Who Is Mr. Prince's Next Girl?

I was Olivia Hayes, working as the everefficient secretary to Julian Grey. To most people, he was a modernday prince charming—charismatic, wealthy, and unattainable. My responsibilities extended far beyond managing his schedule; I was also tasked with handling his endless string of girlfriends.

When Julian set his sights on someone, it was my job to ensure she ended up in his arms. And when he grew tired of her, I had to make sure she quietly vanished from his life.

After years of working so closely with him, I couldn’t help but let fantasies creep into my mind. I wanted to be Julian’s girlfriend, too.

Apart from his fleeting affection, Julian was extravagantly generous with the women he dated. He lavished them with jewels, designer bags, luxury homes—anything they desired. When the inevitable breakup came, he compensated them with a parting gift of one million dollars.

Take Eveline, for example. She held the record for Julian’s shortest relationship—a mere seven days. I never found out what caused her downfall, but she disappeared as swiftly as she had arrived, with a hefty payout.

It didn’t take long for me to realize the pattern. Even a onenight stand with Julian could secure someone a sevenfigure goodbye gift.

Julian Grey, the billionaire tycoon, was an enigma. To his employees, he was an unrelenting capitalist who demanded everything. To his exgirlfriends, he was a charming philanthropist who handed them fortunes for their time.

The real question was: who wouldn’t want to be Julian’s woman?

I wasn’t immune to the temptation. I, Olivia Hayes, his hardworking assistant, had dreamed of being one of those lucky women. But unlike Lena Albright, a coworker who openly pined for Julian’s love, I didn’t want romance. What I wanted was his money.

I didn’t think of myself as greedy. I didn’t need mansions or yachts—just enough to buy my dream villa at the base of Peretti Hill. Was that so much to ask?

I wasn’t a gold digger, not really. I simply thought of it as fair compensation for all the sleepless nights, the constant demands, and the emotional stress Julian’s life placed on me. Not to mention the personal injuries. His girlfriends had spilled hot coffee on me, insulted me, and treated me like their personal servant.

If I became Julian’s girlfriend, the arrangement would be practical. Sure, there’d be sex—but that, too, would feel like overdue compensation for the emotional damage I’d endured. And to be honest, I’d been secretly attracted to Julian for years.

I still remembered the first time I visited his penthouse to deliver some urgent documents. Julian had just stepped out of the shower, a towel slung loosely around his waist.

I could never unseen it—his chiseled chest, those broad shoulders, the sculpted Vline abs that could make any woman weak in the knees. From that moment on, I was hooked.

But there was one glaring problem: after three years of working for Julian, I still couldn’t figure out his type.

His dating history was as diverse as it was baffling. He’d been with slender women, curvy women, cheerful extroverts, and shy introverts. Some were dropdead gorgeous; others were so plain you wouldn’t notice them in a crowd.

Sometimes, I wondered if Julian was conducting some kind of personal research project on the variety of women in the world.

The usual rule that men loved beautiful women didn’t seem to apply to him. He’d dated two women so astonishingly ordinary that I had to doublecheck to make sure they were real contenders. And yet, they’d been chosen.

This unpredictability gave me hope. If Julian could fall for someone so unremarkable, then why not me?

His generosity was as random as his taste in women, and I was determined to be patient.

By any means necessary, I was going to climb into his bed.

And I would get that million dollars.

There was a saying: “Those who prepare well will always seize the first opportunity.”

After working for Julian Grey for 2,315 days, my opportunity—my golden ticket—finally arrived.

At 1 a.m., my phone rang, jolting me from a restless sleep. On the other end was Marcus Caldwell, Julian’s closest friend and one of the city’s most notorious playboys. His voice was laced with urgency.

“Olivia, you’ve got to help. Julian’s drunk. Completely out of it. You’re the only one who can handle him.”

Drunk? Julian Grey? The man had never touched a drop of alcohol in all the years I’d worked for him. Suspicious but intrigued, I grabbed my coat and left my apartment.

Marcus was already waiting by the time I reached the address he’d texted. As I approached, I saw him unceremoniously shoved out of a sleek black car. The shove came from a single hand—one that wore a custommade watch I’d picked up for Julian just yesterday.

I pretended not to notice Marcus’s embarrassment and instead turned my attention to the car. There, sprawled in the backseat, was Julian Grey, his usually sharp and commanding presence replaced by a flushed face, messy hair, and halfclosed eyes. He looked less like the formidable billionaire I knew and more like an oversized golden retriever.

Dammit, he was adorable.

For a moment, I wanted to scoop him up, ruffle his hair, and call him a good boy. Instead, I composed myself and glanced at Marcus, who was brushing imaginary lint off his designer jacket.

