Chapter 3

In the photo, I sat in the passenger seat of the black sedan, while only half of Benedict's face was visible behind the wheel.

"It was raining that day. He just gave me a ride to the subway station," I said.

"But the photo makes it look like you two were heading home together. Natasha, what gives you the right to ride in the CEO's car?" The HR supervisor's voice was cold and harsh, her eyes filled with contempt.

She continued, "This company does not tolerate employees who use such underhanded methods to climb the corporate ladder. That kind of behavior goes against our corporate culture."

I left the HR office and returned to my desk, only to feel my blood run cold.

Someone had forced open my desk drawer. My notebook, the one I relied on to cope with my face blindness, my "coworker identification notes," was soaked through with dark brown coffee.

The pages had turned to pulp. Every detail I had painstakingly recorded had dissolved into a black, coffee-stained mess that reeked of burnt coffee.

Lois dragged her right foot when she walked. Peter always cleared his throat twice. Madison kept a bottle of Chanel No. 5 on her desk. All those precious details were now lost.

I had spent three years and countless sleepless nights building that small sanctuary of security. Now, in an instant, it was gone.

For someone with severe face blindness, that notebook had been my eyes, my only means of navigating the workplace.

And now, in front of everyone, they had blinded me.

An eerie silence surrounded me.

The coworkers who usually greeted me with warm smiles now stood behind their desks, their expressions cold as they watched from a distance. A few had even discreetly raised their phones, eager to capture the spectacle.

On my computer screen, the company intranet kept updating with photos of me from behind. The comment sections were flooded with vicious accusations, with words like "calculating" and "gold digger" plastered everywhere.

I took a deep breath and fought back the tears that threatened to spill.

I gathered the ruined notebook, picked up the heavy cardboard box containing my personal belongings, and made my way through the office under the weight of everyone's contempt.

My destination was the old, windowless storage room where I had been banished.

As I reached the stairwell, Benedict approached me. He took one look at me and reached for the box, but I stepped aside before he could take it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His brows drew together, and his gaze settled on the stained plastic bag in my hands. He could barely contain the anger in his voice.

"They froze your system access, ransacked your desk, and they're calling this a position transfer?" he demanded.

I gripped the edge of the box so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

"You've only just taken office. Do you have any idea how many people are watching your every move, waiting for something they can use against you? If you step in to help me now, you'll only confirm their suspicions that I used my connection to you to get ahead," I argued.

He refused to back down. Instead, he took another step toward me. "I can pull the security footage. I can order HR to reverse the decision right now. Natasha, I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty over this."

I raised my head to meet his gaze, my face flushed with desperation. "But I am! Benedict, I spent three years forcing myself to appear normal and working myself to the bone to build everything I have.

"I don't want all that effort reduced to some disgusting joke about a woman who slept her way to the top, just because I happen to know you. That would humiliate me far more than getting fired ever could."

He stared at me for a long moment before slowly lowering his outstretched hand. "Fine. But remember one thing. If it ever becomes too much for you to bear, you can always come to me."

…

That afternoon, Madison summoned me to the conference room and shoved a prepared company-wide apology letter across the table.

"Last chance. Admit that you used your condition as an excuse to deliberately get close to Mr. Carrington. Send this apology to the entire department, and you can still walk away with a shred of dignity."

I skimmed the letter, picked up a pen, and wrote a single statement on the back.

[I failed to recognize the CEO because of my face blindness. But I did nothing wrong, and I refuse to accept blame for something I didn't do.]

I placed the pen on the table. "Madison, if you want to fire me, follow the proper procedures. I won't confess to something I didn't do."

Madison stared at the words I had written. Then she slowly rose to her feet, tore the apology letter in half, and hurled the pieces at me.

"Fine, Natasha," she spat. "I gave you a chance, and you threw it away. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon at the compliance meeting. By the time I'm done with you, you'll understand exactly what happens to people who don't know their place in this company."