Chapter 92

MANNIE’S POV

The morning air felt sharp against my skin as I stepped out of the elevator. I held a warm coffee in my hand, letting the heat sink into my fingers. I barely slept after last night’s chaotic call with Dominic. My eyes still felt heavy, but I pushed forward.

I tightened my grip on the cup and walked toward the office.

Everything felt normal.

I pushed the office door open—

And the world suddenly tilted.

My foot skidded.

Something slick—oil—spread under my shoe.

“Ahhh!” I screamed.

The cup flew from my hand. My body jerked backward, panic flooding my stomach—but before I hit the floor, someone grabbed me from the side.

A woman.

She pulled me up sharply.

“You’re okay, I got you!” she said, holding my elbow.

My heart pounded.

I blinked fast, trying to steady myself. “Oh my God—thank you—”

Before I could finish, another force shoved the woman aside.

A man.

He lunged toward me like he wanted to "save" me too.

But the shove sent the woman stumbling into a desk.

My eyes flashed.

I pulled myself away from him instantly. Too forcefully.

My coffee, still balancing in my hand, flew straight into his shirt.

SPLASH.

Dark brown spread across his chest.

He stared down at himself dramatically. “Look what you did!”

I ignored his theatrics and breathed out slowly. “Sorry about that. You can give me the shirt. I’ll send it to the dry cleaners.”

He scoffed loudly. “Keep it. It’s just a curse for trying to help an ungrateful b*tch like you.”

He stormed off.

I blinked once.

Twice.

Then my disgust settled like a stone in my gut.

Bastard.

You wanted to take advantage of me. Be careful. You may lose those hands.

I forced myself to breathe and bent down to inspect the floor.

Oil.

Clear, thin, slippery.

I took tissues from my bag and wiped my shoes carefully so I wouldn’t slip again. Then I called the cleaners, pointed to the spill, and told them to handle the rest.

“Phew… what a moment,” I muttered.

I turned toward my desk—finally ready to sit down.

But something on the chair gleamed strangely.

A watery shine. Too sticky. Too thick.

My stomach tightened.

“What the f*cking hell is this?” I whispered.

I looked around.

My colleagues were suddenly the best actors in the world.

Eyes glued to screens. Hands moving on keyboards. Faces blank as they pretended not to see anything.

My hands clenched into a fist.

“Just nice… huh… keep pretending.”

I leaned down slowly and sniffed.

The scent hit me immediately.

Glue.

Strong, industrial glue.

My jaw tightened.

I grabbed a sheet of paper from my table, pressed it against the chair, and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

The paper stayed glued down completely.

Anger burned hot in my chest.

I looked up sharply.

“Who poured glue on my chair?” My voice sliced through the room.

Everyone froze.

Then—they all looked around at each other, pretending to be confused.

I inhaled, slow and heavy.

“WHO. POURED. GLUE. ON. MY. CHAIR?!”

This time my voice thundered.

People flinched.

Just then, the door opened. Our supervisor entered with his belly pushing against his shirt buttons, in his hand was his briefcase.

“What is the ruckus this morning?” he groaned. He was just coming to work and now he had to be greeted by chaos.

He scanned the room, then landed his eyes on me.

“Mannie, can’t a day go by without you causing trouble?”

I almost laughed.

Of course.

Blame me first.

“Then why don’t you sit on my chair, Supervisor?” I said calmly. “If I’m making noise for nothing, the glue won’t affect you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine. Show me the chair.”

He marched over like a king responding to a challenge. He bent down, saw the stuck paper, and frowned.

He tugged the paper.

Nothing.

He tugged harder.

Still nothing.

His index finger brushed the glue by accident.

He lifted his hand to his face to inspect it—

His finger stuck to his nose.

His eyes widened.

“GLUE??!!”

He yanked. His nose stretched painfully.

He yanked again. His hand didn'tcome off his nose and he winced in pain.

Some staff rushed forward to help him. They guided him carefully toward his office.

“Dispose of the chair! Get a new one! And find me the culprit!” he barked. “Check the surveillance cameras! If I catch the person—!”

The door slammed.

Good. This was an opportunity.

I walked fast toward the security office.

I wasn’t letting anyone erase footage before I arrived.

---

SECURITY OFFICE

The room buzzed with screens showing different halls.

