"I'm fine," I told Mira when she caught me staring blankly at my coffee cup at 6:00 AM. "Just tired."
She squinted at me through sleep-crusted eyes, her bonnet even more askew than usual. "You look like death."
"Thanks. Very helpful."
"I'm serious." She shuffled closer. "What happened yesterday? You texted me that you had to stay late, but you didn't say why."
"Work stuff."
"Elena."
"It's nothing." I stood up, dumping my unfinished coffee in the sink. "He was just in a mood. It happens."
Mira's expression shifted into something dangerous. "That man. I swear to God, Elena, if he's—"
"He's my boss, Mira. Bosses are demanding. That's how it works."
"There's demanding, and then there's whatever the hell he is." She crossed her arms. "You came home at almost 9:00 last night. You skipped dinner with Kevin—nice Kevin, sweet Kevin, Kevin who actually likes you—to do what? Organize files for a man who probably sells his soul to the devil for fun?"
Despite everything, a small laugh escaped me. "He's not that bad."
"You literally call him 'the devil in a three-piece suit.'"
"That was one time."
"It was last week."
I grabbed my bag, checking that I had everything. Keys, wallet, phone. "I have to go. I can't be late."
Mira caught my arm as I passed her. "Elena. Seriously. Are you okay?"
I looked at my best friend—my only real friend—and felt something crack in my chest.
"I'm fine," I said again.
And I walked out the door before she could see the lie in my eyes.
I arrived at the office at 7:15, same as always.
But nothing about today would be the same.
I knew it the moment I stepped off the elevator
I set up his coffee. Organized his schedule. Checked his emails.
And I waited.
8:00 AM.
The elevator chimed.
Damien stepped out, and I knew—I knew—something was wrong.
He looked the same. Perfect suit, perfect hair, perfect everything. But there was something in the set of his jaw, in the rigidity of his shoulders, in the way his eyes swept over me with something colder than usual.
"Good morning, Mr. Russo."
He didn't respond.
He walked past me, into his office, and slammed the doors behind him.
The sound echoed through the empty floor like a gunshot.
I sat very still, my heart pounding.
What had I done? What could I possibly have done between last night and this morning to make him—
My phone buzzed.
Kevin:Good morning, beautiful! Can't wait to see you today. Lunch?
I stared at the message, a small warmth blooming in my chest despite everything. Kevin was trying. Really trying. And maybe I needed to try too. Maybe I needed to stop comparing every man I met to an impossible standard that didn't exist.
I typed back a quick response.
Elena:Lunch sounds great. Meet me at the café downstairs at 12:30?
Kevin:It's a date!
I smiled.
And then the office doors flew open.
"Elena. My office. Now."
The smile died on my face.
I set my phone face-down on my desk and walked into the lion's den.
Damien was standing behind his desk, and the look on his face made my blood run cold.
"Close the door."
I did.
"The Hartley proposal," he said. "The one you prepared for Friday's meeting."
"Yes?"
"It's wrong."
I blinked. "I'm sorry—what's wrong with it?"
"Everything." He picked up a stack of papers from his desk and threw them. Actually threw them. Pages scattered across the floor. "The projections are inaccurate. The formatting is inconsistent. The executive summary reads like it was written by an undergraduate."
I stared at the papers on the floor, my mind racing.
"Mr. Russo, I prepared that proposal based on the data your analytics team provided. I can double-check the projections, but—"
"But nothing." He cut me off with a voice like ice. "I asked you for one thing. One simple thing. And you couldn't deliver."
Something hot sparked in my chest.
"With all due respect, Mr. Russo, I've delivered everything you've asked for. Every day, without fail. If there's an issue with the analytics data, that's not—"
"Are you blaming my team for your incompetence?"
I was incompetent?
"No," I said, and my voice was shaking now. "I'm not blaming anyone. I'm trying to explain—"
"I don't want explanations. I want results." He walked around his desk, moving toward me with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator. "Perhaps I've been too lenient with you. Perhaps I gave you too much latitude, and you've mistaken that for permission to underperform."
Too lenient?
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"I expect the proposal redone by end of day," he said. "And I expect it to be perfect. Do you understand?"
I understood.
I understood that nothing I did would ever be good enough. That he would keep moving the goalposts, keep finding faults, keep tearing me down until there was nothing left.
And I was so tired of it.
"Yes, Mr. Russo," I said, because I was a coward who needed her paycheck.
I turned to leave.
"One more thing."
I stopped.
