Chapter 3

Only when the air is stripped away will those high-and-mighty elites understand what suffocation truly feels like.

I raised a hand and flagged down a taxi.

"Home, please."

My phone vibrated—a bank notification. My salary had been deposited.

Just the base pay. No year-end bonus. They had even deducted the past few days' attendance.

A moment later, a message popped up on WhatsApp.

Vanessa: [Sandra, don't think you're off the hook just because you left. If you dare spread rumors about the company, I'll sue you for defamation.]

They probably really believed that discount had come from the boss's personal charm. Now that I was gone, the favor was gone. Everything would return to its true, transactional nature.

…

The holidays began.

The first thing I did after returning to my hometown was switch my phone to silent.

I blocked my ex-boss, Vanessa, and those former colleagues who used to do nothing but tag me in group chats—"change the water," "fix the lights," "pick up deliveries."

On the first morning, I woke to sunlight already spilling across the windowsill.

No more 5 a.m. ticket-booking calls. No more sudden repair requests lighting up my phone.

The silence was so complete it almost made me want to cry.

With nothing to do, I absentmindedly scrolled through TikTok.

Big data can be eerily precise—and cruel. It pushed me a local post. The cover image was a carefully edited collage of photos from the annual party.

The poster was none other than Vanessa. In the photos, she stood center stage, holding a glass of champagne, laughing as if she owned the world.

Her caption read: [Out with the old, in with the new. Removing negative energy from the team. Next year, I'll lead the administrative department onto the international stage!]

I tapped into the comments.

Just as I expected—it was lively.

A few familiar accounts chimed in below, their profile pictures belonging to the so-called "socialites" in the company.

Keisha Brody from reception commented: [Finally, don't have to deal with that hag's mood swings anymore. Always meddling in everything like someone's mom. She's so annoying. Last time I was just a little slow picking up a package, and she nagged forever.]

I let out a cold laugh.

What she called "nagging" was me reminding her that the package contained perishables that would spoil if not refrigerated.

Another girl from the finance department wrote: [Exactly. Dresses like a cleaning lady every day. Just standing at the front desk ruins the company's image. Vanessa is amazing—should've kicked her out long ago.]

Someone even posted a photo of that dog bowl in the comments.

The caption was even more vicious: [Some people should know their place. The annual party is for those who create value, not for janitors. Everyone belongs where they belong.]

As I read through the posts, I didn't feel angry.

If anything, I laughed.

They had no idea that what they called "low-skill work" was built upon a system held together by countless invisible details.

Like an iceberg—they only saw the polished surface above water, never realizing how vast the foundation beneath it truly was.

Just then, a message popped up. It was from Lisa Trudy, the only intern in the administrative department.

[Happy New Year, Sandra.]

A crying emoji followed.

[I don't want to stay anymore. Vanessa doesn't teach anything—she only scolds. You used to guide me step by step with spreadsheets and processes. Now that you're gone, I'm completely lost.

[And she told me to go back to the office during the holiday to feed the fish. She said if they die, she'll dock my pay. I told her I'd already gone back to my hometown, so she dropped it.]

Lisa had joined just a month ago. No one in administration had taken her under their wing. I couldn't bear to see it, so even though I was in logistics, I quietly taught her the administrative workflow.

Now, she was the only one in the company who understood that the sky was about to fall.

Me: [Don't rush to quit. There's a good show coming after the holiday. That tank of tropical fish is delicate—if the power and oxygen cut out for more than two hours, they'll start floating belly-up. Vanessa definitely has no idea where the backup power supply for the tank is.]

That tank of red arowana was the boss's prized possession, worth a fortune.

During the New Year holidays, the building would undergo electrical maintenance, cutting power for half a day.

Every year at times like this, I would go to the low-voltage room and switch on the backup power supply to keep the tank oxygenated.