Secretary Feel-Good Story 단편 소설 & 소설

I accidentally used the shared bank card linked to my husband, Ryan Newman. Before I could even leave the store, two officers pinned me to the ground and accused me of embezzling company funds. Right then, Ryan’s new secretary, Georgia Hawkins, called me. "Mrs. Newman, I was the one who reported you! Do you have any idea how hard Mr. Newman works for his money? "He works himself to the bone every day. You can’t keep spending so recklessly anymore! Starting today, I’ll be managing all your expenses. Every purchase needs my approval first! "Oh, and your monthly spending limit is now $500. You already spent $499 today, so don’t even think about spending another cent this month." Listening to her smug little lecture, I laughed. Georgia had only been at the company for a month. Just because Ryan treated her politely at work, she’d started acting like she ran his entire life. Little did she know, the company belonged to me. Every dollar in Ryan's bank account came from me, including her paycheck. As for the Mr. Newman she worshiped so much? He was just the man who married into my family. So what gave her the right to manage my money?

At yet another family gathering, Kirsten Weber's male assistant, Jordan Steele, is sitting in the seat that should be mine. I ask Kirsten, "He's sitting in the host's seat. Don't you have anything to say about that?" Kirsten shoots back impatiently, "Since you showed up late, don't blame someone else for taking your seat. There's an empty seat next to it. You can take it if you want. If you don't want it, then get out." I am about to speak when her inner thoughts suddenly flood into my mind. She is saying inwardly, "Honey, get angry already. Tell me you need me. Tell me you have to sit beside me. Prove that you love me. That's the only way I'll feel secure." This time, I do not give Kirsten what her heart desires. Instead, I lower my head and slowly remove my wedding ring. Calmly, I say, "Since you won't even save the seat for the man of the house, I suppose you don't need me anymore. Let's get a divorce, Kirsten."

Brad Harrington's executive assistant was having another depressive episode. He pulled out the divorce papers. "It's just paperwork," he said. "Once she's stable, we'll remarry immediately." I picked up the documents, skimmed a few pages, then looked up at him. "I'm walking away with nothing?" His face twisted with impatience. "It's a fake divorce. Are you really going to nickel-and-dime this?" I just smiled and said nothing. Quietly, I signed my name. What he didn't know — I had been waiting for this day for a very long time.

Seven years into my marriage, my wife’s assistant Jonah Johnson showed off a multi-million dollar racecar on his social media. The caption was, “I love my job, but I love my boss even more!” As soon as I liked his post, I was blocked from it. My wife immediately called to yell at me. “Jonah just signed a huge contract, so I gave him a little reward. Did you have to scold him on social media over something like that? Don’t push your limits just because I’m kind to you!” I heard Jonah blaming himself and my wife Nia comforting him on the other side of the phone. Before I could say anything else, she hung up on me and blocked my number. The next instant, Jonah posted a screenshot of a million-dollar transfer. I knew that was Nia’s way of consoling and compensating him. This time, however, I did not care anymore.

The entire company was on a team-building trip when a storm decided to crash our party and wash us ashore on an abandoned island. I was a survival expert, but everyone insulted me and left me behind. My boyfriend's secretary, a self-proclaimed Elf Queen who had the power to commune with nature, held my hand and asked me to stay. Her eyes were red rimmed as she begged, "You barely have the skills to survive in the wild, Ms. Titania. Going alone is risky. I can't let that happen. Your safety's on the line here." I sneered and refused her invitation. Everyone called me an ungrateful bitch, but that didn't sway me at all. I walked right into the tropical forest, where pests and venomous creatures alike had set up homes. In my previous life, my colleagues blamed me for getting stranded on a deserted island. They blamed me because they thought I wanted some spice on our trip. I understood where they were coming from. It was only natural to be scared out of their damned minds now that they were stranded, so I didn't argue. I wanted to do my best and find enough food for us to live until rescue came. However, my boyfriend's secretary would announce the location before I could inform them of the food source I'd found, and her method was identical to the ideas that could only be found in my head. Then, she told everyone she was actually an Elf Queen who could communicate with nature, and it was all thanks to the critters and plants that she managed to find sustenance so quickly. I didn't buy that crap even for a second, so I picked up the pace and tried to get the food as fast as I could. Alas, that secretary would steal my credit every single time. My apparent redundancy and repeated questioning of the Elf Queen lit something underneath my colleagues, and they burned me with their fury. All of them pushed me to hell. Just as the last of my breath left my lungs, my eyes snapped open once more. I was back to the moment that the secretary proclaimed herself as the Elf Queen.

