Mistress Workplace 단편 소설 & 소설

Phoebe Marsh had carelessly submitted the wrong quotation, causing the company to suffer a massive loss and leaving us facing enormous compensation claims. To win the contract back, I attended what was basically a trap disguised as a dinner to apologize on the company's behalf. I was forced to drink until my stomach bled, enduring humiliation after humiliation just to smooth everything over. After the matter was settled, Phoebe comforted me and promised that one day, she would give me a grand wedding. But the day before our wedding, she showed up in a wedding gown and threw herself into Julian Stratford's arms instead. When I demanded an explanation, she brushed it off casually. "You were just some nobody who clawed his way out of a backwater village. What made you think I'd actually choose you? Besides, Julian is the general manager's son. The difference between you two is night and day. But if you really can't let me go, I guess I wouldn't mind keeping you around." Phoebe actually wanted me to be her lover. That slap ended everything between us. I turned around and agreed to marry the Grey family's heiress—my childhood sweetheart. What I never expected was that our weddings would be held on the same day, in the same hotel. As I stepped through the hotel entrance, Phoebe arrived with a crowd of our former coworkers and blocked my path. "Cassian Frost, you actually came to crash my wedding? Let me make this clear—I won't let anyone ruin my perfect wedding with Julian. Since you insist on embarrassing yourself, you'd better apologize to Julian and beg for his forgiveness." The crowd immediately burst into jeers and cheers. Phoebe kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to the ground. She even stripped off my clothes to humiliate me in public. Only when Evelyne Grey arrived did Phoebe instantly switch to a flattering smile. "Ms. Grey, my ex-boyfriend completely lost his mind. He actually claimed to be your husband. But don't worry, I already dealt with him. About that Upper Hollow contract… Do you think we can sign it now?"

Before the contract was even signed, the client's representative casually said he was craving pancakes with maple syrup. I didn't hesitate. I texted my fiancé, Nigel Cross, and asked him to stand in line and grab some. He came back with the box, all proud of himself. The client took one bite, and within seconds, his face went red. Hives bloomed across his neck. He shot to his feet, furious, and called the whole deal off on the spot. Then he turned around and handed the million-dollar order to Olivia Field, the intern who had rushed to grab him allergy meds. Three months of grinding work were gone just like that. I stood there, my throat tight, trying not to fall apart. Nigel squeezed my shoulder, his voice soft as he said, "It was just bad luck. Don't beat yourself up." I nodded weakly, drained of energy. But the second I stepped away, I heard him laughing in the break room with his friend. "That guy's seriously allergic to mango. Good thing I added mango syrup to the pancakes. Olivia's about to score a huge year-end bonus. Enough for a down payment on her new apartment." His friend hesitated. "Melissa hasn't slept in a month over that deal. She was working while she was sick. She needed that money for her mom's surgery—" Nigel waved him off, already annoyed. "She has me. Isn't that enough? Olivia earned this." My hands curled into fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. Bad luck? Yeah, right. Nigel had planned every second of it. And now, he thought he could smooth it over by marrying me someday, toss me a few cheap words, and I would just swallow it. I was done with that disgusting man.

Derek Bouchard and I kept our relationship secret for eight years. Over the long holiday weekend, I finally persuaded him to take me to a concert. When the arena's kiss cam randomly picked us out of the crowd, I turned to him with a delighted smile. He immediately whipped his head away, dodging the camera. My smile froze. That night, the clip went viral. Everyone was speculating that I was his kept mistress. One of the most-liked comments read: "I know them. He's her boss. They've been dating secretly for years. Poor thing, she's the one doing all the dirty work, staying at the office until the early hours. After eight years, she's still just a team lead. "They even shipped her off to some remote overseas office for three years. Said it was to avoid favoritism, but really his first love had come back and he wanted her out of the way." I stopped breathing. I couldn't believe my eyes. My fingers trembled as I scrolled. "Then why didn't he date his first love?" someone asked. "She's against marriage. He wants a family and an heir." Another commenter added, "It gets worse. He rejected countless proposals she worked on, then passed them all to his first love. That woman built a glittering career at another company using her work." A chill ran through me. So that was why Derek kept assigning me inexplicable tasks. Why even the proposals I'd revised to perfection were rejected. I'd been building someone else's career all along. I scrolled again, but the entire video had vanished. I knew whose doing that was. I drew a long breath and called Derek. "Aren't you going to explain any of this?"

