Chapter 1

End of the year. I was gonna use my bonus to treat Mom to a quick getaway.

Instead? No bonus. Four hundred bucks sliced off my paycheck.

I shot the HR supervisor a notice—three days to pay up.

She laughed. Called me dramatic. Fired me right then.

Coworkers backed her. Said I brought it on myself. Said I didn't care about the company.

What they didn't see?

I laughed the second I got that termination letter.

Double severance?

Come to mama.

Chapter 1

I'd just walked into the office when Lynn—my coworker—hit me with it: no bonus this year.

My stomach sank.

They called it a "bonus," but it was really 30 percent of our commission they held hostage all year. Now? Gone. Straight-up robbery.

I was gonna use that money to take Mom on a trip. Yeah, forget that.

Then, right as I was freaking out, last month's pay stub landed.

I checked it five times—had to be a glitch.

Base pay said $700. My contract says $1,100.

We weren't allowed to talk numbers, so I DMed HR to ask if it was a mistake.

No reply.

Waited thirty minutes. Sent another.

Crickets.

Just when I was about to log off, HR dropped a message in the company group:

[December salaries have been issued. If you have any questions, message me privately!]

I was on it:

[Ms. Lawrence, I think there's an issue with my paycheck. Could you check the message I sent you privately? Thank you.]

A second later, she finally hit back in DM:

[Ms. Crawford, do you have a problem with our department? We handle over 200 employees every day. You're not the only one. Can't you be a little patient?]

Oh please. Two hundred? Like every single one of them's blowing up her inbox. If anyone's drowning, it's me—juggling a hundred clients plus coworkers like her. I should be the one whining.

But sure, I'll play nice.

Esther Lawrence, HR supervisor and Mr. Lambert's precious little cousin, scored this job fresh out of college and spent a third of every month vacationing.

So yeah, I caved.

[Ms. Lawrence, I'm sorry. I acted out of urgency.]

I explained my paycheck was $400 short and I panicked. That's why I said something in the group chat.

Instead of dropping it, she came back swinging:

[Seriously? You really think a company this size would steal $400 from you? Maybe check yourself first.]

My blood was boiling.

I could practically hear the smugness through the screen.

Same smug look she wore when she forced out Sandra last month—five years on the job, gone in a snap.

Sandra had waited forever on a side project payment. Finally cracked and muttered, "Can't these nepotism hires just be shoved in a corner where they can't make life harder for the rest of us?"

Guess who found out.

The day Sandra's maternity leave ended, Esther booted her. Sandra had a newborn and no energy for drama, so she took the check and left.

Esther didn't stop there. She actually mocked her afterward—said, "These wage slaves should worry more about earning formula money than running their mouths."

Then she snatched up Sandra's clients and got praised for it. Sales director even made her give a "top performer" presentation. We had to write 1,500-word reflections on it.

I thought it was a joke and didn't bother. Maybe that's when she started gunning for me.

Still trying to fix it, I messaged again:

[Ms. Lawrence, it really was my fault earlier. I didn't mean to offend you. I sent you a coffee as an apology. Could you please help me check my payroll issue?]

Chapter 2

[Work is work. Don't waste time on this. Your paycheck is correct. If you think there's a problem, talk to your direct supervisor.]

If Esther had been in front of me, I would've drop-kicked her. Twice.

This job was hell. Clients, bosses, deadlines—fine. But now HR thought they ran the show?

Then again, she was a nepotism hire. Meanwhile, I came from a long line of busted knuckles and graveyard shifts. "Suck it up" was practically a family motto.

Still ticked off, I hunted down my supervisor—Giselle. She blinked like I was speaking alien, then told me to "ask Esther."

So I did. Again.

Same copy-paste nonsense:

[Your paycheck is correct. If you think there's a problem, talk to your direct supervisor.]

***

Back to Giselle. She hit me with the classic disappointed mom face.

