1. An Underling

If you are poor, do not expect to be treated with dignity. That is the bitter truth I have carried with me for a long time.

My name is Daisy Maybelle. Growing up in an orphanage forged me into a resilient woman, a strength that eventually helped me graduate and secure a position as a priority hire at Nova Core Inc. However, that status has proven to be a boomerang, circling back to strike me down.

"Get this done, now! And stop being so spoiled!"

Vanesha flung a stack of documents directly at my face. The papers scattered like wounded birds, and with them, my pride fell to the floor.

"But... this isn't part of my main task," I protested softly, my voice barely a thread.

"Are you actually picking and choose your assignments now?" Vanesha, a blonde with piercing blue eyes, barked fiercely. "You are lucky enough just to have a desk in this building! You aren’t some prestigious overseas graduate, so stop making excuses. Just get it done!"

I could only bow my head, swallowing the thick dregs of humiliation. In this office, I am nothing more than easy prey for people like her.

"I want everything finished by one o'clock! I have a meeting, and those documents had better be on my desk!" Vanesha snapped as she turned on her heel. The sharp click-clack of her arrogant red stilettos echoed down the hallway, a rhythmic reminder of her dominance over my world.

I had no choice. Vanesha held the seniority in my division, and she knew exactly how to wield it. Around me, a few new staff members remained frozen, barely daring to breathe. Their eyes were averted, fixed on their own screens in a silent prayer that the chaotic draft wouldn't be tossed onto their desks next.

Not a soul moved to help. Everyone knew these tasks fell far outside my job description, but from the moment I arrived, Vanesha had painted a target on my back. She preyed on the one thing I couldn't change. She knew I was an orphan. A girl without connections, without a powerful lineage, and without a single person to stand in her way.

"Just hurry up and do it," Clara, another junior staff member, hissed. There wasn't a shred of sympathy in her voice; only the cold relief that it was my burden to carry, not hers.

With a heavy sigh, I began to touch the rough draft. My task was to arrange a PowerPoint presentation and print it out to be distributed to the executives during the meeting this afternoon.

Vanesha deliberately offloaded this burden onto me. She knows I am an easy target. Poor and easily oppressed, but she also knows I am capable. Ironically, despite her constant boasting about her prestigious overseas degree, her work is an absolute disaster. The rough draft she handed me was so disorganized it would have been a humiliation to present to the directors. Consequently, the task of rebuilding her entire mess from scratch has fallen to me.

Why do I endure it?

Because I have no choice but to be perfect. If my performance is even slightly lacking, Vanesha wouldn’t hesitate to have me thrown out. As the niece of the Head of HR, terminating someone like me is as effortless for her as snapping her fingers.

She often sneers that I don’t deserve a place in such a prestigious firm. Yet, every time she claims I only got in through "luck," she is effectively spitting in her own face. She is the one whose seat was bought through family connections, while I fought tooth and nail, earning my place with nothing but my own brains and sweat.

But in the face of her influence, what power do I truly have? I can only bow my head and complete the work without a single word of complaint.