Feel-Good Story Short Stories & Independence Workplace Novels

My boyfriend's childhood sweetheart bound herself to a transfer system: everything she ate would be redirected straight into my stomach. She opened a streaming account and broadcast herself eating for twelve hours straight. She earned a fortune. Meanwhile, I collapsed with acute pancreatitis and was rushed to the hospital. When I explained the situation to my boyfriend, he only stared at me like I was insane. "How could something that absurd exist? If food could really be transferred, no one in the world would ever starve. You're just jealous that she's making money from streaming." After that, every time his childhood sweetheart went live, I ended up hospitalized again. I kept hovering between life and death. I sought medical help, but the doctors couldn't explain my condition. Some even wanted to commit me to a psychiatric ward. Then, one day, in order to outdo her rivals in a PK match, she devoured ten pounds of rice in a single sitting. At that very moment, my spleen and stomach ruptured, and I bled to death on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day of her very first livestream. This time, I was prepared. I rushed out and bought twenty takeout meals. "This time," I said, "I'll eat first."

Everyone in our neighborhood knew me as the meek full-time housewife. I had no income and no social life. Every hour of every day went to the kitchen, my child, and my hypercritical mother-in-law, Sofia Carter. Yet when I woke up, I had somehow swapped bodies with my insufferably smug husband, Kevin Carter. My phone lit up as he sent one mocking message after another: [Olivia, you act like having a baby entitles you to lie around at home all day, watch the kid, and throw together a couple of meals.] [For your information, this swap is permanent. I can finally get some rest.] [Don't run your mouth at my office. That management job is way beyond what a brain that never even made it through college can handle.] When I finished reading, I stared at the stubble-covered man in the bathroom mirror and burst into tearful laughter. He had no idea. My meekness and numbness had been bought with my health. From the day I married him, I never got more than five hours of sleep. At twenty-two, I suffered a severe hemorrhage during a difficult delivery. At twenty-four, I developed severe tendinitis. At twenty-six, after years of exhaustion and Sofia grinding me down, I was diagnosed with moderate depression. To him, I was never a wife. I was a live-in maid he didn't have to pay, someone he could take his temper out on whenever he pleased.

The HR manager slid a severance agreement across the table and said coldly, "You're fired." I froze. "Why?" Just one week ago, my boss had praised me in the company meeting and called me one of the team's most valuable people. The HR manager shrugged. "Ms. Lyttle, you're already 35. You don't have the energy of younger employees anymore, and you're not what you used to be. You no longer fit the company's future." I joined this company when I was 29. Over the past six years, I wrote countless lines of code and worked through more sleepless nights than I could remember. Every time the company faced a major system failure, I led the emergency response and saved it from catastrophic losses. And now they were telling me I was too old and too slow. I laughed in disbelief. "So you've already copied all my experience and skills into an AI, haven't you?" The HR manager paused for a moment before answering confidently, "AI never gets tired, never takes time off, and never asks for a raise. Once the company has an employee like that, why would we keep you?" I looked at her. "Are you sure the AI has learned everything I know?" She smiled. "Absolutely." The moment I heard that, I finally relaxed. Long ago, I had already hidden a trap inside my code to keep my skills from being copied. The moment their AI employee went live, the company would only have three days before everything fell apart.

The Nebula Algorithm I spent countless sleepless nights building single-handedly saved the company’s flagship project. Yet, when the annual promotion list came out, my name was nowhere to be found. Instead, a man named Julian Monroe, who had joined the company less than a month earlier, skipped several ranks to become my direct supervisor. When I marched into my boss Sebastian Carter’s office to ask why, he lashed out at me without hesitation. “You really think a community college graduate like you can compete with a master’s graduate from an elite overseas university?” I clenched my fists, raising my voice to fight back. “The employee handbook clearly states that engineering promotions are strictly performance-based, regardless of your degree!” He pointed a finger right at my nose, his eyes filled with unyielding disdain. “Rules are rigid, but people aren’t. “A community college graduate like you should be down on your knees thanking God for the base salary this company throws your way! “Know your place. This company will keep spinning just fine without you!” I turned around and handed in my resignation letter on the spot, taking my core algorithm with me. I couldn’t wait to see just how long his company would last without me, the “community college graduate.”