After I help my boyfriend register his company and successfully land his first deal, he finally decides to make our relationship public. But his junior from college, who's always had this weird hostility toward me for no reason, beats me to it by sliding into the seat next to him. She leans against my boyfriend's chest, her voice smug and satisfied. "Didn't you say you'd wait until the company officially launched? So why the rush now?" My boyfriend says nothing. Instead, he hands her a share certificate and announces to the entire room that she's the company's largest shareholder. The room explodes. Everyone starts whistling and cheering them on. The junior takes the opportunity to kick me while I'm down, throwing insults my way. My boyfriend doesn't just fail to stop her. He actually joins in with his own snide remarks. "Sure, you helped me set up the company and brought in our first client, but she's the one who can actually take us somewhere." I don't get angry. I graciously acknowledge the junior's new position. I want to see how far they would get without me, their biggest asset and most valuable connection.

The year Lindsay Iverson is outed as a fake heiress, I grant her three wishes that she can use anytime—just so she feels safe. I promise to grant her any request she makes. In the seven years we spend together, she never uses a single one—until a cheerful intern called Elijah Zimmerman comes into her life. She uses her first wish to demand all of the profit from one of my business projects. It is meant to be a gift for him, celebrating his promotion to a permanent position. The second wish is used to get the keys to the home I personally designed for our future together. Instead, she hands them to him. At our engagement party, she uses up her last wish. "I'll marry you, but I want Elijah's name on the marriage certificate," she says. I clutch my wine glass, smiling with my eyes rimmed red. "I'm the CEO of Ashwood Group, but what am I to you?" "I love you, but I'm pregnant with Elijah's baby, so I want both of you to be my husbands," she replies, sounding cold yet resigned. "Stop making a big deal out of this. It's just a piece of paper, after all." She assumes my love for her has no limits, and that I will tolerate anything she does. This time, however, I am tired of it.

To avoid being the topic of gossip, I could only use disposable items every time I went to my girlfriend, Erica Livingston's, house. She made me use disposable slippers in her house, and disposable utensils when we had our meals. Even when I stayed the night, she prepared disposable sheets for me. "If someone saw any of your things at my house, I wouldn't know how to explain it," she would tell me every time. "I'll get you everything you deserve once we go public." I waited three years for that to happen, and I had to enter her house every time as if I was a guest. This continued until one day, when she held a birthday party for her assistant, Ryan Strobe, at her house. When I opened the door, I saw Ryan taking out their matching house slippers from the shoe cabinet in her house. Erica's best friends arrived next and wore all of the other disposable house slippers available at her house. I was left standing by myself at the door. "You can come in barefoot. It's not cold in the summer," Erica said to me without looking up. It felt like she was calling out to a stranger to enter her house. I stared at the table, full of food, from afar, with utensils printed with Ryan's favorite anime character. In the far corner was a pair of cheap, disposable utensils that belonged to me, and I suddenly felt like everything I had with her was disposable as well. It was time that this love that was buried deep in secret should also be disposable to me, and I should throw it away now that I was done with it.

My father suffered a heart attack and collapsed. Emergency treatment required the installation of a cardiac stent. I asked my husband to approve an expense of 10 thousand dollars for the surgery. Cameron Lister, the CEO, refused coldly, "The company and family accounts have been frozen recently because of a major project. Your father has medical insurance, so just use a cost-effective domestic stent for now." He was the sole administrator of all the bank cards in my family. His reply made me sorrowfully realize something. Even though I was a genius architectural designer with an annual income of 600 thousand dollars, I was still not worthy of choosing a better life-saving device for my own father. It was a Twitter post forwarded by a colleague, freshly and gleefully posted by the company intern Wendy. [Cameron is so nice. I just said I liked painting, and he gave me a million dollars to organize an art exhibition. I love him so much!] I looked at my father lying on an extra bed in the hospital corridor, groaning in pain, and then looked at the photo of them sweetly embracing each other. I finally understood that Cameron had perhaps never truly loved me. He had only treated me as a stepping stone for his soaring career, and as a tool for him to exploit without limits. 'If this is what you want, Cameron, then don't blame me for being ruthless,' I said inwardly.

