Chapter 4

The fawning phone calls from upstairs came one after another.

Everyone knew what was happening.

Derek would win this undisputed conflict effortlessly.

The office atmosphere subtly shifted.

Colleagues who used to eat with me in the cafeteria now declined my invitations, citing overtime, only for me to see them later, animatedly chatting with the new R&D intern in the cafeteria.

Every meal, I'd quietly stand at the very end of the line. Just as it was almost my turn, R&D engineers would cut in front of me.

"So jealous of some people who get to eat on time. Unlike us, born workhorses, we have to rush even for a meal."

"Oh well, she has to feed her baby, if she doesn't eat on time, she won't have milk!"

After that, a few of them looked at my chest and let out undisguised, lewd laughs.

I clenched my lips, remaining silent.

By the time I finally reached the front, there was nothing left but some watery scraps.

As soon as I sat down, Maria, the cleaning lady, shooed me away.

She looked down at me, her oily rag wiping relentlessly near my plate.

A cold snort from her nostrils slammed directly into my ears.

And this was just the prelude from Derek and his crew.

When I returned to my desk,

my workspace was piled high with various procurement request forms, both urgent and non-urgent.

Kyle, the intern, also approached with a thick stack of files, looking arrogant.

"Ava, Derek said all products purchased in the last three years need a supplier qualification report organized by the end of today. He needs it for a meeting tomorrow."

Colleagues around me whispered and chuckled at my expense.

Day after day, the vulgar insults didn't stop because of my silence; instead, they escalated. In just a week, I went from being a divorced mom to being called a "slut" and "easy" — someone so desperate she'd throw herself at anyone.

They started openly scrutinizing and commenting on me.

"How can she eat so much? Does she think she's a milk-producing sow?"

"Oh, you don't get it. How else would she use pumping as an excuse to slack off? She closes the door and disappears for half the day; who knows what she's doing in there?"

"Look at those saggy, empty breasts. No wonder her husband left her; who wouldn't be disgusted by that?"

Not only that.

My desk started accumulating disgusting fruit peels and trash.

Even walking down a wide aisle, someone would "accidentally" bump into me.

Meetings about my work modules became more frequent, and the absurd demands from various departments grew increasingly outlandish.

My direct line would ring with all sorts of calls, asking '300 a night, wanna hook up?'

Derek thought this would force me to leave, but I continued to play dumb.

The more he tried to make things difficult for me, the more flawlessly I performed my work.

And the calmer I remained, the angrier he became.

Finally, after another week passed without receiving my resignation letter, he couldn't take it anymore.

Mr. Stone, who had been on a business trip, had barely returned when Derek, laptop in hand, immediately dove into his office.

The storm was finally coming.