My husband, Keaton Smyth, CEO of Orion Corp, ran the company under strict rules. I brought in a $10 million investment. But I clocked in one second late, so bye-bye VP promotion. I got accused of disrespecting company policy, demoted, and slapped with a pay cut. Then there was Evie Larsen, his shiny new assistant. She ditched work on the day of a huge contract signing and trashed Orion's only shot with a public company. Keaton's response? No punishment. No write-up. He called it "personality," promoted her right there, gave her a raise, and tossed her a river-view apartment as company housing. Evie still wanted more. She pushed to take over Orion's core project, all so she could "prove herself." I shut her down. That same day, she marched into Keaton's office and accused me of power-tripping, insulting her, and refusing to train her. I thought Keaton would see through it. The next morning, my name was gone from the project team. My file access was revoked, too. "Since you're too senior to mentor new hires, you're starting over. Entry-level sales rep. Same level as them." Everyone waited for me to snap. I just smiled and handed over the flash drive with the project data. Keaton nodded, pleased. "Don't let it happen again." What he didn't know? That data wasn't complete. The second they uploaded it, the errors would tank the project—and trigger a breach-of-contract penalty big enough to bury them.

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my wife's secretary, Ryan, posted a photo on social media. I took off my wedding ring and asked for a divorce. Madison looked stunned. "You're divorcing me over a picture of me with a cat? What kind of childish stunt is this?" She was severely allergic to cat fur. For her, I gave away the cat I'd loved for seven years. In ten years of marriage, I'd never even thought about getting another pet. Yet she let Ryan keep a ragdoll cat in the office. Cat fur was everywhere, but she'd just smile, pop an allergy pill, and say the cat helped her relax. There were more photos of that cat on her phone than pictures of our family. When Madison realized I was serious, she snapped. She pointed at our five-year-old daughter, sitting in Ryan's arms. "If you divorce me, you'll never get custody of Bella. And don't expect her to take care of you when you're old!" I looked at Bella calmly. She glared back, her little hand gripping Ryan's shirt. I smiled. I didn't want my cheating wife anymore. Why would I want an ungrateful brat too?

I was the only daughter of the Sheffield family, and I had three older brothers. Life was going well until a memo app appeared on my phone. [June 15th: My eldest brother, Ian Sheffield, signed a bet agreement with his female secretary, and Sheffield Group's market value plummeted by 80 billion dollars.] [September 3rd: My second brother, Hayes Sheffield, was tricked by his dream girl and left the shareholders' meeting with nothing to his name.] [December 1st: My third brother, Liam Sheffield, gave up his inheritance rights for his dream girl, and the Sheffield family was completely ruined.] Just like that, I, Trina Sheffield, lost all three of my guaranteed providers? From that day on, I began the 'Save My Providers' plan. I swiped Ian's black card for 30 million dollars a day, causing him to become busy handling returns and customer complaints all day. I flew Hayes' private jet to Prosia and casually dismantled the entire interior, saying I was going to redo it. He was so mad that he kept me under surveillance through an eight-hour international video call. I turned Liam's temperature-controlled wine cellar into a karaoke room and sang all night, even using all eight million dollars' worth of wine for foot baths. Dark eye circles constantly plagued my three brothers from all this fuss; they did not even have time to look at their phones. As long as I was around, they could only revolve around me. This went on until a female secretary, Erin Langley, suddenly appeared in Ian's office. She glanced at me, her tone gentle but her eyes icy. "Little girl, the CEO's office isn't a playground. You can get lost and go play now." The corridor fell silent. My most fiercely protective brother, Ian, was about to push open the door and walk in.

On the day of mafia families' annual gathering, my mother and I sat in the back of a Lincoln, heading toward the Falcone estate. I was adjusting my dress when my phone buzzed with a video from my fiancé's secretary. The footage showed a middle-aged woman being dragged by her hair across a marble floor. Her cheek was already swelling, red and angry. The secretary's sharp voice cut through the audio as she delivered slap after slap. "Gianna, you pathetic gold-digger! Did you really think you could fool Don Falcone into marrying you, and then let your thieving mother wander into the estate to lift his mother's jewelry? Please." Another slap. The woman's head snapped to the side. "I'm doing Don Falcone a favor by handling this trash." I lowered the phone. My mother sat beside me, checking her watch with a slight frown. When she felt my gaze, she looked up and smiled, then reached over to fold my hand between both of hers. "The Falcone family is struggling with the new casino licensing, but we can help them with that since Don Falcone is your fiancé," she said lightly, "He is a striking man, sweetheart. Once the alliance is sealed, your father and I can help straighten things out." I frowned and replayed the video. Long dark hair pulled back loosely. Warm brown eyes filled with pain. A small scar on her left eyebrow. Oh God. The injured woman was none other than Anthony's mother! I called the secretary immediately. "Lilian, you idiot. That's Anthony's mother!" She let out a vicious laugh. "Please, I know exactly who you are, Gianna. A nobody his father pushed onto him. Don Falcone doesn't give a damn about you, so why would he care about your family?"

