mei's chin. The question was too close to the truth. She needed a distraction.
"Mr. Gao just lost his keys, sweerheart," she lied smoothly, letting her thumb rest on Mei's soft cheek. "And the sun never gets sleepy because it has too much work to do, just like your Mama. Now, big boss Mei, finish your milk. Time for your boots."
Five minutes later, Mei was bundled up and standing by the door, swinging her brightly colored dinosaur backpack. Yinlin knelt to adjust the collar of Mei's coat, lingering over the task—a brief, stolen moment of physical closeness that anchored her.
As she stood, her eyes drifted to the high shelf where she kept her purse and keys. Just beside them, peeking out from under the pile of overdue utility reminders, was the ominous corner of the new rent notice. The black, bureaucratic ink seemed to glow with impossible digits.
The cold, desperate reality of the casino, of Tao's smirk, of the silk uniform, flooded back. Rent, food, kindergarten fees—all depended on her ability to perform.
Mei looked up, waiting for the farewell kiss. Yinlin took a deep, silent breath, forcing the tension from her shoulders and flattening the terror behind her eyes.
She placed her hand on Mei's head and bent down. She parted her lips and stretched them into the same shape she had perfected for the investors, the same professional, empty curve she had offered to Tao in passing. It was the smile of a woman who was perfectly fine.
Mei tilted her head slightly, her bright eyes searching her mother's face. "Mama? Your smile is a little tight today."
Yinlin hugged her tight, crushing the little girl against her wool coat for one protective second. "Nonsense, sweetheart," she whispered into Mei's hair, her voice perfectly even, betraying nothing. "Mama is happy. Go make the pink factory proud."
She watched Mei walk down the hallway, her small figure skipping until she was out of sight, before Yinlin finally closed the door. She stood against the solid wood, the forced smile crumbling, and reached for her work keys.
********
After sending off her daughter, Yinlin took the bus to the hotel as usual. The weather felt colder that day, and a relentless, light drizzle made the city seem grey and miserable. At the hotel, whispers followed her like insects—not just crawling beneath her skin, but burrowing into her ears.
"Promotion too fast..."
"You think she's sleeping with him? Look at the uniform."
"New uniform. Must be nice and snug..."
Even Jenny Lu's usual warmth had cooled into something cautious and clipped.
At her lunch break, Yinlin went straight to the executive floor and asked to see Mr. Xu. The receptionist hesitated—everyone did now, treating Yinlin as either a threat or a mistress—but eventually, she was let in.
Xu Tao's office was a study in cold, masculine luxury. He was at the bar corner, pouring himself a neat splash of amber liquid at noon. He was dressed in a dark grey, fine-knit vest worn over a high-collared, bottle-green silk shirt. He didn't wear a tie, but the outfit held more authority than a full suit.
"Ah," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Didn't expect you." His gaze dropped immediately to her new uniform, lingering on the tailored waistline and the curve of her hips. "The new uniform does look good on you, by the way. Very... distracting."
"I need to speak with you," Yinlin said, ignoring his compliment, the plush décor, and how small she felt on the thick carpeting of his world.
Tao gestured lazily to the lounge chair across from him. "By all means."
She sat stiffly on the edge of the large chair, the leather too soft, the silence too loud, before gathering her courage. "I'd like to ask for an advance. For next month's pay. Just this once."
His smile widened, patient and knowing. "Is this about your rent again?"
Yinlin's stomach twisted with shame and nausea. "They raised it twice in two months. I have nowhere else to go right now."
"I know," Tao said, swirling the liquor in his glass. "Market's unpredictable. The city changes for the wealthy, and it crushes everyone else."
Her nails dug into her palm. "I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate. I'll take extra shifts, more casino events—"
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
The sound was rich, dark, almost delighted. "More casino events? Yinlin, do you think they wanted you there for your tray service?"
Her face burned with humiliation. "I did my job."
"You were beautiful," he said smoothly, setting down his glass. His eyes lingered on her slim legs, then back to her small, heart-shaped face. "And out of place. That's what made them look."
She stood up, her pride fraying. "If you're not going to help—"
"I didn't say that," Tao cut in, leaning forward. The scent of his cologne and whiskey washed over her. "I am willing to help. But I want something… better. Something mutually beneficial."
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"A contract," he said, his lips curling into a proposal that felt like an ultimatum. "Simple. You resign your hotel position and become my personal companion. Appearances, discretion, companionship. You'll dine with me, travel when needed. I'll pay you three times what you make now, and I'll cover all your rent and expenses - including your daughter's."
Yinlin stared at him. The flicker of disgust in her eyes was unmistakable, quickly followed by the dawning horror of her situation.
He smiled back, patient, knowing.
Her voice was low, taut with disdain. "You want to own me."
"Don't be dramatic," Tao said. "It's a job, Yinlin. A much better one. And you've already proven you can charm powerful men. This simply puts a formal, profitable title on your existing value."
The words—existing value—rang in her ears like a curse.
"Do you think people are property you can buy or invest?"
Tao didn't hesitate. He looked her directly in the eye, his expression completely devoid of remorse or humor—only ruthless sincerity.
"Yes," he answered simply. "Everything is quantifiable. Everyone has a price, Yinlin. Yours is just currently tied to that failing apartment block."
The air felt punched out of her chest. There was no argument left, only pure, volcanic fury. She didn't speak another word. She simply spun on her heel and walked out, the sound of her rapid footsteps swallowed instantly by the thick carpet, her whole body shaking with a mixture of disappointment, pure fear, and blinding, futile anger.
*************
That night, the apartment felt colder than usual. Mei was asleep — peaceful and unaware — curled beneath her blanket. Ah Jia had left a note on the table:
*She ate well and finished her drawings. Don't worry. :) *
Yinlin stared at it for a long time before her eyes blurred, and sank to the kitchen floor. She cried for the walls closing in, for the rumors, the rent, the humiliation. For how much of herself she'd already sold just to survive. And how much more Xu Tao would ask before it was over.
Ever since he appeared in front of her, claiming he knew her, this man had brought nothing but another despair to her life. And she knew she couldn't do anything to undo it.