Investing In Overlooked Women: I Get Cashback On Every Glow-Up

I grinned, watching her take in the serene garden view. Seeing her genuinely relaxed and happy for the first time since we met made every dollar and every bit of effort completely worth it.

After taking in the view, the head manager stepped forward with a polite smile to guide us to our living quarters.

”If you will follow me to the traditional master pavilion,” he said, opening the door to our private wing.

We stepped inside, and my eyes landed on the central layout: a massive, master-suite setup clearly designed for two people in a romantic setting, complete with a single oversized king bed strewn with rose petals and couple’s amenities everywhere you looked.

I immediately turned to the manager, raising an eyebrow. ”Wait a second. We’re not a couple. We need two separate suites.”

The manager’s eyes widened slightly in realization, and he bowed apologetically, looking visibly flustered. ”Ah! My deepest apologies, sir! The Zenith package was registered under the Master Luxury Couples Pavilion package. Because our estate is ultra-exclusive and capped at limited guests per week, every single other private pavilion on the grounds is completely booked for the season. We have zero vacant suites remaining tonight.”

Patricia froze in the doorway, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as she looked at the singular massive bed in the middle of the room.

”Well...” she mumbled, her voice dropping into an embarrassed chuckle, looking at me nervously. ”This is... unexpected.”

”No, hold on,” I said, my hand instantly going to my pocket. ”I need to fix this.”

In my head, the gears were already turning. The estate was completely booked, sure, but everyone has a price. I was already calculating how much cash it would take to buy out one of the other guests’ reservations on the spot and have them relocated to a five-star hotel downtown with a fat stack of compensation. $50k? $100k? Light work.

Patricia saw the intense, problem-solving look on my face and quickly stepped in, waving her hands nervously.

”Ethan, wait—don’t... don’t do that!” she stammered, her cheeks burning bright red as she looked anywhere in the room except at the massive bed. ”We can... um, we can totally just manage it! It’s—it’s fine, really! Nothing bad will happen if we just... stay professional, right?”

She stumbled over her words so hard she practically tripped on her own tongue, her embarrassed fidgeting making it painfully obvious how flustered she was by the whole situation.

I looked at her flustered expression, keeping my face entirely composed, and gave a smooth, reassuring nod.

”Sure,” I said easily, acting like it didn’t bother me at all. ”We can do that.”

On the outside, I was the picture of a cool, unbothered gentleman. On the inside? I was still fully committed to pulling the head manager aside the second she went to unpack so I could quietly buy out a neighboring pavilion before nightfall.

While Patricia was busy in the bathroom unpacking her things and getting wrapped up in a luxurious spa robe for our first official treatment, I quietly stepped out onto the polished wooden corridor and signaled the head manager.

He hurried over immediately, bowing respectfully. ”Is everything to your satisfaction, Mr. Ethan?”

”We need to sort out the room situation,” I said, getting straight to the point. ”I know you said the estate is completely booked, but I need another private suite available today. Find a guest willing to vacate their pavilion, relocate them to the best penthouse suite in downtown Tokyo, cover their entire stay, and throw in whatever compensation it takes to make them happy to move.”

The manager’s eyes widened slightly at the absolute nonchalance with which I was offering to buy out an exclusive reservation, but he caught on quickly.

”I understand completely, sir,” he replied with a sharp, respectful nod. ”Give me a little time. I will discreetly reach out to a few of our guests who might be open to a downtown relocation package and see what I can do for you.”

”Appreciate it. Keep me updated,” I said.

Just as I turned back toward our suite, the wooden door slid open, and Patricia stepped out into the hallway, looking completely refreshed in a plush white spa robe and slippers, her damp hair tied back.

”Hey,” she said, looking around the peaceful courtyard. ”They said our first full-body therapy and hot spring session is ready. You coming?”

”Right behind you,” I smiled, sliding my phone back into my pocket like nothing had happened.

The private therapy wing of the estate was pure tranquility. Soft incense drifted through the warm air as steam rose from a private natural hot spring just beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass doors.

We were guided to side-by-side teak massage tables, where two master therapists went to work using heated volcanic stones and aromatic essential oils. The sheer level of technique was insane—every knot in Patricia’s back from years of grueling, twelve-hour kitchen shifts was systematically worked out.

I glanced over at her. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and deep, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss on her face. For the first time since I met her, every trace of tension in her shoulders was completely gone.

Right on cue, a subtle translucent interface flashed in my peripheral vision:

[NOTIFICATION] Target Status Update: Patricia Vance Stress Relief Progress: 10% / 100% Subject Condition: Burnout levels declining rapidly. Physical recovery initiated.

I smiled inwardly, sinking deeper into my own massage.

”Ethan...” Patricia sighed softly, her voice muffled against the padded headrest. ”If I die right now... just let me stay right here. This feels ridiculously good.”

”Told you the flight was worth it,” I replied with a light chuckle. ”You’ve got a whole week of this. Get used to it.”

After our therapy session, we walked over to the estate’s private dining pavilion overlooking a serene, illuminated koi pond. A multi-course kaiseki meal was brought out, each dish served like a work of art.

The moment the food touched the table, Patricia’s eyes lit up in a completely different way. She picked up her chopsticks, but before taking a bite, her chef instincts instantly kicked in.

”Look at the sear on this A5 Wagyu,” she breathed, pointing out tiny details with absolute precision. ”They used a high-temperature charcoal grill to lock in the juices without tearing the grain. And this dashi broth? You can tell it’s been simmering with aged kombu for hours just by the depth of the umami aroma...”

She went on, categorizing the flavors, the plating balance, and the heat control of every single dish like a seasoned master.

I leaned back, taking a sip of tea as I watched her. ”You really know your stuff. Honestly, I still can’t believe your ex-boss had you stuck waiting tables with a talent like this.”

Patricia paused, looking down at her chopsticks with a bitter, faint smile. ”Yeah... he knew I had skill, but keeping me on the floor was his way of keeping me under his thumb. It was cheaper for him to hold me back than to pay me what I was actually worth.”

”Well, his loss,” I said smoothly.

Just as we were chilling and enjoying the rest of the course, a harsh, familiar voice suddenly shattered the peaceful atmosphere of the pavilion.

”Unbelievable... what are you doing here?!”

Patricia instantly froze.

We both turned to see a middle-aged man in an overpriced designer suit standing a few feet away, clutching a drink and staring at Patricia with absolute fury and shock. It was her boss from the restaurant.

”You’re supposed to be on shift right now!” he barked, stepping closer as his face flushed red. ”You called in sick, and I find you lounging around at an exclusive Tokyo resort?!”