My fiancé, Alpha Caleb, had an Omega secretary. One day, she took the Thorne pack's black card on a massive shopping spree in the luxury district. She even mocked me in a high-end salon. She called me a useless Rogue with no background—just a leech clinging to the Alpha. I snapped and cut off her access. She tried to pay. The card declined. She became the laughingstock of the pack. The Enforcers even detained her in the holding cells for a whole day and night. Caleb found out. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. His hot Alpha breath hit my neck. He bit my earlobe gently. "Aurelia, stop acting like a jealous little she-wolf. You have no manners. You embarrassed her in front of the whole pack." He didn't scold me. He acted normally. Until our anniversary night. He booked the Cloud Room, the most exclusive restaurant downtown. He ordered dozens of vintage wines and expensive caviar, promising a celebration with the core pack members. "Honey, I need to take a call. I will be right back." I waited and waited. The restaurant was about to close. No sign of him. No sign of his so-called friends. I pulled out his supplementary card to pay the bill. The manager looked at me coldly. "Miss, your card is frozen."

When I found Silas Pembroke, he was carefully untangling a strand of another woman’s hair from his tie clip. The two of them were wrapped around each other, far too close to pretend otherwise. He let out a mocking laugh. “Jenna, what exactly are you going to accuse Sienna and me of this time?” Sienna Vale smiled sweetly. “Mrs. Pembroke, you stayed away longer than usual this time.” I steadied myself and said, “I’m not Jenna. I’m her twin sister, Summer Sinclair.” Silas burst out laughing. “What is this, your latest stunt?” Then his expression hardened. “Keep pushing me, and I can’t promise you’ll stay Mrs. Pembroke forever.” I only looked at him and said quietly, “Silas, my sister left three keepsakes behind for you.”

I am delivering documents to my fiance, Caleb Greene, when I see his personal assistant, Yelena Langdon, sit in his lap. "Mr. Greene, the seatbelt's broken and dug into my chest so hard that it really hurts now. Could you help me take a look?" Caleb, who claims to have a phobia of women, lets out a low chuckle and strokes her waist. "Is that so? Then I should take a closer look to see where you're hurt." The two get tangled together right there in the car, so engrossed in each other that they fail to notice me standing outside even after five minutes have passed. I knock on the car window. After Caleb rolls down the window, his face twists into an expression of shock. "Becca! What are you doing here? I can explain! We were trying out the car earlier when the seatbelt suddenly got jammed—" "There's no need to explain anything. The car suspension is indeed not bad." Tossing the documents right in his face, I then throw the car key into a nearby storm drain. "You can have the car. Don't forget to clean it after you're done having your filthy fun." With that, I turn my back to him and dial my mother's number. "Mom, I agree to meet with the marriage alliance partner you told me about last time. The sooner the better."

At the party celebrating the multimillion-dollar deal I've landed, my husband, Nick Ferguson, is about to announce my promotion and raise, but Ruby Holm, his secretary, deliberately interrupts him by feeding him her drink. My germaphobic husband doesn't even flinch. Without thinking, he puts the straw she has just used into his mouth. The employees immediately start teasing them, asking when they're getting married. Instead of denying it, Nick promotes Ruby to department manager. A coworker nudges my elbow. "Chloe, you've been with Mr. Ferguson for ten years. You're really not going to say anything?" I let out a cold laugh and toss my equity transfer agreement to Ruby. "Mr. Ferguson, don't be so stingy. A promotion isn't enough. Take these shares too. Consider them my wedding gift to the two of you!"

Right before Memorial Day weekend, I finally land a rush order from an overseas client, but they insist on delivery on the first day after the holiday. The factory has been sitting idle for two weeks, and the profit from this single order is enough to keep the entire company running for the next six months. I immediately post a notice in the company group chat. "Anyone willing to work over the holiday weekend gets paid five times their base rate, but it's completely voluntary." Nobody takes the offer. Instead, the new intern, Howard Chase, screenshots my message and posts it online. "Heartless boss treats us like machines and forces us to give up Memorial Day weekend." To make matters worse, a few veteran workers chime in with skepticism. "I've never seen anyone actually get paid five times the base rate. I'll believe it when I see it." That very night, the post goes viral, and the onslaught of online criticism forces me to turn off my phone. What's even more absurd is that Howard secretly creates another group chat to rally the workers and pressure me into increasing the pay even more. The next day, I hold a meeting and lay out the cost sheet right in front of everyone. "Paying you five times your base rate already eats up 80% of the profit from this order. The rest has to cover our rent for the second half of the year. I'm not keeping a single dime for myself." I figure laying all my cards on the table like this will make them understand. But Howard immediately goes back to the group chat and stirs everyone up. "Don't back down, everyone! He can definitely pay more. Hold the line until he gives us ten times the base rate!" That's when I lose faith in them completely. I spend the whole night thinking it over, and by morning I know exactly what to do. At the meeting the next day, I announce with a smile, "Management accepts everyone's criticism and will make major changes. Everyone gets the entire Memorial Day weekend off. Not a single day of overtime." Everyone freezes. Someone quietly asks what I am going to do about the order. "I outsourced it. At five times the normal rate, plenty of people are happy to jump at the chance," I reply. By that afternoon, the outsourcing contract is signed, and the client has signed off on the arrangement. Once that sinks in, every single worker starts to panic.