A man sat behind the desk, sipping tea.

“I need the footage for my office,” I said. “Supervisor sent me.”

He nodded but didn’t move yet.

“Ah… that one,” he sighed. “Camera in your office spoiled months ago. Supervisor didn’t write to HR for replacement.”

Of course he didn’t.

“So I can only check the hallway cameras?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Fine.

“Pull up the recordings from early morning.”

He clicked a few buttons.

Footage rolled.

People walking.

Doors opening.

Lights flickering.

Then—something stood out.

A woman. Arriving earlier than usual. The time stamp on the footage showed that others was too early to be at work.

She wasn’t from our office. She worked opposite ours—same marketing department but different team.

She walked casually toward our office door.

Looked around.

Twice.

Then slipped inside.

A minute later, she stepped out quickly… holding something.

A small bottle.

Glue.

My jaw clenched.

Then she bent down slightly—spilled something from another container.

The oil.

Then she walked off.

And then—when I fell—she came back again, poking her head out, holding her phone up.

Recording me.

I frowned.

The camera caught her perfectly this time.

Her face was clear.

Lilith.

My lips pressed into a thin line.

Of course.

Lilith—the fallen queen who now sulked down in our department. She used to be powerful. Untouchable. A senior assistant.

Now?

Reduced to a shared office with bitter, aging staff.

She was not loved. Not respected. And clearly not sane.

No wonder she looked furious at life.

“Thank you,” I said to the security man.

He cropped the footage and sent it to my phone.

I left before anyone could interfere.

My steps grew faster.

I stormed straight to Lilith’s office.

---

LILITH’S OFFICE

The room quieted immediately the moment I pushed the door open.

Lilith sat with her arms folded, pretending to read from a file. A group of staff surrounded her—some supportive, some uncomfortable.

“Lilith,” I said.

She looked up slowly.

Her eyes were hard.

“Yes? What do you want?”

“You poured glue on my chair,” I said plainly.

Her brows shot up. “Are you insane? Why would I do that?”

I stared straight at her.

“You tell me.”

Her lips pressed thin.

Then—she smirked.

“You think you can walk in here and accuse me?”

Her supporters murmured.

One woman stepped forward. “Don’t come here to bully Lilith!”

Another man added, “Yeah, show your proof!”

I ignored them.

“You recorded me falling,” I said.

Lilith laughed loudly.

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

I took a step closer.

“Show your gallery.”

Her body stiffened.

Her supporters looked around at each other.

One particular man, always irritated by my presence, stepped up.

“Just show your phone, Lilith. If you’re innocent, you clear your name and this ends.”

Lilith glared at him like he betrayed her.

“Why should I?! She’s framing me!”

“It’s easy,” I said. “Open. Your. Gallery.”

Pressure built in the room.

A few of her colleagues crossed their arms, unimpressed.

Some whispered: “She does this often.”

Others muttered: “Lilith is always in trouble.”

A few said: “If she didn’t do it, she would show it.”

Finally—under pressure—Lilith grabbed her phone and unlocked it.

She opened the gallery.

The most recent photo…

A picture of me falling.

Gasps filled the room.

I held up my phone and showed her the CCTV clip.

She turned pale.

“That wasn’t me! Someone forwarded it to me!” she shouted suddenly.

Coward.

I raised a brow. “Really? So you entered the office this morning because…?”

Silence.

She looked around wildly.

“I–I just—someone told me—”

I stepped forward, lowering my voice.

“There are security cameras inside the office.”

Her eyes widened in panic.

A lie—but she didn’t know that.

“Shall we go and check together?” I asked.

Her breath hitched.

She broke.

“I—I didn’t do it alone!” she blurted. “Dianna told me to do it!”

The room erupted.

“What?!”

“Dianna? Dominic’s secretary?!”

“She looks so sweet—why would she do that?!”

“Sweet? That girl? Please. She’s after David.”

“I heard she’s chasing Tony.”

“She’s fake. Everyone knows.”

Gossip exploded like fireworks.

I stepped back slightly.

Enough.

“I don’t care about your excuses,” I said calmly. “You confessed. That’s all I needed.”

I turned to leave.

Someone from behind asked, “Should we go check the office camera—?”

I stopped at the doorway.

“There is no camera,” I said.

The room froze.

I walked away, leaving their shocked faces behind me.

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