My Billionaire Thinks I’m His Cat Not His Fiancée Chapter 05

My Billionaire Thinks I’m His Cat Not His Fiancée Chapter 05

I waited and waited, but Ethan never snapped back to normal.

Living with that sword hanging over my head every single day was exhausting.

I was terrified that in some unguarded moment, he’d suddenly realize I was human and leave me stranded at a boutique with a mountain of bills, or humiliate me in front of his entire office.

The assistant got fired, apparently. I heard he’d begged and cried.

Ethan had been busy lately, holed up in his study every night.

Flipping through something on his phone over and over, then covering his eyes with one hand while his ears turned crimson.

But since he still hadn’t recovered, I figured I’d milk it for all it was worth.

I made him wash my feet at night and cook and massage me during the day.

When he didn’t meet my standards, I bit him.

He’d shiver, grip my chin, and tell me to let go.

I raised an eyebrow.

He said, “Bad kitty. No biting.”

A month later, I’d had enough.

I pulled out my suitcase, ignored the System’s pleas, and got ready to leave the mansion.

The System whined: [You have no idea how many points that item cost me. If you bail on this mission, I’m in the red.]

[Please, I’m begging you.]

I didn’t care. I called it a defective product.

For revenge, I left a note:

[You really raised me badly. You’re a wild man now.]

Then, as an afterthought:

[I’m going to find a new servant.]

Whether he recovered or not, he couldn’t come after me.

I felt great.

The System said: [I really don’t think you should do this.]

I quickly bought a train ticket and fled to another city.

I was happily settling into my motel room, unpacking my suitcase and daydreaming about my future, when the System, which had been silent the whole ride, spoke up with glee:

[Host, you know owners put GPS trackers in their cats’ collars, right?]

My hand froze. I demanded to know where it was.

The System wouldn’t say.

Knowing Ethan, that wasn’t even a question.

I grabbed the empty suitcase and dumped it in a trash can a kilometer away.

The System said lazily: [You think the other stuff doesn’t have trackers too?]

I checked all the jewelry, the clothes, the shoes. I even pulled out my phone’s SIM card.

Finally, I stood by the trash can, staring down at the delicate, glittering chain around my wrist.

Ethan had bought it the first time he took me to a jewelry store.

He’d gotten down on one knee, right there in the shop, and said seriously, “A collar is too tacky for little Nina. This one suits her.”

The identity was fake. The approach was a mistake.

But that feeling of having a home? That was real.

I hesitated. Then I didn’t take it off.