Fired

I was halfway through my third coffee of the morning when the email pinged. The kind of ping that feels like a punch straight to the stomach. “Meeting with the CEO. 9:30 AM. Conference Room B.” No subject line, no context. Just a cold, sterile little command.

I stared at it, heart thumping. A design review, I told myself. Just another review. But my gut said something else. Something heavy. Something that made my hands tremble just thinking about it.

By 9:28, I was pacing outside Conference Room B like a caged animal. My mind refused to settle. Don’t panic. It’s probably nothing. Just a review. My boss? Nah, he wouldn’t schedule a random meeting like this.

I stepped into the room, and the air hit me first. That weird, sanitized corporate smell, like someone scrubbed the walls with bleach and ambition. Then I saw the papers on the table. Big, official-looking documents with logos and signatures. My heart skipped. And then it stopped.

“Skye,” a voice said. Smooth, sharp, unmistakable. That voice. My throat went dry. I looked up.

He was leaning casually against the table, perfectly polished in a navy suit, hair like he stepped out of a magazine, eyes that could cut glass if he wanted. Leo Westcott. My Leo. The man who had shattered me in college and walked away like I was nothing.

“Uh… hi,” I managed, my voice cracking. Already stupid. Already pathetic.

He didn’t smile. Not really. Not in that “remembering old feelings” way. He just looked at me, eyes calculating, unflinching. “Have a seat.”

I sank into the chair like someone had removed the air from my lungs. He laid the papers in front of me. My eyes scanned, and the world tilted sideways. Acquisition. Complete buyout. My startup, my dream, my blood, sweat, and every late night coding and designing in a tiny, overpriced office. Bought. And the name at the top? Leo Westcott.

I froze. My fingers twitched. My mind screamed: No. This can’t be real.

“You’re… what?” I managed.

“Restructured,” he said casually. Like it was nothing. Like saying it out loud didn’t have the power to crush someone’s soul. “Your position is no longer required.”

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest. A bitter, hysterical little thing. “You… you bought the company. And… and you just—just… fired me?”

His eyes softened for a second. A fraction. But the second passed, and the steel came back. “It’s business.”

Business. That word tasted like acid in my mouth. Business, he said, like it could justify everything, like it could wash away the years of what we had—what I thought we had—and the way he left me.

I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it. “You… you’re—” I started, and stopped. The words wouldn’t come. I wanted to scream at him. Cry. Throw the papers across the room. Rip something, anything. But the words refused me.

I wanted to run. Run and never look back. But my legs felt glued to the floor.

I thought about the startup. My tiny team who counted on me. The investors who trusted my ideas. The future I had mapped out with painstaking detail. All of it now in the hands of the man who had, at twenty-one, broken me and walked away like I was replaceable.

And maybe I was.

I left the room, papers clutched like a lifeline, and walked through the office. Colleagues’ eyes followed me. A few whispered. A few stared. I could feel the humiliation crawling under my skin. I could feel the old wounds flare up—the ones he left behind, the ones I swore I’d buried.

I had grown up knowing what it felt like to be disposable. My mom worked two jobs just to keep the lights on, my dad was… well, my dad was gone more than he was present. Love always felt conditional. Money, attention, care—they were always on loan, never permanent. I learned young that if you wanted stability, you had to fight for it. Hard. And even then, sometimes it wasn’t enough.

College had been my escape. A way to prove I was more than just the kid who always came second. And Leo… he was supposed to be my safe place. My first real love. My first real heartbreak. And now… he was here, owning my life again. Controlling it. Watching, probably judging, probably enjoying the quiet panic twisting inside me.

I remember the last night of our college relationship like it happened yesterday. Rain tapping on the dorm window. Me crying. Him not crying, just standing there. And the words: “You’re too much. Too complicated. I can’t deal with this.” I had begged him to explain, to fight, to stay. He walked out anyway. And somehow, the hurt had embedded itself so deeply that I doubted I’d ever feel whole again.

And now here we were. Years later. And the tables weren’t just turned—they were set on fire.

I sat in my car outside the office for a long time, shaking, staring at the papers, barely breathing. The world moved around me. Cars honked. People rushed past, heads down, like they had no idea. And maybe that’s how it should be. I wanted to be invisible. I wanted to disappear. But the thing about Leo? He didn’t let you disappear.

I thought about my life. My parents had always told me: “Skye, you gotta be strong. Nobody’s gonna do this for you.” And I had been. I worked late nights, skipped meals, coded until my eyes stung, presented designs in boardrooms where I was half the age of my competition. I earned every inch of respect I had… and still, here I was, crushed by the one man who had always mattered more than any of it.

The bitter irony was unbearable. I had fought so hard to be seen. To be respected. To make something of myself. And now, this… this was him telling me that none of that mattered. That he, of all people, could erase me in the swipe of a pen.

I wanted to scream. But I didn’t. I wanted to throw up. But I didn’t. I wanted to run. But I didn’t.

I just stared. At the papers. At his name. Leo Westcott. The same name that haunted my dreams, that made me remember every heartbreak, every sleepless night, every time I told myself I deserved better.

Now he owned my future. My career. My life.

And for a terrifying second, I realized… maybe I didn’t even know if I wanted it back.

I drove home in a daze. Hands gripping the wheel so tight it hurt. My apartment smelled like stale coffee and failure, the laundry I’d been meaning to fold weeks ago staring at me from the couch. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted… something.

But mostly, I wanted to be alone.

I dropped onto my couch, papers splayed across the coffee table like cruel evidence. I traced his name with my finger. Leo Westcott. My throat tightened. My chest ached. My brain screamed: How did it come to this?

The phone buzzed. A text from my best friend, the one person who knew the whole story of my college heartbreak.

“How’s the new world order going?”

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to curse. I wanted to throw the phone across the room. Instead, I just typed, “I think I might die.”

And I wasn’t exaggerating.

Because here’s the thing: Leo Westcott wasn’t just the guy who broke me in college. He was the guy who now had all the cards. And I had no idea if he’d play fair—or if he even remembered the damage he caused.

I sank back, staring at the papers again, letting my mind wander. Could I even work for him? Could I even trust him? Could I even look at him without remembering that night… that betrayal… that heartbreak?

And then it hit me, like a fist to the chest. I wasn’t just angry at him. I was terrified.

Because life had a funny way of showing up exactly when you weren’t ready. And right now, I was so not ready.

I didn’t even notice when the sun began to set outside my window, painting my apartment in orange and pink streaks. The papers remained there, silent, accusing. My phone buzzed again. Another email. Another reminder that the world hadn’t stopped. That nothing had changed, except everything had changed.

I didn’t know what to do first. Cry? Scream? Plan revenge? But the one thing I did know?

Leo Westcott now controlled my career. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he was my ex.

I swallowed hard, letting the reality sink in. My fingers shook as I reached for the coffee mug I hadn’t finished. The bitter liquid burned my throat, matching the bitterness in my stomach.

And then, finally, I did the only thing I could do. I picked up the papers. I stared at his name.

Leo Westcott.

The man who had taken my heart once, and now… had the power to destroy my future.

And I had no idea how to stop him.

Not yet.

But I would. Somehow.

And with that thought, I realized the first fight wasn’t going to be in the boardroom. It was going to be with my own damn heart.