Chapter 3

I woke up in the company infirmary. After checking my temperature, the doctor assured me that it wasn't anything serious.

I'd developed a fever after getting soaked in the rain, and taking the wrong medication had put additional strain on my already weakened body, causing me to pass out.

"The wrong medication?" I asked hoarsely.

One of my coworkers, who had been sitting beside my bed, finally explained that the pills Charles had given me weren't fever reducers at all. They were melatonin tablets. Apparently, the bottles looked similar, and he'd grabbed the wrong one by mistake.

After hearing that, I was too exhausted to say another word.

All I could think about was the moment I'd blacked out, when Claire had stepped away just as I was falling toward her.

That evening, Charles came to visit me with fried chicken and coffee, worry etched across his face. The moment he walked in, he began apologizing, insisting that he hadn't given me the wrong medication on purpose and that he'd been terrified when he realized his mistake.

He set the food on the table before holding out the coffee.

"This is from your favorite place. I waited in line forever to get it for you."

The infirmary was already stuffy, and the smell of fried chicken made my stomach turn. I'd thrown up earlier that afternoon, and the mere smell of food was enough to make me feel sick.

I turned my head away and said quietly, "I can't eat right now."

I was only telling the truth, but the hurt in Charles's eyes deepened, and his voice began to tremble.

"Are you still mad at me?"

I looked at him, suddenly too exhausted to explain myself. He stood beside my bed with a sorrowful expression, and just then, a coworker passing by the doorway noticed him. Before long, a few others had gathered around to comfort him.

"He didn't do it on purpose. At least he came to apologize," one of them said to me.

"Exactly. He even went out of his way to buy you food," another chimed in.

Then someone turned to me and asked accusingly, "Have you been under too much pressure lately? You haven't been acting like yourself."

Their words came one after another, each one weighing more heavily on my chest.

I was the one who had collapsed. I was the one running a fever. I was the one who had been given the wrong medication.

Yet somehow, by the end of it all, Charles was the one everyone felt sorry for, while I was made to feel like the one at fault.

I closed my eyes and said only, "I want to rest."

Once they finally left, the infirmary fell silent again.

I lay there staring at the fluorescent light overhead, feeling utterly exhausted.

But it wasn't my body that was tired. It was the fact that whenever someone hurt me, I still found myself worrying about whether they'd get into trouble because of it.

Even when I was the one suffering, I still felt compelled to put on a gracious smile and pretend to forgive them. I was always the one giving ground, making concessions until, eventually, even telling the truth made me look like the bad guy.

…

After that, the exclusion at work became increasingly obvious.

Whenever I asked for project files, my coworkers would tell me they'd send them over later. Whenever I needed reference materials, I'd eventually discover they'd already given them to Charles. Even something as routine as meeting minutes would land on my desk with pages missing or important details left out.

At first, I brushed it off as a series of unfortunate coincidences. But after it happened enough times, I finally understood that none of it was accidental.

No one was openly targeting me. They were simply good at reading their boss's preferences and knew exactly how to act accordingly.

The worst incident involved a crucial contract attachment that I needed to review before submitting the complete document package. It was supposed to be sent to me well in advance, but no matter how many times I followed up, no one ever forwarded it.

By the time I realized what was happening, I had only 20 minutes left before the deadline.

With no other options, I scrambled to make up for the lost time, tracking down the legal team and chasing the person in charge for a signature. I rushed from one person to another, barely able to catch my breath, but despite my best efforts, I still missed the deadline.

Before the meeting was over, Claire slapped the documents onto the table and called me out in front of everyone.

"Adrian, what exactly has gotten into you lately?"

I stood up, ready to explain what had happened, but she cut me off before I could get a word out.

"I don't want to hear your excuses. Your work has become increasingly unreliable. If you're going to let your personal feelings interfere with your job, then stop taking up a position you can't handle."

The conference room fell silent.

Everyone kept their heads down, and not a single person spoke up for me. No one mentioned that I'd never deliberately delayed the attachment or that it had been withheld from me until the last minute, leaving me scrambling to finish everything before the deadline.

I stood there, a chill spreading through me.

But in that moment, I finally understood something.

It wasn't that I'd reached my breaking point and could no longer endure it. It was that I'd finally stopped wanting to make excuses for her.

…

After the meeting, I stood beside the printers for a long time, unable to bring myself to move.

Then someone called my name from behind. I turned and saw a familiar face—Camille Prescott, a recruiter from a rival firm.

We chatted for a while. After noticing how worn out I looked, she hesitated before asking, "Your talents are being wasted here. Have you ever considered going somewhere you could do more?"

I didn't answer, so she lowered her voice slightly.

"We're looking for someone who can take charge of projects independently, someone just like you. An opportunity like this doesn't come around twice."

Her words stirred something in me.

In the past, whenever I'd considered leaving, I'd always hesitated. I couldn't bear to walk away from the projects I'd worked so hard on or leave the company I'd invested so much in. More than anything, though, I couldn't bear the thought of leaving Claire.

But now, I was standing beside the printers, fresh from being publicly reprimanded by the very person I'd once been so reluctant to leave.

I looked at Camille and, for the first time, didn't turn her down.

"Okay," I said. "If you're still looking for someone, I'm willing to join you."

The moment the words left my mouth, an unexpected sense of relief washed over me. Maybe I should have left a long time ago.