"Celina, clearly you've offended someone you shouldn't have. Just let it go."

Sure. Just shrug off four hundred bucks like it's spare change.

"Giselle, seriously? That's four hundred bucks, not four bucks!"

"What else can you do? Job market's trash. Layoffs, cuts... You should really hang on to this."

I must've looked ready to explode because she sighed and hit me with this gem:

"Think bigger. You shouldn't chase money. You need growth."

There it was—corporate gaslighting 101.

I dragged myself back to my desk, brain fried. Was I seriously supposed to eat this?

At $700 a month, after my mortgage, I'd be limping along on $300. Survival mode.

But quitting now? Right before the holidays? Terrible timing.

Guess I'd stick it out—for now.

***

We were in online education, so the sales crew usually hit the streets in the afternoons. No clock-ins, no clock-outs.

Like always, I filed my out-of-office form and stayed out hustling till 8 p.m.

Next day, denied. Reason? I hadn't submitted it "in advance."

Giselle claimed HR had a new rule: get approval first or it doesn't count. Boom—half-day absence on my record.

I rolled my eyes. Esther was clearly weaponizing the system.

Fuming, I messaged her:

[Ms. Lawrence, this is the same process we've always followed. I was working late—others can confirm. How is this absenteeism?]

She shot back:

[Requests must be approved before you leave. It's in the employee handbook. Is this your first day?]

No clapback for that one. Yeah, the rule existed—but no one followed it.

We could only submit same-day forms. And HQ's sales director had to approve them. It wasn't realistic to chase signatures mid-shift. We submitted, we worked, period.

That's how the job ran.

But Esther wanted a target. And I couldn't afford to trip another landmine.

So I let it slide.

She didn't.

***

Later that same day, she blasted me in the company group chat. Full-on public humiliation.

Lost half a day's pay. Slapped with a $50 fine. Monthly attendance bonus? Gone.

And just to rub salt in the wound, new rule: starting tomorrow, everyone had to clock in and out.

Didn't matter if we were working outside till midnight—we'd have to drag ourselves back just to swipe out. Then show up early to clock in like nothing happened.

Chapter 3

Boom. Just like that, I was the office punching bag. Everyone was mad, and apparently, it was all my fault.

Lynn pulled me aside. "Can't you just play along for once? Why keep poking Esther?"

Someone even ran to Giselle like, "If Celina's the issue, dock her. Worst case, kick her out. Don't drag us down with her."

Brutal. Like getting iced in July.

I used to jump on all the tasks no one wanted. Always first to help out.

Now? No one remembered a thing.

Guess that's how it goes. No one gets sentimental in the office.

And it wasn't even just me—we all filed our out-of-office forms the same way. I was just the unlucky one who got nuked.

How was that on me?

The longer I sat with it, the angrier I got.

I wasn't going down quietly. They wanted to shove me out? Cool. I'd make them bleed for it.

I wanted Esther and her cousin, Mr. Lambert—the genius who owned this circus—to grind their teeth every time they heard my name.

Didn't take long to find my opening.

I grabbed my contract and the handbook, tore through every boring line. Bingo: wage disputes had to be filed in writing within three days.

I fired off a formal notice to HR, demanding my unpaid wages.

Laid it all out—how they slashed my salary by four hundred bucks and stiffed me on the 30 per cent year-end commission.

Gave them three days to cough it up or I'd take it to the Labor Board.

Thing about Mr. Lambert? Dude's not exactly smart, but image-obsessed to the bone.

He'd read that and lose it. Pay me? Nah. He'd probably Hulk-smash a door first.

Perfect. A tantrum like that? Basically a guarantee for double severance.

Sure enough, next day—delivery marked "signed"—Esther blew up my phone.

Ignored her. Told her to stick to chat. I wanted receipts.

[Celina, we already announced at the start of the month that base pay would be split into base + performance. You didn't meet your targets last month, so you only received the base portion.]