When my CEO wife, Nina Wynn, learned I voluntarily handed a multimillion-dollar project to her favorite assistant, Zach Channing, she thought her three-month cold treatment finally worked. Beaming, she suddenly suggested we fly to Ivesland for our long-delayed honeymoon. When Zach found out, he became jealous and threatened to quit. Panicked, she spent three days and nights comforting him, then canceled our honeymoon again with the excuse of a business trip, giving him my ticket instead. Later, she casually explained to me, "Romance is trivial. Work comes first. As the boss, I have to prioritize. You’re my husband; you should understand." I looked at Zach’s latest social post, which was a photo of the two of them leaning intimately with their hands forming a heart, and said nothing. I only nod. Thinking I’d become more thoughtful and obedient, she was pleased. She even promised to make it up to me with a more romantic honeymoon when they got back home. However, unbeknownst to her, I’d already resigned. The divorce papers were already signed, and there was no future for us ever again.

On the day my uncle, Steve Chapman, showed signs of heart failure, my mother, Irina Cress, drugged my father, Sean Chapman, and placed him on the surgery table. His heart was taken by force and transplanted into Steve, which extended Steve’s life for an additional 10 years. I left home after that incident and studied hard. I eventually earned admission to a medical research university because I ranked first in my class. After 10 years, I developed an artificial heart and became a sought‑after expert in the medical field. Many people came to me and hoped to be placed on the list for an artificial heart. My assistant, Lewis Henderson, handed me the latest list of applicants. Steve’s name appeared at the top. I raised my pen and drew a line across his name. “This person is not approved. Put him on the blacklist.”

At our company's annual team-building event, my team lost a game, and the group made my girlfriend pick someone to play a card-passing game with. It was the kind where you pass a piece of paper from mouth to mouth without using your hands. I stood up, trying not to look too eager. I thought this was finally my chance to make our secret relationship public. Instead, my girlfriend picked the new hire before I could even step forward. A gust of wind knocked the paper loose, and their lips met right there in front of everyone. The room erupted. "Look at Ms. Chase go. Ms. Untouchable really does have a thing for pretty young things." "I'll take a bite of that free relationship content, thank you very much." I sat there stunned until a coworker pushed a drink into my hand. "What are you spacing out for? Go toast Ms. Chase and her new boy toy." I stared at my girlfriend, unable to believe what I'd just seen. She turned away to shield her new hire from another round of shots, ignoring me completely again. With tears in my eyes, I downed the drink in one go. Then I accepted a job offer from our biggest competitor.

I worked tirelessly to secure a major project with the design institute, but my husband fabricated lies out of nowhere, claiming I was dragging the company down. He handed the credit for my work to his first love. Instead of getting angry, I laughed and gave my position as the company's Design Director to his precious first love too. "Working on projects all the time is exhausting. Why don't I just make you the company's Design Director instead?" Every single colleague thought I'd lost my mind, but nobody knew the project could only succeed because of my unique design style and my connections. Without me, the project would not just fail. The entire company would collapse.

My five years of marriage to Elliot Kline turned out to be a cruel joke. "For tomorrow's monthly report meeting, I'd like Yvette to present your branding plan," Elliot said, not looking up from his desk. I put down the files I was organizing, certain I had misheard. "What?" "Yvette just joined the company. She needs a chance to prove herself. Your plan is perfect for that." He lifted his head, his tone brooking no argument. "But that's my entry for the Veriania Creative Competition," I protested. "You win awards every year. What's the harm in letting her have it this time?" He shrugged, adding, "We need to nurture new talent." I stared at the man with whom I had shared a bed for five years. His face suddenly felt so unfamiliar to me. "Do you know how many sleepless nights I poured into that plan? And you're giving it to a new intern?" "Don't be so petty. It's just a plan. My decision is made." My fists clenched, anger surging through me.

