Got On His Love Pirate Ship

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 to come to the company tomorrow.”

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

This month’s salary 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.

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.