Chapter 5: The God of Wealth (and Minor Injuries)

The seven-day trial was finally over.

Early that morning, I barged into Grayson’s room and yelled, “Make me rich!”

He opened his eyes slowly, a trace of impatience in his brows.

He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept all night.

He pulled out his phone and showed me a news story about a billionaire offering millions for his lost dog.

“Contact him today. I’ll go find the dog.”

He stretched lazily and got out of bed.

I was skeptical. “You can actually find the dog?”

He shot me a look full of sarcasm.

After thinking it over, I chickened out—what if Grayson failed? What if the billionaire got mad and blacklisted me?

Sigh, we working folks just can’t afford to take risks!

But it turned out I worried for nothing!

Grayson brought the dog back!

The billionaire was over the moon, hugged the dog, and immediately wired ten million to my account!

I checked my bank balance ten times—eight digits!

Grayson wasn’t lying.

Forget fox spirit—he’s basically the God of Wealth!

I swore I’d never disrespect him again and treated him like a living lucky charm.

I started leaving quarters at the base of the TV, like he was some old-school good-luck statue. I even considered buying him a little gold Maneki-neko, but figured he’d probably toss it out the window.

But he still seemed intent on out-showing me!

After his shower, he deliberately left his shirt out in a conspicuous spot.

I dutifully ironed it and hung it in the closet.

He glanced at my old pajamas, frowned slightly. “Why aren’t you wearing my shirt anymore?”

“You… want me to wear it?”

“…No!”

That’s more like it.

I stifled a laugh. “Whatever Mr. Grayson doesn’t want me to do, I’ll never do.”

“You’re quite thoughtful.”

“Of course!”

He turned back to the TV, flipping through channels, but nothing seemed to interest him.

He still liked to go shirtless—I just worried he’d catch a cold and kept turning up the air conditioner for him!

He still wore gray sweatpants for his runs—I’d follow behind, hand him a towel, wipe his sweat, and even turn down girls asking for his Instagram: “Sorry, he’s taken!”

Maybe it’s just my imagination, but he always seemed in a good mood after hearing that!

He still did ab crunches on the balcony every morning, but instead of working out beside him, I started learning new recipes in the kitchen.

This God of Wealth deserves the best treatment!

I even looked up recipes from every region of the country—Southern fried chicken, Chicago deep-dish pizza, you name it—just to see what might impress him.

“What do fox spirits usually eat? Rabbit? Chicken? Probably not veggies, right?”

But chopping up a chicken was tough—I accidentally cut my finger!

I yelped, shaking my hand. “Ow! Guess I’m not cut out for MasterChef.”

Grayson rushed over, grabbing my wrist.

I quickly pulled back, breaking free. “I didn’t mean to touch you, so you can’t—”

Before I could finish, he closed in again, lifted my injured finger, and put it to his lips.

He… was licking my wound!

With that cold, stoic face!

My brain short-circuited. Is this a first aid thing, or am I starring in a very weird rom-com?

A tingling sensation spread through my whole body—the pain vanished!

My mind buzzed. Was this excitement, or… excitement?

I instinctively shrank back, but he’d already pulled out a band-aid and carefully put it on.

My heart pounded. I took a deep breath. “Mr. Grayson, are you seducing me?”

He calmly pushed me out of the kitchen. “Fox clan saliva accelerates healing. Don’t overthink it.”

I peeked under the band-aid—the wound was smaller, and didn’t even hurt to press!

Is this fox magic?

I wondered if I should Google ‘fox spirit first aid’ or just count myself lucky. I found myself humming as I cleaned up, feeling weirdly lightheaded.