As I head to see my boyfriend, Howard Schultz, who is working late, I get into a car accident. I call him dozens of times for help, but he doesn't answer a single one. Staring at his brightly lit office building not far away, I sink into despair. When I wake up in the hospital, I see a post from his subordinate. It's a picture showing the reflection of the two of them in the glass door, standing far closer than they should, with the caption, "What do I do when my boss is scolding me late at night?" Unwilling to believe it, I call him again. This time, he finally answers. My voice trembles. "Howard, I got into a car accident…" "Celine, I'm still working. I'll send my assistant to take care of it, okay? Be good. I'll see you after I come back from my business trip." I try to say more, but his angry shout suddenly cuts through the line. "Crystal Jennings! You're only allowed to bring one suitcase for this trip. Why do you have three? Do you think we're going on vacation?" Crystal Jennings—the new intern Howard just hired. I stare at the disconnected call, tears drying on my cheeks. I then call my parents instead. "I agree to the engagement you arranged."

Unable to take it anymore, I upload a photo of my husband, Johann Garner, holding hands with his secretary, Eva Ford, to the company's group chat. A long while later, Johann finally replies, "It's just something we do when we're working together. Those who are vile in nature will always view things differently from others." Messages from his colleagues begin flooding the group chat immediately. They all discuss whether or not I'm delusional. But I'm the only one who knows just how skilled Johann is at manipulating others as an expert manipulator. After muting the group chat, I look down at the ring Johann has slipped onto my finger when he first proposed to me. When exactly can I escape from the prison he has built around me?

Mallory Spencer despises disorder and unnecessary trouble above all else. To eradicate such issues from her life, she sticks to a rigidly predetermined schedule. Gifts are purchased in bulk and sent out on the day of the recipient's birthday. Our date spots are always the same. If I want to pick a new restaurant, I have to submit a written request a month in advance. Even our intimate moments are governed by an alarm. "Living a stress-free life matters more than anything else. Let's not cause any trouble for the other," she says. We've been together for seven years now. All along, I've assumed she maintains the same attitude with everyone else. Then one day, we attend a gathering together. When the waiter serves us a plate of pomegranates, she takes one and carefully extracts the pomegranate seeds into a bowl, separating out the pith. Sitting beside her, I reach out for the bowl. She pauses, glances at me, and proceeds to set the bowl down in front of Hank Coleman, the man who used to be my biggest bully. During our days in high school, he used to tear up my books, pour glue on my chair, and lock me in the restroom after school. Even Mallory had once chewed him out for his behavior, saying he'd pay for it. But now, as she sits beside me, she hands him the bowl of pomegranate seeds she has prepared and says, "Dig in." I pull my hand back, feeling uninclined to stick around any longer. I also lose all desire to hold onto her.

At the company's eighth-anniversary livestream, the host asked Derrick, "Mr. Waterson, you started in a tiny 12-square-meter shop and built all this. Who deserves the most credit?" At that time, he took my hand in front of hundreds of thousands of viewers and said, "My wife, of course. I wouldn't be where I am today without Lydia." The comments flooded with praise for our perfect marriage. However, he pinned a "Co-Founder" badge onto Natasha's chest himself while mine was just a "Mr. Waterson's Wife" badge. In my previous life, I had confronted him right after the livestream. "She has shares. What about me?" Derrick pushed a 5-million-dollar guarantee agreement toward me while saying, "Natasha is an outsider. Why would she work hard for me if I don't give her any shares? On the other hand, you're my wife. Are you really going to keep score with me?" … That night, I signed it. Six months later, the company went bust. Natasha took her 35% shares and the key clients to a new company, while Derrick moved every asset he could. By the time 12 creditors showed up at my door, I finally saw the shareholder register. Derrick: 65% shares. Natasha: 35% shares. Lydia: 0% shares. All I had was the title of legal representative and five million in personal debt. … When I opened my eyes again, the livestream camera was pointed straight at me. Derrick smiled and handed me the microphone. "Darling, say a few words." I took it and pointed at the badge on Natasha's chest. "Mr. Waterson, you just said there would be no success without me. In that case, would you care to tell everyone exactly how many shares I own?"