My company had moved into the heart of the business district, where rents were sky-high. To make things easier on my employees, I paid out of my own pocket to lease a luxury apartment building near the office. I wanted everyone to have more time to rest and enjoy life instead of wearing themselves out at work. But instead of appreciating the gesture, they accused me of offering fake perks. They believed the money I'd spent on those apartments should have gone straight into their pockets as project bonuses. To pressure me into handing over the money, they anonymously filed a complaint with the state labor department, accusing me of using the apartments to control my employees, keeping them on call around the clock, and forcing them to work overtime. Someone even went online and claimed I was spying on their private lives, painting me as a voyeuristic creep. In the end, they all walked out and quit, deliberately bringing an international project to a standstill. They hoped the crushing breach-of-contract penalties would force me to cave. What they didn't know was that ten minutes earlier, I'd called my mentor, and the best team in the industry was already on a plane headed here. If they wanted to quit, fine. I'd grant their wish!

I was the A-list celebrity in the country, the youngest actor ever to win all three major acting awards, and the man Monroe family's heiress treasured above everyone else. Zara Monroe had not only founded a talent agency dedicated to promoting me alone, but had even set aside her status as the heiress of the Monroe family to work as my personal assistant for love. Everyone in the industry knew that crossing me meant crossing the Monroe family. Yet no one could have imagined that in the latest S-tier film production, the male lead I had been all but guaranteed to play would be snatched away by an obscure actor barely known beyond the industry's bottom tier. People across the industry all placing bets on how long it would take before Zara had this newcomer, Kyson Bentley, blacklisted across the entire industry. But instead of a public takedown, they got an official announcement from Monroe Media. [Welcome to our company's second signed artist, @Kyson Bentley! Mr. Bentley will be partnering with Monroe Media from here on out. His future is full of promise.] The entire industry was shaken. Everyone mocked me for having fallen out of favor. The award-winning actor himself was now expected to play second fiddle to a newcomer. On set, I watched Kyson deliver a painfully amateurish performance. My face cold, I followed the and slapped him using a camera angle that made it look as though I had hit him. But Kyson clutched his cheek and fell to the ground, accusing me of using the scene to get revenge on him. Zara ordered her people to pin me down and made the production team add a hundred more slapping scenes to my schedule. By the time they were done, I had been slapped until I lost my hearing in my right ear. My face was so swollen that I was barely recognizable.

An overpass in Winfeld that's still under construction ends up collapsing, leading to the deaths of many. Family members of the victims are up in arms, demanding that the person in charge pay the price for the incident. As the quality assurance inspector, I'm brought to court. However, I am just an intern. The real perpetrators are out clinking glasses, celebrating a clean getaway and the fact that they have a new scapegoat. Out of nowhere, the court introduces a new trial system that involves the extraction of memories directly from one's mind. In the middle of this major incident, a terrifying truth emerges. Everything goes all the way back to my university days…

My contract with the company is about to come to an end, and I'm already planning to renew it. But a few days before that, my boss, Dustin Kline, requested that I lower the percentage of my bonus in the project. The reason he gave is that I'm still young. Even if I were to take over other projects, I'd also do a good job. Dustin even made empty promises to me just so he could get me to give the projects I'm in charge of to Sandy Richmond, the new department manager in the company. When I refused to do so, he threatened to not give me my salary in order to get me to comply. The next day, the company is reduced to a laughing stock at the product launch event. Our client thinks the company's technological skills are too weak to back up the big talk, so they refuse to pay the remainder of the contracted sum. When Dustin begs me for help, I just look at him in amusement. "I refuse to get manipulated by anyone in this workplace. You're more than capable of dealing with your own problems. I believe in you, Mr. Kline."

