Working

At the company's annual gala, the CEO announced that this year's top sales performer would receive a two-million-dollar year-end bonus. I was the top performer. However, my manager called me into his office the very next day and explained that the company was cutting costs and improving efficiency. As a result, my bonus had to be reduced. I initially assumed everyone's bonus was being cut. Then, I found out I was the only one getting shortchanged. Even worse, they handed my position to a useless coworker who could barely do the job. I understood everything immediately. 'So this is how it is. You're tossing me aside after you got what you wanted from me.' Fine. I stopped putting in any effort from that day forward. I clocked in, did the bare minimum, and watched the company slowly fall apart. Sales began to drop month after month. Even the major clients I had already secured began withdrawing their investments. That was when the CEO finally panicked. He showed up at my front door, begging me to fix things. I kicked the door open and looked down at him. "You think a garbage company like yours deserves my help?"

My boss has started dating, and his girlfriend is already acting hostile toward me at the first meeting. She looks me up and down and says passive-aggressively, "You're Theodore's secretary, the one he's been taking special care of?" I'm left speechless for a moment, staring at her in disbelief. I am Theodore Grant's secretary—that part is true. When I graduated, my dad deliberately arranged for me to work under Theodore to learn company management. For over a year, I have been working overtime late into the night every day, handling stacks of documents that never seem to end. Everyone says that I'm the hardest-working workhorse in the company. So, why have I gone from being a workhorse to some kind of side piece the moment my boss gets a girlfriend?

After returning from a business trip, I discovered that my wife had unexpectedly replaced the floor-to-ceiling window in her office with an entire wall of mirrors. When I questioned her about it, she looked at me with gentle eyes and smiled as she straightened my tie. "This way, when you come to keep me company during overtime, you won't have to fuss over checking your appearance. Don't overthink it. I had the nutritionist prepare some soup to help you recover. Drink it while it's hot." I found it strange. She was a career-driven woman who had always complained that my suits made me look too stiff and formal. Yet now, she had suddenly changed her tune. Still, I did not say anything. I simply smiled and walked over to the mirror, unscrewing the lid of the thermos. But the moment the hot steam rose into the air, two large oval-shaped marks slowly emerged on the previously spotless mirror. And in the corner, there was a faint smear of lipstick. I compared the height with a quick gesture and let out a cold laugh. 'A familiar height of five foot three and a C-cup. Office mirror reflections. How bold and thrilling.' I pulled out a tissue and calmly wiped the mirror clean before calling my assistant. "Get a renovation crew ready. Tonight, replace the mirror in Ms. Sutton's office with a two-way mirror. And notify the media. Three days from now, I'll be holding a live press conference downstairs."

Lured by the double salary, she decided to become the director's assistant for six months. On her first day as an assistant, Sophia lectured an arrogant man in front of everyone. But when she realizes the man is her billionaire boss Lennox Ray, she faces the risk of being fired. "I don't need an assistant, but if you insist, then here.." he flung the papers at her. "Those are the rules, read and abide by them. If you break any, you're out." Rule number one: Do not go through my emails. Do not make loud noises. No heels allowed.Do not... Do not... Do not... It was never-ending. "Such an asshole... You've got yourself a challenge, Lennox Ray. I'm going to do my very best to please you, that when it's time for me to leave, you'll be begging me to stay with a triple increase in my fucking salary".

During the long holiday, to accommodate the travel plans of my hospital director wife, I—someone who hadn't taken a single day off all year—begged and groveled, burning through every last bit of goodwill in my department just to scrape together seven days of comp time so I could go with her. But I waited at the airport from morning until night. After a hundred ignored calls, she finally rang me back, her voice totally casual. "The signal's a nightmare out at the scenic area. I forgot to mention—Julian booked the tickets a day early by accident, so we're already at Tamoe Mount! Since you missed your flight anyway, just go back to the hospital and cover some shifts. It's the hospital's busiest time. Didn't you say everyone in your department was upset about you taking time off? Go make it up to them." On the other end of the line, the wind was howling. Her young colleague, laughing brightly, jumped in. "Hey, Rita, I had no problem switching my shifts. I guess he just slacks off too much—no wonder nobody likes him." Not only did she not stand up for me, she actually agreed. "You hear that, Kevin? Learn to play nicer with your coworkers. Stop obsessing over fun all the time. Then later, it'll be easier for me to push through your raise and promotion." I didn't argue or make a scene. I just said "Got it," hung up, and walked straight to the hospital run by her biggest competitor. "Are you still looking for a vice director? I work hard, I don't need weekends off, and as long as I get normal comp time, I'm good."

For three years, I worked for my coworkers for free—designing, covering for their mistakes, cleaning up their messes. They used my work to get promoted, to win awards, even to run side jobs on the sly, and I never took a cent for any of it. Then I single-handedly landed the hardest client project the company had ever taken on and walked away with a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus. That was the day everyone lost their minds. The same people who'd leeched off me the hardest led the charge, cornering me at my desk and tearing into me in front of the whole office. "The whole concept for that project was a team effort. What gives you the right to keep the bonus for yourself?" "Your work has always been garbage. That free labor of yours was never worth anything anyway!" Worse, they spent the whole night digging up old grievances, stitching together every minor slip-up they could find, and spreading rumors through the entire company—that I'd stalled projects, that my work was worthless, that I'd tanked the department's numbers. Finally, they gave me an ultimatum. "Either split the entire bonus with the department, or pay us two hundred thousand dollars for our trouble. Take your pick." Even the department manager tried to smooth things over, telling me, "We're all colleagues here. You've already got a big bonus—taking a small loss won't kill you. Don't be so difficult about it." Wonderful. So three years of quietly covering for everyone had just produced a pack of lazy, credit-stealing backstabbers. Since they wanted to gang up on the one person who'd always played fair, fine. I was going to lay out three years of original files, timestamps, and proof of exactly who'd done the work—all of it, all at once. And what none of them knew was that the special project behind my bonus was an AI system built to replace every single one of them.