“He refuses to leave the car,” Marcus explained, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “And if anyone gets too close, he snaps at them. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Marcus gave me an apologetic smile—one so dazzling I could see why half the city’s women were infatuated with him. “I know it’s not part of your job, Olivia, but I didn’t know who else to call.”

Before I could respond, Julian’s voice drifted from the car. It wasn’t loud, but there was an unmistakable warmth to it.

“Olivia... you’re here.”

The way he said my name sent a small thrill through me. Yes, Julian, I’m here. And so is my chance at that million dollars.

With his cooperation, I managed to guide him out of the car and into the elevator. By the time we reached his penthouse, I’d removed his coat and watch, and he was docile as a lamb.

Once I’d gotten him to bed, I grabbed a towel and gently wiped his face. His usual stoicism had melted away, replaced by a soft, almost childlike smile. It was the first time I’d seen him like this—warm, open, and, dare I say, affectionate.

His hand brushed my cheek, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. For the first time, it felt like Julian was seeing me—not as his assistant, but as something more. My heart raced as I realized how close I was to achieving my goal.

Then, without warning, Julian cupped my face and pulled me closer. His lips hovered just inches from mine.

This is it, I thought. My moment. My chance.

But something didn’t feel right. If Julian wanted me, why now? Why when he was drunk and vulnerable?

Before I could piece it together, Julian’s lips met mine. His kiss was practiced, passionate, and left me dizzy. I barely had time to process what was happening before he whispered in my ear:

“Chloe.”

My heart sank. Chloe?

I tried to rationalize it—maybe he was asking me to close the door? I glanced back and noticed the bedroom door was slightly ajar. Could that really be the issue?

“Don’t worry,” I murmured. “I’ll close it later.”

Julian didn’t protest. Instead, he pulled me closer, kissing me again with an intensity that made my knees weak. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe that he wanted me. That I wasn’t just another faceless assistant in his life.

But then he sighed softly against my ear, his voice tinged with emotion.

“Chloe... you’re finally back.”

The name hit me like a slap to the face. He wasn’t asking me to close the door. He was calling for her.

Anger and humiliation surged through me. I shoved him back onto the bed, my hands trembling.

Julian blinked up at me, his gaze still filled with tenderness—not for me, but for this mysterious Chloe. Whoever she was, she clearly owned his heart in a way I never could.

Enough was enough. I’d spent years cleaning up after him, enduring insults from his girlfriends, and dreaming of a life that clearly wasn’t meant for me. I didn’t need his million dollars. Not anymore.

Without a word, I turned and left him there, sprawled on the bed, still murmuring Chloe’s name.

As I stepped out into the cold night air, I felt a strange sense of relief. Julian Grey might have been the prince charming of my fantasies, but he wasn’t worthy of my reality.

I stormed out of Julian's mansion, a cocktail of shame and anger brewing inside me. How foolish I'd been to believe—even for a second—that Julian Grey, my boss and a notorious playboy, could feel anything for me beyond professional convenience. That moment, when he'd whispered Chloe's name, had shattered whatever illusion I'd foolishly nurtured.

I hailed a cab to take me home, but as the car sped through the quiet streets, regret began to gnaw at me. If I simply left now, everything I’d endured tonight—my embarrassment, my emotional turmoil—would have been for nothing. I had to go back. Maybe not for love, but for something just as important: compensation.

The thought solidified in my mind as I instructed the cab driver to stop. Stepping out of the car, I immediately received a call. Marcus Caldwell, Julian’s best friend and a renowned rake, was on the line.

“How’s Julian?” Marcus asked, his voice smooth but tinged with curiosity.

“He’s asleep. Don’t worry,” I replied. Then, feigning hesitation, I added, “He kept calling for someone named Chloe. It seemed like he wanted to see her. Do you happen to know this Chloe?”

Marcus chuckled on the other end. “Olivia, you’re quite the clever one. Ever considered working for me instead? I’ll double your salary.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “That’s generous of you, Mr. Caldwell, but I don’t think it would be appropriate given your friendship with Julian.”

Marcus laughed again, clearly amused. “Fair enough. But if it’s Chloe you’re curious about, let me enlighten you.”

What followed left me stunned.

Chloe Grant. The name wasn’t unfamiliar, but I had no idea she was Julian’s former love. According to Marcus, Chloe was the one woman who truly matched Julian in every way. They had been childhood sweethearts, the golden couple of their social circle.

“Their families have been close for generations,” Marcus explained. “Julian and Chloe were inseparable until they went abroad for university. Then, something happened—no one knows what—but they broke up. Rumor has it Julian cheated. Who knows? All I can say is, after that, he changed.”

