Chapter 1

For Valentine's Day, my manager ordered me to organize a company swimsuit party.

"This is your chance to shine, ladies. The bikinis better be smoking hot."

"Don't want to join? Cut the act. Don't you women love showing off your bodies in front of men? Perks like this don't come every day. You should be grateful."

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. Screw him. At worst, I’d just quit!

When I walked into his office, he handed me a neon pink micro-bikini.

"Chloe, you'll lead the dance in this. Do it well, and I’ll make sure you get promoted."

Looking at his sleazy grin, the corners of my mouth curled up. My mind was made up.

"It's a deal, then."

When the day of the party came, what happened sent shockwaves through the entire company.

"Chloe, we're doing a bikini pool party for Valentine's Day. Every single female employee must attend. It's for the overall happiness of the team."

My fingers tightened around my coffee mug. "Director Evans... that's inappropriate. Not everyone is comfortable with an event like that."

Brad Evans narrowed his beady eyes, raking his gaze up and down my body like sticky grease.

"What's not to be comfortable with? Girls these days love this stuff. They’d kill for a chance to have guys look at them!"

"This is a perk for the women here. Don't be ungrateful."

He leaned forward, his massive beer belly pressing against the desk, threatening to pop his shirt buttons at any second.

"Besides, it's a chance to show off your charm. Every single one of you better dress hot!"

I opened my mouth to push back.

Brad cut me off immediately, his voice hard as stone. "Anyone who skips out will lose their bonus and their perfect attendance pay!"

He took a sip from his mug, leaving a ring of water on the desk that spread like his unchecked greed.

Late that night, the office lights hummed pale and cold.

Every word in my event proposal felt like a clawed beast mocking my helplessness.

How was I supposed to fix this?

While I was lost in thought, a faint rustle came from the hallway.

I looked up. Through the cracks of the blinds, I saw Brad's silhouette.

He was holding up his phone, creeping toward Emma from the design department. He was trying to take upskirt photos.

Emma was bent over organizing files, her skirt slightly hitched up.

I shoved my chair back violently. The legs screeched against the floor.

Brad jumped in fright, nearly dropping his phone.

When he saw me glaring at him, he shot me a venomous look, turned on his heel, and walked away as if nothing had happened.

It was past midnight by the time I got home.

I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted, but Sarah's pleading eyes haunted my mind.

"Chloe, my daughter needs surgery. I can't afford to lose my bonus. Please, just pick a modest swimsuit for me... I'm begging you..."

Her wrinkles had looked so deep, her voice cracked with sheer desperation.

My heart felt squeezed by an invisible hand, suffocating me.

What kind of nightmare was this?

Disgusting creep. Complete pervert!

Ranting was easy, but I still had to survive the corporate grind.

The next morning, Brad called me into his office.

The moment the door clicked shut, the air turned thick and suffocating.

"So, Chloe, how are the preparations coming along?"

His voice sounded greasy, like it had just been fished out of a deep fryer.

I handed him the catalog of swimsuits I’d picked out, intentionally selecting one-pieces with full coverage.

Brad's brow knotted in disgust, his face dropping instantly.

"What the hell is this garbage? What are they, grandmas?"

"And cut the oversized towels from the budget. That’s not what company funds are for."

My stomach tightened. "Director Evans, the women might get cold..."

"Cold?" Brad's lips pulled into a lecherous smirk. "They can dance harder. Or stand closer to the men. That’ll warm them right up."

He leaned in so close his face was practically touching mine.

"You're leading the dance. Pick something sexy, like a K-pop routine."

A flare of rage ignited in my chest, but I forced it down.

Going head-to-head wouldn't work. I needed a smarter strategy.

Brad pulled a stack of photos from his drawer and threw them in front of me.

They were colorful, skimpy, barely-there bikinis.

"Order these instead."

Then he pulled out another box, revealing a blindingly bright neon pink bikini with next to no fabric.

"Here, Chloe. A little reward for you."

He shoved the bikini into my hands, his thumb lingering against the back of my hand with a sickening stroke.