From Rags to God of War

Scandal

It was three in the morning. A notification sounded on Nicholas's phone. He picked it up, his gaze immediately fixed on the screen. A balance of USD 1,000,000 entered his account. It was payment for his last mission. A bank transfer from an offshore account. He was paid per mission, per operation. Sometimes, this payment could come from secret clients who paid handsomely for specialized skills, such as VIP protection, hostage rescue, or highly covert intelligence operations. Or it could be from governments needing hidden hands for jobs that couldn't be officially acknowledged. The sum of USD 1,000,000, for Nicholas, was a typical amount.

Very early in the morning, when the sun had just made its appearance on the eastern horizon, Nicholas was already awake. There was a soft knock on his bedroom door. He got up and opened it. Isabella stood there.

"Good morning," Isabella said. "I've made breakfast."

Nicholas was slightly surprised. He hadn't expected Isabella to be so proactive. "Oh." He followed Isabella to the dining room. On the magnificent dining table, two plates of fried eggs were served. Just like last night. With plain toast and water. Nicholas couldn't help but smile faintly. Isabella saw it and smiled back.

They sat down. The atmosphere was quiet, except for the clinking of spoons and forks.

"Nicholas," Isabella broke the silence. "I want to work."

Nicholas looked up, staring at her. "Work? For what?"

"For household needs," Isabella replied, her tone serious. "I can't keep being idle. You said you don't have a steady job, right? And this house is just an asset. If you don't have an income, how will we live?"

Nicholas restrained himself from smiling. An irony. He had millions of dollars in his account, yet Isabella was worried they would starve. "No need to worry about household needs," Nicholas said. "Tomorrow we'll go shopping for essentials. Everything's taken care of."

Isabella frowned. "Shopping? With what?"

"There's a way," Nicholas evaded. He didn't want to discuss his financial details.

"No, Nicholas," Isabella said, her voice firmer. "I can't just sit still. I'm not used to being lazy. Especially since you saved me." She looked at Nicholas, her eyes showing sincere gratitude. "I will work. I have to be independent."

Nicholas fell silent. He couldn't argue. There was strong determination in Isabella's eyes. He thought of a few ways Isabella could work. He owned several large companies scattered across various sectors, managed by his subordinates. These companies were part of his network, built to channel his funds, and also served as hidden bases for covert operations.

"I have a friend," Nicholas began, "he has a company. Maybe you could work there." He racked his brain, trying to explain this without too much lying. "His office isn't too far from here."

Isabella immediately shook her head. "No! I don't want to! I don't have a higher education. I don't know anything about office work. I'd just embarrass you." She looked panicked.

Nicholas sighed. "Then, what do you want to do?"

Isabella paused for a moment, thinking about what she could do. Her eyes lit up. "I can be a food delivery courier! It's flexible, I can set my own hours. I've already contacted a few restaurants nearby. I'll go apply tomorrow."

Nicholas looked at her, slightly surprised. A food delivery courier? That was definitely not what he had imagined. But Isabella seemed so enthusiastic.

"And I'll also help with the housework," Isabella added, as if that wasn't enough. "We can reduce the cost of helpers. I can clean, cook—all the housework."

Nicholas looked at her, captivated. It was completely beyond his expectations. However, he saw happiness in Isabella's eyes. A genuine happiness, a desire to be independent and contribute.

Nicholas nodded slowly. "Alright. If that's what you want."

Nicholas returned to his room after breakfast, then called Benson, the butler. "Benson, first thing tomorrow, get a decent bike ready for Isabella."

"A bike, sir?" Benson sounded a bit surprised. "What for?"

"She's going to work as a food delivery courier," Nicholas replied curtly. "Find a good one, light and comfortable."

The next morning, Isabella was surprised to see a shiny new bike parked near the main entrance. It was light blue, lightweight, and looked very modern.

"Whose bike is this?" Isabella asked Nicholas, who was sipping his tea in the dining room.

"Oh, that," Nicholas said, casually. "That belongs to Benson's grandson. He doesn't use it anymore." He lied again. He had just bought the bike from the most expensive bike shop in the city, and Benson himself had picked it up last night.

Isabella approached the bike. "But it looks so new." She touched the saddle. No scratches. The wheels were sparkling clean.

"Well, it's just not used often," Nicholas shrugged. "They get bored quickly. Just use it. Better than it going to waste."

Isabella wasn't entirely convinced, but she was too happy to argue. A bike! That would make it easier for her to get around. "Thank you, Nicholas."

"Be careful out there," Nicholas said, not looking at her.

Isabella set off on her new bike. She pedaled enthusiastically, looking for the fast-food restaurant she'd found online yesterday. After asking around a few times, she found the address. It was a busy fast-food place in a small shopping center. The aroma of fried food wafted out, smelling delicious.

Isabella walked in. A stout man with a greasy apron stood behind the counter. "Can I help you, miss?" he asked, his voice friendly.

"I'd like to apply as a food delivery courier," Isabella said, a little nervously.

The man looked Isabella up and down. His face creased into a frown. "You? A courier? You're too skinny, miss. Are you sure you can carry a lot of orders?" He gave a condescending chuckle. "Delivering food takes muscle. See my biceps?" He flexed his large arm. "Now *that's* a courier."

Isabella felt her cheeks burn. "I can do it. I'm strong. I'm used to working hard."

The man just shook his head. "Sorry, miss. You don't meet the criteria. We need someone strong. You should just go home. Find another job." He went back to cleaning his counter, as if Isabella were just a passing breeze.

Isabella's heart sank. She felt embarrassed, angry, and sad all at once. She hadn't been accepted. She was told to go home. Nicholas would surely be disappointed. She left the restaurant, her shoulders slumped. She never thought even a simple job like this would be rejected. What was she good for?

Nicholas was sitting in his study, a secret room in the house where he usually conducted business. His laptop was open, the screen displaying complex graphs and data. Suddenly, he heard the loud screech of bicycle brakes in the front yard. Isabella. Home earlier than expected.

Nicholas sighed. He got up from his chair, turned off his laptop screen, and left his study. He found Isabella in the living room, sitting on the sofa.

"Isabella?" Nicholas asked, his tone gentle. "What's wrong? You're home already?"

Isabella looked up. Her eyes were red and watery. She couldn't hold back her tears any longer. "I wasn't accepted," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "They said I'm too thin. I can't work." Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I can't do anything. I'm just a burden. I'm useless."

Nicholas sat beside her. He looked at the girl. "No. You're not a burden. You're useful."

He sighed. "Who said you can't work? You tried, and that's the most important thing."

Nicholas couldn't bear to see his wife cry like this. He wasn't used to this kind of feeling. Anger, annoyance, towards the people who had made Isabella feel so worthless.

"Listen," Nicholas said. "Rest. I'll take care of this." He got up, turned, and went back to his study.

"Jack," Nicholas spoke into a microphone connected to his network. "I need your help."

A hoarse voice came from the other end. "Yes, General? What is it?"

"I have a small problem," Nicholas said. "My wife applied for a job at a fast-food restaurant as a food delivery courier. And they rejected her." He sounded so cold, like he was planning a military operation.

There was a moment of silence from Jack. "A fast-food restaurant, General?" Jack sounded confused. This wasn't the kind of mission they usually handled.

"Yes. In a shopping mall near here," Nicholas gave the details. "They said she was too thin to carry many orders. That's nonsense. My wife needs to be able to get a job there. She needs to be happy." Nicholas said with emphasis. His wife's self-esteem was at stake.

"Alright, General," Jack said, his voice serious again. "What can I do for you?"