***

Me:

[When was this meeting? Was I there? I don't remember anything like that. Who gave you the right to just change the pay structure?]

Esther:

[All supervisors were there. You can ask them. It applies to everyone—not just you. And as for the 30 percent commission, there's no official policy. It's not in the contract. The company never promised that.]

Unreal. The audacity was Olympic level.

That bonus? Giselle hyped it up every other day. Of course, never on record.

Classic corporate bait-and-switch.

But the salary cut? Even if they "had" sent a notice—I never agreed.

[I never got any notice. Please issue the unpaid portion as stated in the contract.]

Stayed chill. Let her sweat.

That set Esther off.

[Celina, who do you think you are? You're just a replaceable grunt. If you don't like it, leave. There's a whole line of people ready to take your spot.]

Could practically hear her jaw clenching through the screen. I grinned.

[I'm easy to hire, hell to get rid of. You spoiled little nepotism case—pay up. Or wait for the Labor Board.]

Didn't even bother replying after that. Just leaned back and sipped my latte like it was victory fuel.

Wanna play clock-in games? Approval limbo?

Cool. I wasn't going anywhere. Chilling at my desk till closing suddenly sounded like a dream.

Lynn peeked over, low-key jealous, and whispered, "Celina, you're badass. Someone at HQ said Mr. Lambert slammed the table and chewed Esther out today. No one's messing with you now."

Chapter 4

I shot her a look. "You really think I'd stick around a dump like this? Didn't they dock you a few hundred too? Wanna fight back together?"

"You go first. I'll wait and see."

Cool. No point arguing when we clearly lived on different planets.

Next day, Esther made her next move.

Giselle came to snatch my work laptop.

I asked what gave her the right.

"Idiot. It's company property. I can take it whenever I want."

Couldn't tell if I should laugh at her ignorance or her baby-level naïveté.

Sandra was right—nepotism hires like Esther should be tucked in a corner somewhere, far from where they can screw up everyone else's job.

I told Giselle to fill out a handover form, signature included, clearly stating the company took the laptop. No way I was taking the fall if it went missing.

She didn't like it, but she signed.

Once it was done, I messaged Esther:

[Since you confiscated my work laptop, I assume the company's no longer providing tools for me to do my job. Just checking—what exactly do you want me working on now?]

***

Didn't matter what kind of nonsense Esther threw back—I just kept repeating the same thing: ask her to assign me work. Sent the exact same message to Giselle.

Giselle got so flustered she started blowing up Esther's phone like it was on fire.

Meanwhile, I chilled at my desk, sipping my coffee, watching her pace around like a cornered rat.

Me? Just waiting to clock out right on the dot.

That evening, I was digging through old chats, hunting for bonus proof, when Giselle called.

"Celina, maybe take a few days off? Use your vacation and comp time."

I played along. "All 22 comp days and 8 vacation days?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, no. I'm good. Also, this call's recorded—for my protection. Appreciate it."

She froze, realized what she'd just walked into, then hung up. Too late.

Next morning, I clocked in right on time and hit up both Esther and Giselle for assignments.

Then Esther pulled a new move—ordered me transferred to some admin gig at another branch, said I had three days to show up.

[Esther, your word means nothing. Send a signed transfer notice.]

[Working on it. What's the rush? Sure you'll live that long?]

I smirked at my screen. I wanted to see what else she'd try.

Word spread fast—she warned everyone. 'Back me, and you're out too.'

After that, the silence was deafening. Nobody spoke to me.

Before logging out, I shot her one last message.

[Day three's tomorrow. Still waiting on my back pay and bonus. And that signed transfer notice—don't forget the stamp.]

Thirty minutes later, I was booted from the main company chat.

All my accounts? Deactivated.

Then Esther's email hit:

[Notice of Termination.]

Right after, she called—oozing smug.

"You really think some bottom-rung employee can take me on? I'll bury you."

But I wasn't mad.

Everything I'd collected was about to cash out.