I listened intently as Marcus described how Julian had been before Chloe left. “He was a saint back then,” Marcus said with mock disdain. “Didn’t even look at another woman. He was so boring we didn’t want to hang out with him.”

But once Chloe was out of the picture, Julian transformed. He discovered the joys of freedom—and women.

“In my opinion,” Marcus continued, “that breakup was the best thing that ever happened to him. Look at him now—living the dream, drinking fine wine, surrounded by beautiful women.”

“And Chloe?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Oh, she’s engaged to some documentary filmmaker. A real nobody, if you ask me,” Marcus replied dismissively. “Her family’s been against it, but she’s stubborn. Got engaged recently, I think.”

That revelation set the wheels turning in my mind. I thanked Marcus for the information, but my thoughts were already elsewhere.

I couldn’t help but Google Chloe’s name once the call ended. Photos of her filled my screen—beautiful, sophisticated, and utterly radiant. I studied her features carefully, feeling an odd sense of familiarity. Then, as I sat crosslegged on the carpet in Julian’s living room, the pieces fell into place.

Damn. That’s why Julian’s exgirlfriends all seemed vaguely similar.

They shared subtle resemblances to Chloe—her eyes, her smile, her posture. None of them was a perfect match, but together, they formed a mosaic of her. It was as if Julian had spent the last several years trying to recreate Chloe in bits and pieces, unwilling to admit that he still loved the woman who’d left him.

What a peculiar man, I thought. Here he was, one of the richest men in the city, yet even his wealth couldn’t buy him happiness. It was ironic, really, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

Money couldn’t buy everything, after all.

But then, an idea struck me—a way to turn this twisted situation into an opportunity. If I could help Julian find closure, perhaps I could also secure the funds I needed for my dream villa. A winwin scenario.

Fueled by this sudden burst of inspiration, I rushed back to Julian’s bedroom, eager to share my brilliant plan with him.

But when I opened the door, I stopped in my tracks.

Julian lay curled up on the enormous bed, looking small and vulnerable, like a dog waiting for its owner to return. His face, usually so composed and confident, was etched with quiet despair.

For the first time, I saw Julian not as the arrogant capitalist who treated people as pawns, but as a man deeply in love—and deeply hurt.

My excitement evaporated, replaced by an unsettling mix of pity and guilt.

Julian Grey, the man who seemed to have everything, was still clinging to the memory of someone who had left him long ago.

I quietly backed out of the room, closing the door behind me. As I stood in the hallway, my resolve wavered. Could I really go through with my plan, knowing how much pain he was in?

A part of me wanted to abandon the idea altogether. But another part— the practical, stubborn part—reminded me that Julian had everything. Love or no love, he still had power, wealth, and influence. Why should he get to keep all of that while I struggled to make ends meet?

Why should he have something I didn’t?

I didn’t have the answer, but one thing was clear: Julian’s love for Chloe was his weakness. Whether or not I exploited it would determine my next move.

And I wasn’t sure what kind of person I wanted to be yet.

I felt something prodding my back while I was sound asleep.

It must be my cat. Halfasleep, I swatted the air lazily. “Nico, get off me!”

But instead of getting lost, the "cat" gave me a sharp kick.

“What the hell!” I sat up angrily, fully awake this time.

Standing in front of me, looking utterly unimpressed, was none other than Julian Grey. Oh no! I had spent the night in Julian’s living room after cleaning up his mess last night.

Julian’s carpet was softer than my own bed, but that fact was hardly a comfort as I scrambled to stand. Plastering on my most apologetic smile, I greeted him nervously, “Mr. Grey!”

Julian crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow. “Nico?”

My heart sank into my stomach.

Few people knew that Julian’s mother used to call him Nico as a childhood nickname—a fact I had stumbled upon purely by accident during one of her rare visits.

To make matters worse, my cat back home, Nico, was a crazy little troublemaker I’d named after my boss as a form of revenge.

Why? Well, after Julian tore apart one of my reports in front of the entire staff, I figured it was only fair. Naming my cat Nico gave me a weird sense of satisfaction. At home, I could boss Nico around.

“Nico, fetch my slippers!”

“Nico, stop scratching the couch!”

“Nico, go eat your food and stop begging!”

It was petty, but it made me feel better.

And now? Now, I’d accidentally let that slip.

I smiled nervously. “Did I say something in my sleep?”

Julian looked at me blankly. “Did you tell me to ‘get off’ in your dream?”

I could feel sweat beading on the back of my neck. “Um, well, I do have a cat named Nico at home. It keeps me on my toes so I can stay sharp and serve you better, Mr. Grey.”

Julian stepped closer, leaning into my personal space. He was a head taller than me, and this was the closest we’d been since that drunken kiss the night before.

