Her dignity is worth eight thousand yuan.

The first time Vivienne Ashcroft walked into that office, she still believed she could control the situation. She was twenty-six, out of work for three months, and two weeks behind on rent. She'd sent out over a hundred résumés, and this was the only company that had offered her an interview. The boss, Lu Zheng, was in his early forties, sitting in a leather chair with the kind of look that sized up newly arrived merchandise. She pitched herself hard — organizing files, making coffee, she was willing to do anything. Lu Zheng just smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. Then he opened a drawer and slapped a stack of cash onto the table — eight hundred yuan. Vivienne Ashcroft's hands stopped moving. She didn't know that eight hundred yuan was nothing but bait, and the real trap was only just beginning to unfold.