Chapter 3

Suddenly, a new reply popped up under her latest post.

It was the "tactician" again.

*[There is still a way to stop her from checking the logs. Tell her some exaggerated, terrifying consequences of auditing the system, and then physically faint in front of her.]*

*[Let's see if she still insists on checking the data when you're 'unconscious' on the floor.]*

My breath hitched. Every single piece of advice perfectly matched what Maya had done to me over the years.

The next morning at the office, I walked up to Maya's desk and casually mentioned that I was going to the IT department to request the server access logs.

Maya’s face went pale. Suddenly, she gasped, clutching her chest, and collapsed right onto the carpet.

"Maya! Oh my god, Maya fainted!"

The open-plan office erupted into chaos.

I stood frozen in the middle of the cubicles, watching my coworkers crowd around her, trying to fan her and calling for ice water.

My blood ran completely cold.

It was all true.

As they carried Maya to the breakroom, I sat down at my desk, my hands shaking.

I had built my career here with my own sweat and tears.

Yet, Maya was always there, crying about her headaches, her stress, claiming she got sick because she was trying to help me with my workload.

And every time she did, my guilt grew.

No wonder every time a decent guy tried to ask me out, Maya would find a hundred flaws in him and convince me he was a red flag.

No wonder every time I wanted to confront the director about my stolen commissions, she would beg me not to stir the pot.

The warmth, the friendship, the late-night soup—it was all a calculated, sick performance.

To make me take the fall, she was even willing to fake a medical emergency.

Taking a deep breath while everyone was distracted in the breakroom, I slipped over to Maya’s desk.

She had a habit of leaving her computer unlocked. I opened her browser.

Right there in her history was the familiar link to the Reddit thread.

I clicked it. She was logged in.

Her username matched the poster of all those toxic threads.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood to keep from screaming.

Just then, a private message notification popped up on her screen.

It was from her online "tactician."

*[Did the fainting trick work? Did she stop the audit?]*

I clicked on the tactician's profile.

In their post history, there was a casual photo of an office desk, with a caption complaining about the terrible office coffee.

I stared at the photo.

A dark mahogany desk. A small potted pothos plant peeking from the top left corner. Right next to it was a black ceramic mug with a noticeable chip on the rim.

The photo was taken from an off-angle, but a sudden jolt of recognition hit me.

But my mind was too chaotic, and I couldn't quite connect the dots.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway.

I quickly closed the browser, cleared her search history, and scrambled back to my desk.

Just as I sat down, Brenda, a senior colleague, came out of the breakroom, supporting a pale-looking Maya.

Brenda helped Maya into her chair, then whipped around and glared at me.

"Chloe, we all know you're highly capable, but don't you think you're being incredibly cold-blooded?"

"Maya worked three overtimes in a row for this project. She literally fainted from exhaustion and low blood sugar!"

"And what do you do? The moment a project goes south, you immediately try to save your own skin and demand a system audit."

"Are you trying to push her over the edge?"

Whispers broke out across the office. The looks my colleagues threw at me turned sharp and judgmental.

Maya quickly grabbed Brenda's sleeve, her voice weak as a whisper.

"Brenda, please don't blame Chloe. It's my fault."

"I dragged her down. It's only fair she wants to clear her name. If I get fired, I'll just go back home and marry whoever my dad wants me to."

With that, tears rolled down her cheeks.