His eyes, framed by absurdly long lashes, were locked on mine.

I froze, unable to think clearly. Was it illegal to want to kiss your boss even after he’d made your life hell?

Just as my mind began to spiral, Julian’s voice broke through. “Olivia, you look ridiculous when you lie.”

I blinked.

“If you want to keep working for me,” he continued, his tone sharp, “try being honest. I don’t care if you hate me, as long as you do your job.”

He straightened and began walking past me toward his massive bathroom, leaving me standing there speechless.

“And for the record,” he added over his shoulder, “I don’t like you either.”

I stared after him, mouth agape.

What did he mean he didn’t like me? How dare he?

Everyone knew I was the most trusted personal assistant in his life. The Olivia Hayes, indispensable to the great Julian Grey.

And yet here he was, casually stating he didn’t like me at all. The audacity!

Still fuming, I turned to the task at hand: cleaning up after myself. I vacuumed the carpet where I’d slept no less than eight times. Then, I headed into his room to tidy up.

By the time Julian emerged from his absurdly luxurious bathroom, I had his room spotless. The windows gleamed, the table was perfectly polished, and the bed looked like it belonged in a fivestar hotel.

It didn’t matter if Julian Grey didn’t like me. What mattered was that he needed me.

Julian’s gaze swept the room, his face impassive. But I could tell by the slight relaxation of his brow that he was pleased with my work.

“Why are you still here?” he asked.

Taking a deep breath, I replied carefully, “Mr. Grey, I took care of you all night. I’m not feeling great today. May I take a day to rest at home?”

Julian nodded. “Sure. Take a sick day. But you’ll get a pay cut for it.”

My hands curled into fists as I fought the urge to throttle him.

Screw you, Julian Grey!

That day, Julian Grey seemed to dislike me even more than usual. He bossed me around mercilessly.

“The data in this report for the meeting needs to be detailed and accurate,” he demanded.

So, I spent hours adding more data to the report. Then, he reviewed it and snapped, “This is too long. I wanted something concise.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if Julian had learned English from a math teacher. Did he not realize that “detailed” and “concise” were practically opposites?

I would’ve loved to see him produce a detailed yet concise report himself.

After editing and reediting the report multiple times, Julian finally nodded, pointed to my very first draft, and said, “Copy this. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.”

I wanted to scream.

By the time I dragged myself home, it was nearly midnight.

My cat, Nico, bounced around in annoyance, clearly displeased that I had been away for so long.

Looking at Nico, I felt an overwhelming sense of defeat.

Who was the real master in this house?

Regret filled me. I should’ve gotten a dog instead of this spoiled cat.

I fed Nico, cleaned his little nest, and brushed his fur. Only then did he finally calm down, licking his fur contentedly as if to rub in how much better he thought he was than me.

I stretched one leg toward him. “Nico, be useful for once. Lick my foot so I can at least pretend to be happy.”

Nico didn’t even glance at me. Instead, he focused on licking his own smelly paws.

Not one to give up, I pushed my foot closer. “Nico, lick it!”

He sniffed my foot, recoiled dramatically, and then vomited.

Even Nico didn’t like me anymore.

Sadness overwhelmed me as I recalled the early days of our companionship. Back then, Nico used to lick my feet like a loyal little servant. He had been so affectionate and gentle.

Now? Thanks to the endless exploitation from Julian Grey, I had been neglecting Nico. And it seemed Nico was holding a grudge.

Cradling him in my arms, I resolved that enough was enough.

At this rate, I’d never achieve my dream of retiring in a villa with Nico by my side. Julian’s demands were pushing me into an endless cycle of exhaustion and misery.

I needed to take action. I needed a plan.

That night, I stayed up brainstorming and finally wrote a proposal. It was audacious but brilliant.

The plan? To help Julian win back his childhood sweetheart, Chloe Grant, by pretending to be his girlfriend.

The proposal broke down into key arguments.

For this brilliant plan, I demanded a fee of ten million dollars.

After all, if Julian didn’t hire me for this, he’d waste the same amount on other women trying—and failing—to replicate Chloe.

It was a winwin situation. Julian would get the love of his life, and I would finally achieve financial freedom.

Personally, I didn’t want Julian to live happily ever after. He didn’t deserve it, in my opinion. But for ten million dollars, I was willing to set my jealousy aside.

Satisfied with my plan, I turned off my computer and fell asleep with Nico nestled in my arms.

Julian would get love. I would get rich. Everybody would win.

The next morning, I submitted the proposal to Julian with determination.

I had braced myself for the consequences if he rejected it. I might lose my job. But if he accepted it? My entire life would change.

To conquer or to die.

This was my moment. As a member of the proletariat, I would finally cast off my chains and claim my freedom.