"Your personal calls during work hours." His voice was ice. "They stop. Now. I don't pay you to arrange your social calendar on my time."
The anger that had been simmering in my chest started to boil.
"I apologize," I said tightly. "It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't."
I walked out.
I closed the door behind me with exaggerated care.
And I spent the next four hours redoing a proposal that had been perfectly fine to begin with.
12:30 came and went.
I texted Kevin that I couldn't make lunch. Work emergency. Again. His response was understanding, but I could feel the disappointment bleeding through the screen.
1:00 PM.
Damien called me into his office. The proposal wasn't good enough. The third section needed restructuring.
2:00 PM.
Not good enough. The data visualization was unclear.
3:00 PM.
Not good enough. The conclusion was weak.
4:00 PM.
Not good enough.
Not good enough.
Not good enough.
By 5:00 PM, I'd rewritten the proposal six times. My eyes burned. My head throbbed. And the anger—that hot, dangerous thing I'd been pushing down all day—was threatening to spill over.
At 5:15, Damien's office doors opened.
"Elena. The conference room. Now."
I followed him to the large conference room at the end of the hall, where three senior executives were waiting—Mr. Harrison from Finance, Ms. Okonkwo from Operations, and Mr. Chen from Legal. The company's inner circle. The people who mattered.
"Sit," Damien said.
I sat.
And then he proceeded to tear my work apart in front of all of them.
"As you can see," he said, gesturing to the proposal on the screen, "there are significant issues with the analysis presented here. The methodology is flawed. The conclusions are unsupported."
My face burned.
"Now, I'm not sure if this reflects a lack of training or a lack of capability, but either way, it's unacceptable for work of this quality to reach my desk."
Mr. Harrison looked uncomfortable. Ms. Okonkwo was studying me with something that might have been pity. Mr. Chen wouldn't meet my eyes at all.
And Damien just kept going.
"I've had concerns about attention to detail for some time now. Personal distractions taking precedence over professional obligations. A pattern of carelessness that—"
"That's not true."
The words came out before I could stop them.
Silence.
Damien's gaze snapped to me, and something dangerous flickered in those grey eyes.
"Excuse me?"
I should have stopped. I should have apologized, backed down, saved myself.
But I was so tired. So goddamn tired of being small.
"I said that's not true." I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. "I have given this job everything. EVERYTHING.I come in early. I stay late. I've cancelled plans, skipped meals, sacrificed sleep—all to meet your standards. And you stand there and call me careless? You call me distracted?"
"Elena." His voice was a warning.
I didn't hear it.
"I have worked harder for you than anyone else on this floor. I've lasted longer than any assistant you've ever had, and maybe—just maybe—that's not because I'm incompetent. Maybe it's because I'm the only one willing to put up with—"
"With what?" He stepped toward me, and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. "Finish that sentence."
The executives were frozen. I was frozen. The whole world was frozen.
But my mouth kept moving.
"With you!!," I said. "With your impossible standards and your constant criticism and your complete inability to treat people like human beings instead of machines that exist to serve you."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Damien stared at me, and for one moment—one brief, flickering moment—I saw something in his eyes that looked almost like shock.
Then it was gone.
"You're fired."
The words landed like stones.
"Clear out your desk. Security will escort you out." He turned to the executives, who looked like they wanted to dissolve into the floor. "My apologies for the disruption. We'll reschedule."
He walked out of the conference room without looking back.
And I stood there, surrounded by strangers, as my entire world crumbled around me.
I don't remember packing my things.
I don't remember the security guard walking me to the elevator—a young guy, probably new, who kept apologizing under his breath like he was personally responsible.
I don't remember the ride down, or walking through the lobby, or pushing through the glass doors onto the street.
But I remember the moment the fresh air hit my face.
And I remember thinking: I will not cry. I will not give him the satisfaction of crying.
I walked three blocks before my legs gave out. Found a bench in a small park I'd never noticed before, tucked between two buildings like a secret.
I sat down.
And I still didn't cry.
Not yet.
I stared at my hands—hands that had typed a thousand emails, organized a thousand files, made a thousand cups of coffee for a man who saw me as nothing more than a replaceable cog in his machine.
You're fired.
Just like that. Six weeks of my life, gone. Six weeks of proving myself, of being perfect, of swallowing my pride and my anger and my self—and for what?
My phone buzzed.
Kevin:Hey, is everything okay? You seemed stressed earlier. Want me to bring you dinner after work?
I stared at the message until the screen blurred.
Then I turned off my phone and sat there until the sun went down.