Chapter 3

I finally looked up at him.

He was leaning against my cubicle partition, arms crossed, eyes smug, sporting a greasy smirk.

His face was begging for a reality check.

"Harvey." I stood up, pushing my chair back into place. "Believe me or not, with one phone call, you could know my family's exact net worth in ten minutes."

He rolled his eyes. "Right, right, you're so powerful, whatever."

He turned and strutted off, acting like he was too grand to waste his breath on me.

I didn't make the call.

Not because I couldn't, but because it wasn't time.

Real revenge isn't about bragging about how rich you are; it's about making him pay dearly for that filthy mouth of his.

At ten, Faye called me into her office.

"Serena, there are rumors going around. I assume you've heard?"

I nodded.

"What's your take on this?" Faye leaned back in her chair, her face unreadable.

"Faye, do you believe them?"

She paused. "I don't. But you know how corporate works. Rumors hurt the company's image. Do you have a way to prove your innocence?"

I let out a soft laugh. "Prove my innocence? Faye, why should the victim have to provide proof? The person spreading lies should be the one backing them up."

Faye rubbed her forehead. "I know, but you know what Harvey is like. He's got a loose tongue and takes zero responsibility. If you butt heads with him directly, you're the one who suffers."

"Faye," I met her gaze, "don't worry. I'm not going to butt heads with him. I'm going to let him dig his own grave."

Faye studied me for a quiet moment, then sighed. "Just be smart about it. Don't cross the line."

Leaving her office, I returned to my desk and opened my laptop, pulling up my work logs from the past six months.

Harvey hadn't just started making up rumors yesterday.

Before me, he had targeted a quiet girl in HR, claiming she slept her way into the company.

She was gentle and timid. After enduring months of whispers and dirty jokes, she finally broke down and resigned.

This time, targeting me, he had picked the wrong victim.

While digging through files, my phone buzzed again.

It was a SnapChat from Luke:

"Miss Hayes, a guy was taking pictures by the car downstairs. I stopped him. Should I take care of it?"

I replied: "Snap a photo of him and keep it safe."

"Copy that."

Ten minutes later, Luke sent over a picture.

In the photo, Harvey was crouched beside the Maybach, his phone angled toward the license plate, wearing an expression like he'd just uncovered the scoop of the century.

I saved the photo.

The real show was just getting started.

At lunch, I skipped the cafeteria and had Luke deliver a meal prepared by our private estate chef: black truffle roasted chicken, steamed sea bass, and a delicate dessert.

While I was eating in the break room, Harvey walked in carrying a cup of instant noodles.

Catching sight of my lunch containers, his eyes narrowed. "Expensive takeout, huh? Black truffles? Your boyfriend really spoils you."

"My dad sent it," I said, picking up a piece of fish with my forks.

"Oh, give me a break." Harvey peeled back the foil lid of his noodles. "Your dad runs a small grocery shop in a tiny town. He cooks gourmet black truffles?"

"Who says a small shop can't sell good food?"

"Stop playing dumb with me."

"I'm not." I set my forks down and looked straight at him. "Harvey, have you ever considered the possibility that everything I say is the truth, and you're just too blind to believe it?"

He sneered. "Then prove it."

"I don't need to prove anything to you."

"Because you're guilty."

"Sure." I stood up, packing up my containers. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Hey, don't run away!" Harvey shouted after me. "Guilty already? Walking away the second someone calls you out?"

I didn't look back.

As I stepped out of the break room, I heard a loud *bang* behind me—Harvey slammed his fist on the table, spilling hot noodle broth all over his hand.

A faint smile touched the corner of my lips.

At two in the afternoon, the floor suddenly erupted.

The front desk receptionist burst into the office, her voice sharper than a fire alarm: "Serena! Your... your dad sent afternoon tea for the whole office!"