Recently, Mr. Galer has been calling me into his office more often, and as soon as I enter, he asks me to close the door.


    My patience with this foul-smelling middle-aged man has reached its limit.


    With my screams echoing, I rush out of Mr. Galer’s office, running towards the elevator under the gaze of my colleagues.


    “You don’t need toe to thepany tomorrow.”


    I throw my phone aside, copse onto the bed, and shut myself in.


    This month’s sry is also gone; I gave all the money on me to my mother. Now, I can’t even afford a takeout.


    I open the fridge, finding some noodles and eggs.Property ? 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.


    After lying in bed for three days, “Ding dong!” The doorbell rings.


    Opening the door, there’s no one outside. The fragrance of flowers wafts in, and I see the neatly arranged red roses sent by Mr. Galer leaning against the wall.


    I throw the roses into the trash can, think for a moment, and then retrieve them.


    The red roses, inserted into the vase, fill the air with a tempting fragrance.


    Tomorrow is payday. What can I give to my mother? I can’t ruin the regained warmth of my family.


    I need money.


    I press the thorny stem of the roses with my fingers.