The newly hired genius programmer was a proud woman who always thought she could turn the entire industry on its head. When an investor tried to pressure her into drinking, she flipped the table and slapped him across the face. "My worth is in my programming skills, not my ability to network. Asking me to drink with you is an insult." Enraged, Clint Warner immediately withdrew the eighty-million investment agreement. He even swore he would never work with us again. As the Head of Product, I scrambled to apologize. The situation was only salvaged after I drank so much that I ended up hospitalized. … Later, I complained to the boss and demanded that he discipline the new hire. To my shock, he dismissed the matter. "If the employee causes any problem, it's because the supervisor failed in their duty. The promised million-dollar dividend bonus is cancelled. Take this as your warning." Fed up, I wrote down Mary Hansen's name on the Counseling-Out List. She couldn't care less. "I have abilities you’ll never match, unlike a scheming bootlicker like you. If anyone tries to go after me, the project will be halted. Don't come crying to me when everything collapses." I did not argue with her then. However, when the Counseling-Out List was announced, I found my own name on it. The boss claimed it was a mistake to force me to leave. Then he promoted Mary to my position and even granted her the authority of a vice president. "You were only great because of the company's support. Mary's not the same. She's young and truly talented. She’ll lead us to greater heights." With a cold smirk on my face, I made my way to our competitor, taking the crucial piece of our company's technology with me.

Before the holidays, I visit an authorized car dealership to conduct an inspection. Having noticed that the flowers at the entrance aren't arranged properly, I decide to move them. Suddenly, a man clad in a suit and wears a manager's lapel tosses me a broom haughtily. "You must be the new intern, yeah? Today, the CEO will be conducting an inspection here. You'd better clean every inch of this place meticulously. Even the washrooms must be spick and span!" I don't bother moving an inch. My brows are tangled in a frown as I sink in deep thought. I never told anyone about my arrival today. How did this manager find out about my schedule, to begin with? Upon realizing that I'm not moving, the man hurls a piece of dirty rag at my face immediately. "I'll have you know that I'm your superior here! You can forget about using the Gen-Z workplace techniques on me! "If you slack off one more time, I'll fire you right away!" After graduating from college, I've just started learning the ropes in my family's company for half a year before my dad decides to assign me to a branch company. He even issues me an ultimatum. I'll only get to go home whenever I produce some actual results. Here I am, worried about how I'm going to exert my authority and prove myself to my dad, when the perfect catalyst just comes knocking on my door.

To help my husband, Ryan Whitaker, compete for the director position, I spend an entire month securing the sale of a luxury apartment worth tens of millions of dollars. On the day the contract is signed, Ryan hands the primary contract to Lucinda Brooks, a new employee who has just joined the company. When I demand an explanation, his eyes flicker with guilt. Still, he argues, "Lucinda studied abroad. She is more academically accomplished than you, and her Iridian is better. The client happens to have a foreign business partner, so it'll be smoother if she takes the lead on the signing." As he speaks, he wraps an arm around my shoulders, expecting me to compromise like I always do. But this time, I don't smile but continue to pull a long face. That very afternoon, I submit my resignation letter and hand over every core client under my management. Ryan is furious as he tears up the resignation letter and mocks me. "When I married you, I didn't even care that you only graduated from high school. Why are you picking a fight with a newcomer now?" I laugh. It's true that I don't have an impressive educational background, but he's forgotten one most crucial thing. I didn't earn my title as the company's sales champion through academic credentials.

I'm the only daughter of the Genovese family in New York. To test my husband Jayden Henderson's competence, my Dad had me stage a surprise inspection at the company he runs. The moment I walked in, some bleach-blonde in a tight dress was staring at the shredder like she'd just discovered fire. "Oh my God, this thing is so cool. Can it literally shred anything?" She said that as she grabbed a contract off someone's desk and started feeding it in. A coworker dove across three desks to stop her: "Hazel, no! That's a million-dollar account!" "Oopsie! My bad!" She giggled, then her hand holding the cup gave a little tremor, and the whole drink splashed right onto the power switch. Sparks flew. The lights died. Twenty computers crashed simultaneously. The entire office sat in stunned, furious silence. I grabbed the nearest intern and asked who hired her. He whispered back in terror: "That's Mrs. Henderson—the CEO's wife. Word is she actually owns this company." Mr. Henderson? I speed-dialed Dad right there: "Dad, forget the inspection. Get the divorce papers ready. Jayden and I have a bone to pick."

