Chapter 4

But the next day, the moment I sat down, the office erupted in gossip.

"How could the reserve price be exactly the same? The competitor's numbers were accurate down to the single digit..."

"The Vincross Street deal... that's millions down the drain..."

Something had gone wrong with the top-secret real estate bid Jessica had taken over.

The core reserve price had been leaked to a rival consortium last night, causing the company a direct loss of millions of dollars.

"Who touched my computer?!"

Jessica stood at the door of Arthur's office, already crying prettily.

"Vivian, you were the only one who handled this data yesterday! The IT department just said that the IP address of the computer that made the final edits to the reserve price was from your workstation!"

I walked over and glanced at it.

"I never touched it."

"My wrist was hurting yesterday, so you clearly compiled this for me!" Large tears rolled down Jessica's face. "Vivian, I know you're upset about the promotion... but how could you sabotage the company to get back at me?!"

Arthur walked out of his office, and his familiar woody cologne instantly enveloped me.

"You were the last one to handle the bid? And the IP matches your desk?"

"Yes, but I only adjusted the formatting of the first few pages. I don't have authorization to access the financial information!" I took a deep breath.

"She said you came back to work overtime last night."

"You're just going to take her word for it? You're not even going to investigate?" I stared at him. "Arthur, I've been with you for seven years. Do you really think I would do something this despicable?"

The hallway was so quiet you could hear the low hum of the air conditioning.

Arthur looked at me.

Something flickered in his dark eyes, but it was quickly suppressed.

"Vivian, the IP address shows it clearly."

His voice wasn't loud, but it made everyone around us prick up their ears.

"From today on, you are suspended indefinitely."

He paused.

"Consider all the credit for your projects over the past seven years gone."

"Because you are not professional enough for this role."

Not professional enough.

Seven years of my hard work were compressed by him into one phrase and smashed into my face.

Those emails sent at two in the morning, the bloodshot eyes from staying up late with the new hires, the moments in project wrap-up meetings where he would nod and say, "Beautifully done."

None of it counted anymore.

He said erase it, so it was erased.

"You should be glad it's only a suspension right now. You can't afford the charge of corporate espionage."

I stared at him, my throat working.

I wanted to say something, but the sound was stuck inside, refusing to be squeezed out.

He probably thought this public humiliation was his way of protecting me.

The buzzing from all directions rose again.

"She really thought she was the CEO's wife, daring to play games with the company's lifeline..."

"Thought she could do whatever she wanted just because she was sleeping with the boss? Serves her right."

Hearing these words, Arthur turned his head slightly.

"And for the record,"

"I have no personal relationship with Vivian."

"If I hear this kind of rumor from anyone again, pack your bags and get out."

The entire floor fell dead silent out of fear.

Arthur reached out, grabbed Jessica by the wrist, and walked toward the elevators.

"Fly with me to Kingsburg to meet the client. Stop crying. Even if the sky falls, we have to solve the problem."

I stood frozen, watching the broad back of that man. Jessica, being pulled along by him, leaned in slightly toward his side.

The man I had recognized for seven years had suddenly become a total stranger.

That night, I packed the belongings on my desk into a cardboard box one by one.

As I walked to the entrance of the building, a notification popped up on my social media app.

Jessica had posted an update.

A photo of a VIP airport lounge, with Arthur's silhouette standing in the distance.

The caption: [Flying to Kingsburg with Mr. Whitmore. The future is bright.]

Immediately after, a text message popped up on my screen.

[Flying to Kingsburg to handle the crisis. Back next Wednesday. My hands were tied today. I'll explain when I get back.]

I stared at that line. What was left to explain?

Explain his announcement to the entire building that we had "no personal relationship"?

I blocked his number and deleted the conversation.

When I carried my cardboard box through the revolving doors, the evening wind blew down my collar.

By the time he landed from Kingsburg next Wednesday, there would be no Vivian in this city anymore.

I walked into the subway station, clutching the box tightly.

A drop of blood seeped through the gauze and landed on the edge of the box, a stark red against the brown cardboard.