On my wedding day, the car drops me off at the banquet hall's back service entrance. I'm the groom, yet they send me through the trash passage. Sabina York opens my door and orders me around like she always does. "You'll go in through the back, and I'll take Caleb through the front. We can't let our coworkers see us together." Before I can even respond, she drives away with Caleb Yeoman. I'm left standing alone in the filthy water. It's the 99th time she abandons me to keep people from talking. For eight years, we've kept our relationship under wraps. She says dating a coworker will hurt my reputation, so she uses her best friend Caleb as a cover for us at every turn. During company trips, Caleb gets the passenger seat beside her. Instead, I spend ten hours on a bus just to catch up with them on the way home. When our project succeeds, she promotes Caleb, who is my teammate. She then makes me, the most senior person on the team, report to him. Even our wedding invitation has Caleb's name on it. After eight years together, I still have no place in her life that she's willing to acknowledge. I keep telling myself she does all of this for my sake. I race through the trash passage, covered in filth, and make it inside with five minutes to spare. But Sabina is already walking down the aisle with Caleb, taking the place that should be mine. They exchange their vows at the same time, and the room erupts in cheers. "My favorite couple is finally married!" In that very moment, everything becomes clear. After eight years, I finally realize I'm the only person she ever wants to keep her distance from. So I give her exactly what she wants and remove myself from this blatant display of favoritism for good. The music starts up again, and the officiant announces the ring exchange. Sabina spots me and awkwardly turns toward me, holding out the ring. I just smile and pull my hand away when she secretly reaches for it. "You don't have to hide anymore. Go ahead and get married."

The annual company party featured a couples' trivia contest. The grand prize was a weekend spa getaway for two. Michael looked at me but he turned and grabbed my best friend Gina’s hand. "Gina and I have better chemistry," he said. "We have a better shot at winning." The host asked the final question, "What is your partner’s biggest fear?" Michael didn’t hesitate. "The dark. She’s been terrified of the dark since childhood." He was answering for Gina. My biggest fear was heights. He had never once gotten it right. They won. The host teased, "With chemistry like that, are you sure you two aren't a couple?" Gina laughed and leaned playfully against his shoulder. "Oh, stop. We just wanted the prize." Michael didn't pull away. After the party, he handed the voucher to me. "Let’s go together." Before I could even answer, he added, "We should bring Gina, too. Her skin is sensitive. She can test the spa waters for us first." It was always like this. Every vacation, she stayed in the room first. Every restaurant, she tried the food first. Every new place we went, she had to experience it first. And with every "test," their connection only grew deeper. I slipped the voucher back into his hand. "You two go," I said. "No need to test it for me anymore.”

The first thing I do after getting off the plane is to text my wife, Ella Spencer, that I'm safe and sound. Since I'm too eager to send the text, I end up sending the text to my work group chat. Before I can delete the message, the new HR employee, Dexter Brooks, suddenly calls me on the phone. "You're fired." I question him immediately, "All I did was text the wrong group chat! How does that warrant a dismissal?" Dexter shouts at me immediately, "How dare you send such lovey-dovey messages on the company's group chat! I will not tolerate this behavior in my company!" His statement catches me off guard. "Your company?" Dexter's arrogance kicks up a few notches. "What, are you saying that this is your company? Ms. Spencer is my wife! Her company is naturally mine!" After a moment's silence, I send another text to the work group chat. "Ella Spencer, you must be feeling quite smug now, huh? Not only did you claim that the company is yours, but you also switched your own husband out for someone else."

My husband pretended to lose his memory in a car accident just to fulfill his young girlfriend's wish to become vice president—and to strip me of my position. As I passed by, I accidentally overheard her whisper to him, "Since you agreed to let me borrow the title for seven days, can I borrow you for seven days too?" He smiled and leaned down to kiss her lips. "Of course. Use me however you like." I stopped in my tracks but did not expose his lie. The next day, at the conference table, he slammed his hand down and declared that his girlfriend was his real wife. He ordered me to get out of the company and hand over all my projects. Every employee turned to look at me, waiting for me to put a stop to his outrageous performance.