In order to secure the five-million-dollar business deal with a major client, I end up getting hospitalized from overdrinking. On the day I get discharged, I see a text message on my department's group chat. My manager, Robert Spradlin, has tagged everyone in the group chat. "Everyone must attend the celebratory afterparty tonight. We're celebrating the fact that our department has secured the biggest deal of the year!" As I stare at the screen, I feel a hint of warmth bubbling in my heart. Even though Robert is often stingy and loves putting on airs, I'm pretty sure that this is his way of acknowledging my efforts. I specifically go home and change into new clothes. Then, I arrive at the private room right on time. The moment I open the door, I feel a blast of hot air mixed with a strong smell of spice hitting my face. It's so overwhelming that I can't help but cough violently. "Sit, sit! I've specifically ordered these dishes for you!" Kristie Madison, the newly-recruited admin, gushes. But when I take a good look at the dishes, I feel my smile freeze on my face. Spice, spice, and more spice. Kristie has ordered 20 dishes, and yet I can't even stomach every single one.

My colleague Rachel Stone always loved having her delivery packages sent to my desk and signed under my name. Today, the delivery man arrived lugging an exceptionally large cardboard box. "Nicole Sullivan? Your camera. That's four thousand nine hundred. Please sign here." Someone in the office instantly blew a whistle. "Not bad, Nicole! Upgrading your gear right after receiving your bonus?" "What kind of fancy camera costs that much?" I froze for a bit, catching sight of the brand logo on the side of the package. It was a recently released full-frame camera. Suddenly, several translucent lines of text floated before my eyes. "Don't sign it!" "Whatever you do, don't touch the package!" "This is the beginning of Rachel dragging you down into the abyss!" My hand holding the pen jerked to a sudden halt. I assumed I was suffering from hallucinations caused by staying up late too often recently. Yet the lines of text sprouted up even more rapidly. "She's already requested refunds on six of the orders for phones, tablets, and headphones you signed for earlier!" "Her reasons are empty boxes, incorrect items, or damaged goods." "The delivery records list you as the person who signed for every one of them!" "A week from now, the brand representatives will come here during work hours." "Rachel will burst into tears, claiming she only asked for your help and knew nothing about any refunds." "You'll be framed as the mastermind behind the refund scam. To protect its reputation, the company will suspend you that very day." "Even though the police clear your name later, your job is gone, and the scandal spreads through a bunch of company group chats." A loud buzz resonated through my head. The delivery guy looked at me in confusion. "What's wrong?" I slowly set the pen back down. "This isn't my package."

The Fullerton family, which has dominated the business world for a century, abides by the rule that the strong prevail and the weak are eliminated. Thus, as the adopted son, I've spent 26 years clawing my way to the top. But during the succession ceremony, Dad takes Simon Fullerton, his biological son, by the hand. He declares, "Simon will become the rightful heir of the Fullerton family!" In that instant, every high-society guest in the banquet hall turns to look at me. After all, it is no secret that I gave my all to prove I could inherit the family business. I adhere to a brutal, cutthroat education regime from the very beginning. Simon gets suspended for getting into fights and acting out, while I skip grades and breeze straight through a bachelor's, master's, and doctorate at a top university. Having been given 50,000 dollars to start a business, Simon gambles his way into one million dollars of debt, while I exceed my business targets. He ends up going bankrupt and liquidating his company, while I expand mine into overseas markets, driving its market value well past ten million dollars. I believe I have earned the title of being the strongest between the two and become the one to inherit the family business. I even look at Simon—a hopeless piece of work—and shake my head. Dad, however, stands firm in picking Simon over me. I bite my tongue lightly as I look at Simon's taunting grin, the metallic taste of blood snapping me right out of it. I suddenly realize that I have spent 26 years proving myself for nothing. Dad will still choose Simon to inherit the family business, no matter how impressive my achievement is. I sneer inwardly, thinking that since they want to play dirty, they'd better not blame me for not showing them any mercy.

