How Does Web Scraping Work For Data Collection?

For three years, I’d used my family’s connections to bring the company hundreds of millions in revenue. But at the quarterly meeting, the new intern stood before everyone, displaying my attendance and expense reports, and accused me of “unexcused absences” and “squandering company funds.” “These high-end clubs, these restaurants…” she declared, her voice ringing with self-righteousness. “She spends thousands of dollars every time! These are completely unnecessary expenses.” “I strongly advise the CEO to fire her immediately and save the company’s cash flow.” I glanced at Claude, the CEO. My old classmate. He knew exactly how much revenue each of those meetings generated. He also knew that when I wasn't in the office, I was at some bar, negotiating with investors, sometimes drinking until my stomach turned. But he just stared at me coldly. “Caroline, what’s your explanation for the absences and expenses Lia has presented?” I smiled. “I have nothing to explain.” They would all learn, very soon, the consequences of this little stunt.

Elena Cordova designed revolutionary algorithms for a multi-million-dollar company. The only formula she couldn't solve? Her own marriage. After seven years of being the invisible wife to a cold billionaire, Elena is finally trading in her wedding ring for her worth. Marcus Ashford married her for obligation, hid her from the world, and replaced her with a woman who played the perfect stepmother. But when he finally pushes her too far, he discovers that the brilliant, betrayed woman he dismissed has been running calculations all along. Now, Elena is back in the boardroom, her mind sharp, her fortune growing, and a handsome rival billionaire watching her every move. She wants revenge. She wants vindication. She wants her daughter back. Marcus thought she was a social climber. He thought she was docile. He thought he could replace her. He was wrong. He used her for her brilliance. Now, she'll use her brilliance to take everything back. Divorce is just the beginning of her beautiful, calculated comeback.

I'm the type who has the urge to overshare my life with him. It can be anything, be it the flowers blooming by the side of the road, the unpleasant coffee I end up having, or the sunset I've seen when I'm on my way home from work. Heck, when I think of Edwin Howell all of a sudden, I can't resist texting him at all. His replies are always short and perfunctory, though I suppose they count as a form of response from him. Hence, over the past six months, I've relied on these cold-sounding yet present replies to give me enough strength to deal with the engagement party, go wedding gown shopping, and choose the wedding venue all by myself. Somehow, I've managed to hang in there till the week before the wedding. But five days before the wedding, I discover an AI program that's installed within Edwin's computer. It can categorize every single sentence that I've sent to Edwin and extract the keywords. Then, it'll draft the most perfunctory responses that will never go wrong. If I miss Edwin, the AI will reply, "Mm-hmm." If I feel aggrieved, the AI will reply, "Got it." When I try to vent my frustrations to Edwin, the AI will reply, "Don't make such a big deal out of it." It turns out that Edwin isn't the one who has been responding to my need to overshare. The thing is, he has been texting another woman nonstop in another private chat. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, from exchanging simple good mornings and good nights to asking, "What are you having for lunch today?" and "Do you wanna go to the beach someday?" Finally, I realize that Edwin isn't the silent type who keeps his love in. If anything, he's the flashy type who will proclaim his love anywhere, anytime. It's just that… his love has never been mine to have. As for me, I've finally made up my mind to stop spending my life waiting for a response that will never come.

To scrape together my mother's surgery money, I worked myself to the bone at this company for three straight years. My performance was always number one. By myself, I supported half the sales department. Then, a newly hired HR director decided every desk needed an AI camera, claiming it was to optimize efficiency. Every blink, every breath I took was measured and calculated by the system. "Warning. Employee Nathan Gray blinked more than twenty times within one minute. Mental distraction detected. Fine: 50." "Warning. Employee Nathan Gray took 3.5 seconds to drink water, exceeding the standard by 1.5 seconds. Slacking detected. Fine: 100." "Warning. Employee Nathan Gray's mouth corners drooped for over thirty seconds. Suspected spread of negative emotion. Fine: 200." The most ridiculous part was the way he stood in front of the entire department, pointing proudly at my data on the giant screen. "See that?" he said smugly. "This is the power of technology. In front of AI, you lazy freeloaders have nowhere to hide. Nathan, your bonus for this month has already been wiped out by the system. If you don't like it, get lost. Plenty of people are lining up to take your place." What he didn't know was that the AI system he trusted so blindly had its core code written by me. Tonight, I was going to show him what happened when he angered the one who built the machine.

On International Women's Day, I spent twelve hours straight in a live stream, selling $5 million worth of product. When it came time to settle my commission, my aunt and boss, Sandra Holt, quietly transferred my $400,000 cut into her own account and handed me $500, labeled as a meal stipend. She took my hand with a warm, motherly smile. "Sweetheart, you're still an intern. Taking that much money at your age would hurt your career development. Let me hold onto it for you. Put it toward a car someday." I looked at the sharp calculation behind her kind eyes. I didn't argue. I took the money without a word. That night, I deleted my account and vanished, taking my entire product-sourcing system with me. The next morning, Aunt Sandra stared at a live stream with ten viewers and finally started blowing up my phone.

"Kylie, this year's annual bonus is evaluated based on two factors: performance and peer reviews. "Since your team never participates in company social events, your coworkers all gave you poor ratings. That's why this is your year-end bonus." Around me, the male employees were receiving bonuses in the tens of thousands. And yet, the women I led—developers who had worked for over ten years and built every core system the company relied on—each received nothing more than a coffee gift card and a mug engraved with the company logo. I laughed out loud. Then I turned and walked into my office and submitted resignation requests for the entire technical team. The manager, Preston Alec, sneered. "Good riddance. AI can replace women like you who only know how to have children." A few days later, the very people who had mocked me were standing in front of me, begging me to come back. I smiled in return. "AI conquers everything, doesn't it?"