Apocalypse Queen: My Space, My Rules Chapter 99: A Capitalist's Conscience

"He's never pushed back. Never asked for anything. Whatever I tell him to do, he does. Wherever I tell him to go, he goes. No hesitation.

"And his reward for being capable, loyal, and honest is that I just keep piling more work on him. He hasn't complained. But I feel guilty.

"What do you think I should do to make it up to him? To stop feeling like I owe him something?"

Mariella said it all with a smile.

And this time she didn't make up a fictional friend. She was talking about herself.

Chandler had turned off the helicopter lights, but he could still see her face clearly in the dark. Her smile. The complicated flicker of emotion that passed through her eyes.

He pressed his lips together, then finally spoke. "You probably worked that hard because you loved your boss. I work hard because of the paycheck and the benefits. We're both doing it willingly.

"Your hard work didn't earn you his love. So you quit. My hard work has earned me good pay and real perks. I've got nothing to complain about. If you really feel bad, you can give me a bonus."

Mariella froze for a moment, then laughed. "I guess I was overthinking it. It's my first time being a capitalist. Still have a conscience. Can't bring myself to squeeze too hard."

"So, the trick to being a good boss is to harden your heart a little," Chandler said at his usual measured pace. "I don't mind working more. Just stop messing with my head every other day."

"That's not messing with you. That's flirting." Mariella burst out laughing. The mood had lifted.

Every time she saw that dead-serious face of his, she couldn't resist the urge to poke at him.

"All right. No more flirting."

Her debts would be collected. But she wasn't going to waste another shred of feeling on the people who owed them. They weren't worth it.

This time around, she wasn't just going to survive. She was going to enjoy herself doing it.

Getting off the helicopter, she murmured, almost to herself, "I never actually loved him."

"Hm?" Chandler stopped walking and looked at her.

"I used to think if I treated him well enough, he'd love me back. I was just starving for love, that's all. I don't want that worthless thing anymore. It's all smoke." Mariella clenched her fist and flexed her arm. "Only this counts. Hard power is real power."

...

Mariella put the helicopter away. Chandler had already picked the rooftop door lock.

They made their way down the stairwell with high-beam flashlights.

The top floor was an international designer furniture exhibit. Brands from all over the world were displayed wall to wall.

The flashlight beam swept across the room. Pure modern luxury.

Chandler pulled a high-powered mining lamp from his pack, switched it on, and set it on a dresser, ready to work.

Mariella, however, pulled out two military-grade camping tents and handed him one.

"It's late. Pulling all-nighters is bad for you." She smiled at him. "Set up the tent. We'll go into the space to wash up, get some sleep, and start fresh tomorrow."

At the end of the day, she was still a capitalist with a conscience.

Just because the man was useful didn't mean she should use him until he broke.

If he broke, she'd be the one paying for it.

...

The next morning, she woke up past 10 a.m.

Chandler's tent was already folded, sitting on top of a mattress.

They'd each picked their favorite brand-name mattress last night and pitched their tents on top.

Mariella was a light sleeper, but she had no idea when Chandler had gotten up and left.

She picked up her walkie-talkie. "Wash up. Breakfast."

A moment later, Chandler returned.

His hair at the temples was slightly damp. His fitted camo T-shirt traced every line of his lean, solid build. Faint sweat marks showed through the fabric.

He'd been training.

"What time did you get up?" Mariella was impressed by his discipline and stamina.

"An hour ago." He was still a man of few words.

Mariella didn't push it. She pulled him into the storage space.

She sent him to the first-floor bathroom. She went upstairs.

When she came back down, Chandler had already set up the coffee table with a full spread.

He'd made creamy golden grits with a hint of maple, a savory slow-cooked turkey hash, and a plate of flaky buttermilk biscuits stuffed with sausage. To round it out, there were crispy pan-seared shrimp cakes, garlic-rubbed short ribs, chilled celery stalks with a tangy vinaigrette, and savory glazed silken tofu. It was the ultimate mix of sweet, salty, and fresh—a feast that made her stomach growl the second she hit the bottom step.

"If you want anything else, help yourself." Chandler looked up at her.

Mariella pressed her lips together. This man was making himself more at home by the day.

"This is perfect. You know my taste." She sat down and picked the creamy golden grits.

Chandler took the turkey hash. They ate.

After breakfast, they stepped out of the storage space and began the next round of zero-dollar shopping.