Chapter 4

The next morning, I pushed open the office doors.

Every pair of eyes turned toward me, filled with open, mocking disgust.

Sarah strutted past my desk holding her iced latte. "Well, look who made it back! So, how was Mr. Warren's bed? Cozy?"

Kevin immediately chimed in from his cubicle, "Sarah, you don't get it. That's called an investment! One night on her back saves thirty years of desk work!"

"Seriously. Young girls these days have zero shame. Us honest workers could never stoop that low."

Cruel laughter exploded through the open space.

I sat down at my desk without a word and booted up my PC.

A new email popped into my inbox with no sender name.

Attached was a photo: me from two nights ago, half-dressed and passed out cold on the VIP lounge couch.

Message: This one is cropped. Bring up that night again, and the uncensored version goes to everyone you know.

Rick poked his head out of his corner office, twirling his phone with a sadistic grin.

Sarah walked over, pretending to adjust some folders on my desk, and whispered in my ear: "Reputation is everything, sweetie. Keep your head down for two more days and we leave you alone. Otherwise... well, you've seen the preview."

I said nothing, merely smiling down at my keyboard.

For the next forty-eight hours, their harassment dropped all pretense.

"Chloe, do a full physical audit of the entire warehouse inventory. I need the sheet before 5 PM!"

"Chloe, order lunch and afternoon coffee for the whole floor, then go pick it up! Can't you do a simple task right?"

"Write my son's high school internship application essay tonight. It's due tomorrow morning."

Finally, Rick slammed a massive binder onto my desk.

"Take this. Build the deck and write the keynote speech for the group's mid-year executive conference." He sneered openly. "You're getting fired in two days anyway. Might as well squeeze the last drop of use out of you. A cheap whore blacklisted by Warren won't find a job anywhere in this city. Be grateful I'm giving you work."

I gathered the binder silently and sat down.

I wasn't writing a speech for him.

I was building his guillotine.

On the morning of the conference, the main auditorium was packed with dozens of employees and senior managers.

Rick was dressed in a sharp three-piece suit, his hair slicked back, practically glowing with arrogance.

He threw me a contemptuous smirk from the front row, his eyes practically shouting: Watch me take full credit for your work, then toss you out like garbage.

Confident as ever, he strode onto the stage, plugged in his flash drive, and opened the file labeled Project Team A: Mid-Year Review.

The massive projection screen flickered to life.

There were no graphs. No metrics. No sales figures.

Just one massive sentence in bold, black font:

I AM INCOMPETENT TRASH, AND I DO NOT BELONG IN THIS COMPANY.

Dead silence blanketed the room.

A second later, a wave of stunned whispers broke out.

Rick's face drained of every drop of color.

He whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto me with pure rage.

He grabbed the wireless presenter remote and smashed it onto the stage, roaring at me:

"Chloe Vance! You dare set me up?!"

"You're fired! Right now! Every penny of your salary is forfeit! Forget your recommendation letter!"

"I swear to God, I won't just blacklist you from this industry—I will hire people to ruin your life so thoroughly you won't survive in this city!"

Every head in the room turned toward me.

I slowly stood up from the back row, a cold smile playing on my lips.

"Rick."

"Do you even know who you're talking to right now?"

Veins bulged along Rick's neck as he lost his mind completely, screaming at the top of his lungs:

"Who the hell are you?! I'm your boss! I'm your fucking god!"

SLAM!

The heavy mahogany double doors of the auditorium swung wide open.

Surrounded by a team of stone-faced bodyguards and the company's top executive board, my dad strode into the room.

His gaze cut straight through the crowd, locking onto Rick frozen on stage.

The air in the room froze solid.

My dad spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like an icy blade:

"You're her god?"

"Then who the hell am I?"