Chapter 3

"Claire... you probably shouldn't look at your phone."

Zach, the youngest intern in our department, whispered as he passed my desk, his voice barely audible.

I hadn't planned on looking.

But the tense atmosphere in the office spoke volumes. Everyone had their heads glued to their screens, occasionally throwing quick, uneasy glances my way before snapping their eyes back down.

It was as quiet as a funeral home.

I opened TikTok.

The search page showed a trending hashtag near the top: `#ToxicBossConfessions`.

I clicked on the video. Under warm lighting, wearing a cozy cream-colored sweater, Chloe sat in front of the camera. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her fingers nervously fiddled with a tissue.

A sympathetic interviewer off-camera handed her a fresh box of tissues at just the right moment.

"She would throw my finished proposals back at me and ask, 'Is this even written by a human?' Once, it was almost 3 AM, and she was still forcing me to edit a PPT. I literally cried and begged her to let me finish it the next day, and she just said—'If you can't even handle this little bit of pressure, you shouldn't have joined this industry.'"

The interviewer asked softly, "Do you consider that workplace abuse?"

Chloe's tears finally spilled over.

"I don't know how to define it. All I know is that for two years, every single morning I woke up, my very first thought was—what do I have to do today to avoid making her angry?"

The top comments read:

*“Oh my god, this boss needs to be publicly exposed.”*

*“Another toxic manager hiding behind the excuse of 'mentorship' to exploit young talent.”*

*“We need the company name and her name. Make her famous.”*

The fourth comment was a screenshot.

It was my company ID photo, full company name, department, office floor, and my full name: Claire Harper.

My phone started vibrating violently.

Text after text from unknown numbers flooded in.

*“Die, toxic bitch.”*

*“Go take your menopause out on someone else, garbage.”*

*“We found your address. Watch your back.”*

I flipped my phone face down on the desk.

At 11:30 AM, Arthur and Victoria walked over, both wearing equally grim expressions.

Arthur spoke first. "Claire, the online backlash has gotten out of hand. Our PR team suggests that you take a temporary leave of absence until the investigation is complete. Please do not make any public statements or respond to any media inquiries."

Victoria pushed a printed notice toward me.

The wording was: *In light of recent public relations concerns, and to protect the rights of both parties, it is recommended that Claire Harper take a temporary leave of absence. Relevant client accounts will be temporarily managed by Chloe Miller.*

The word "recommended" was bolded.

But there was only one signature line at the bottom—and it had my name on it.

"And if I refuse to sign?"

Arthur took a deep breath.

"Claire, that video has over fifty million views across platforms. The company cannot have an accused bully walking around the office right now. Please try to understand."

"I understand."

I picked up the pen and signed.

Not because I was admitting guilt.

But because that 2:17 PM email told me that Chloe’s chess moves went far deeper than anyone in this office realized. Fighting back publicly right now would only feed her victim narrative.

I grabbed a cardboard box and started packing up my desk. A calendar, a calculator, and a small succulent that was half-dead from the office AC.

As I passed Chloe's desk, she was just hanging up a phone call.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the name on her screen—Marcus Sterling.

Seeing me look, she quickly locked her screen, instinctively hunched her shoulders, turned to Rachel, and whispered, "I'm still so scared of her..."

It was just loud enough for me to hear.

And just loud enough for everyone else in the room to hear too.

I carried my box into the elevator.

At the lobby, my phone rang. It was my mom.

"Claire, people are saying online that you bullied your intern. What is going on? Mrs. Higgins showed it to me while they were playing cards, and Aunt Sarah even forwarded the link to her daughter’s group chat—"

"Mom, that’s not what happened."

"If that’s not what happened, why was that poor girl crying like that? You need to watch your temper around these young kids—"

"Mom."

"Yes?"

"Do you trust me?"

The other end went quiet for a few seconds.

Then, she started to sniffle.

"Of course I trust you. But your dad saw those comments... he wants you to just quit and come home. This job isn't worth it."

I leaned against the glass exterior of the building, the sharp corner of the cardboard box digging into my palm.

"Whether it's worth it is one thing. But I’m not letting someone step on my face to climb the ladder. I don't let debts go unpaid."

"But what can you do? The video is already out there—"

"Mom, just wait until I finish this battle. Once I win, I'm taking you out for a fancy steak dinner at Ruth's Chris."

"...Just don't skip your meals."

I hung up.

My phone buzzed again. It was Fiona Fitzgerald.

She was my college roommate, and now she worked as a senior legal counsel specializing in online harassment and cyber law.

"Claire, I saw the interview. The TikTok account that posted it is called 'Corporate Truths.' I ran a search on the registration info."

"And?"

"The creator’s real name is Sarah Miller. She is Chloe’s college roommate and best friend."

I leaned against my car door and let out a cold laugh.

"College roommates."

"Yeah. This wasn't a spontaneous cry for help, Claire. This was premeditated. What’s your next move?"

I looked at the half-dead succulent in my hand.

"I wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for her to take over my clients—and then wait for her to drown."