For three years, I used my family's mob ties and my own money to pave the way for Declan's crew. He was the boy I survived the streets with as a kid. But at this month's sit-down, his newly hired secretary, Roxy, tossed my casino ledgers and club records onto the table in front of all the guys. She accused me of skimming profits and slacking off. "These underground banks, these smuggling docks," she read the numbers out loud, her voice full of fake outrage. "Every time she bribes someone, she skims thousands of dollars! She's lining her own pockets." "I say the Boss strips her of her club manager title right now to save our cash flow." I glanced at Declan, the boss of the crew. He knew better than anyone what that missing money actually paid for. He knew how much dock security it covered. He knew how many nods of approval it bought from politicians and cops. He also knew what I was doing when I wasn't at the club. I was making deals with dangerous gun runners. I was drinking hard liquor to secure guns and ammo for his boys. But he just stared at me coldly. "Katerina, do you have anything to say about these ledgers and the proof Roxy just showed us?" I smiled. "I have nothing to explain." Very soon, all of them would find out exactly what happens when you pull a stunt like this on a Principessa's turf.

At a family dinner, Don Vincenzo’s new pet, a dancer named Ava, came for me. She puffed out her chest and slammed a ledger on the long table. “Vincenzo, I accuse her! Skimming from the family business, our club ‘The Siren’s Song.’ Betraying the family!” Every eye in the room turned on me, sharp as knives. But Vincenzo, my boss… his face went hard. I almost pitied the little dancer who’d crawled her way out of Brooklyn. The “family business” she was talking about? It was my private club. A gift from my father. I just lent it to Vincenzo when he was starting out, to give him a respectable front. I lent it to him for two years, and now it’s family property?

The company is short-staffed for one of our new projects. Despite everyone's objections, I, James Connor, fight to bring in three sidelined, former colleagues onto the project. And so, the four of us become the project's core members. The project's workload is fairly light and comes with a generous bonus. So, they praise and flatter me, calling me their lucky star. Three months later, the project is about to be submitted to the higher-ups. I happen to pass by the smoking lounge and overhear them plotting, wisps of smoke escaping from their lips. "The three of us contributed the most to this project. Why should James get an equal share of the bonus just because he recommended us for the job? He barely pulled his weight." "That's right. We should bring this up with the director. Tell him that we're the ones who laid all the groundwork and that James doesn't have the technical skills to be on this team. We'll ask to have him removed from the contributors list." "Just the thought of not having to split those hundreds of thousands of dollars with him is making me feel like I'm on cloud nine. Hey, let's go celebrate tonight!" I push the door open and am promptly greeted with their shocked faces. I merely smile at them as I think to myself, "You want to cut me out? Sadly for you, I'm the director who was sent here to evaluate all of you."

My father started out hauling cargo on the docks. By the end, he'd carved out seven city blocks, three harbor warehouses, and two casinos along the East Coast. I was six when he died. His will was a single line: “The family belongs to Luca. Let them choose who runs it.” The Family Council appointed Isabella Conti, my father's most trusted lieutenant, to run the family in my place. Isabella was good at it. She pulled the Vitale name back from the edge of ruin and made it the most respectable crime family on the East Coast. And me? I only came back to the estate for two weeks each summer, to soak up the sun, drink red wine, and do absolutely nothing. Then Isabella married an outsider named Riccardo Falco. On their wedding day, he cut off my access to the estate. “We're turning this place into a reception hall. Find yourself somewhere else to live.” After that, he set up a holding company in my name, with Isabella running it. Last night, in front of everyone, he had the nerve to say, “Luca, you're not a kid anymore. Time to learn to stand on your own two feet.” “Your distributions are over. From now on, you get three thousand dollars a month.” “Learn to manage your money. Stop wasting it.” Isabella raised her glass and nodded. “Riccardo's only looking out for you.” I looked at them and almost laughed. Three million dollars a month in payouts, slashed to three thousand? All thirty-seven of the family's businesses ultimately belonged to me.

Because I ate three of the company's apples, my boss fired me on the spot. "This company has no use for an employee like you, someone who abuses their position to help themselves to company property." For ten whole years, I stood by this studio as it grew from a tiny backroom operation into what it is today. The toughest orders, the most difficult clients, the projects that left everyone gasping for air. Nearly all of them were carried on my shoulders. And now, just three apples had become my boss's "proof" that I was "misappropriating company resources." Worse, they got me branded as a petty freeloader. I didn't argue. I took out my phone and dialed Matt Kilcher's number. "Mr. Kilcher, about that million-dollar photo shoot we finalized, there's no need to sign with this studio. Every order from here on out goes to my new team."