I started an online relationship with my boss. Meeting up in person? Yeah, that’s never gonna happen. She has no idea that the person she’s been flirting with online is one of her employees… Lately, my boss has been in a terrible mood. Everyone in the office has noticed, and the tension is palpable. Even the usual slackers have been on their best behavior, barely daring to check their phones. She’s been working overtime like a machine, and of course, no one dares to leave before her. So, we’ve all been stuck at the office until 11 or 12 at night. I’ve got dark circles under my eyes, and my skin is starting to break out. But here’s the kicker: I’m probably the only one in the company who knows why she’s so irritable. It’s because my boss just got dumped. And, well… the person who “dumped” her is me. She just doesn’t know it yet. It all started with my two-year online relationship. We met on a forum—she had posted a thread titled, ”Why Can’t I Find a Partner?” Curious, I clicked in. Her post read: ”Female, 5’9”, 99 pounds, 25 years old, Ivy League graduate in Management Science and Engineering. Currently a VP at a Fortune 500 company, earning a seven-figure salary. I own a house, a car, and I’m gorgeous. Still single. What am I doing wrong?” The comments were ruthless. “Obvious bait post. Move along.” “Seriously? A 25-year-old VP? Either it’s daddy’s company or it’s daddy’s company.” “Come on, at least make your lies believable.” Amused, I left a comment: ”Maybe it’s your looks. Why not post a picture?” I didn’t think much of it and logged off. A few hours later, she sent me a private message. “Hi, can I send you the photo privately?” I was confused but intrigued. “Sure,” I replied, figuring this could be entertaining. A moment later, a photo popped up. I nearly spat my coffee all over my desk. 5’9”? Yeah, maybe in her dreams. She looked closer to 5’2”. The photo was a poorly angled mirror selfie. She had her face partially covered, wore thick black-framed glasses, and looked like a walking advertisement for outdated fashion choices. But… her features were undeniably stunning. The lips, the nose, the eyes—they all screamed ”hidden beauty.” She just didn’t know how to present herself. And for some reason, she looked oddly familiar. Thinking, ”Who knew there were gorgeous women out there so oblivious to their own potential?” I decided to help. Out of the goodness of my heart, of course. I zoomed in and out of the photo a few times before typing out a long response: ”You need to work on your style. Change the glasses—go for rimless or contacts. Don’t take photos from that angle; tilt your phone slightly so the charging port faces you. Swap the skirt for something shorter—maybe black. And for the love of God, invest in better lighting.” She replied with a simple, ”Thank you so much!” I didn’t think much of it and moved on. The next day, she sent me an updated “homework submission,” following all my advice. Then she did it again the day after that. And the day after that. By the fifth day, I was starting to get annoyed. That’s when she asked if she could pay me for my “consultation services” and requested my personal messaging info. I thought, ”Why not? Money’s money,” and gave her my private account. A moment later, a familiar profile picture popped up with a friend request. It was my boss. I froze. My finger slipped, and before I could stop myself, I hit “accept.” Panic set in immediately. I switched my settings to “chat only” and prayed she wouldn’t figure out who I was. A message popped up: ”Thank you so much for all your advice. Here’s a small token of my appreciation.” Then she sent me $5,000 with the note, ”Gift—no strings attached.” I stared at the screen in silence. I double-checked her profile picture and the online photos she’d sent me. Yep. No doubt about it. My gorgeous online crush was, in fact, my boss. “Well, damn,” I thought, accepting the money. ”At least she doesn’t know it’s me.” From that point on, I kept helping her improve her style. She caught on fast, and soon, she was radiating confidence. But just as I was preparing to quietly fade out of her life, she threw me a curveball. She confessed her feelings. It started with a long, emotional message—a “love letter,” if you will. I skimmed past all the fluff until I got to the last line: “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a long time… I like you.” I froze. “Thanks,” I replied after a long pause. “What?” she asked. “I appreciate it!” I typed back. “No, I’m serious. I really like you.” “And I really appreciate it! Thanks!” She was silent for a moment before messaging again: ”Can I at least have a chance to pursue you?” I didn’t reply. That night, I couldn’t sleep. The next morning, she started sending me good morning messages. Then good afternoon messages. Then good night messages. She kept me updated on her day like we were already dating: ”I’m heading to work,” ”I just got to the office,” ”I’m about to start a meeting.” Her persistence was… unique, to say the least. I half-heartedly responded here and there, and somehow, that only encouraged her more. A month later, things took an unexpected turn. I was scrolling through social media, admiring photos of models, when I accidentally shared one with her instead of my buddy. “God, she’s gorgeous. I’d totally lick the screen,” I wrote, followed by, ”Here’s the video.” She replied almost instantly. “???”
By the time I saw the message, it was already too late to unsend it. Sure, appreciating beauty is human nature, but for some reason, I felt a pang of guilt. Then, she suddenly sent a message: “Is this your type?” Attached was a video. It looked freshly recorded at a gym. Not the overly sculpted type of body, but smooth, pale skin with a beautifully defined V-line disappearing just below her workout shorts. As for up top… Let’s just say, it was pink. The person in the video seemed a little shy—by the end of the clip, her face was flushed bright red. I was hooked. “Got more? Send me another!” I replied instantly. She hesitated but eventually sent a few more videos, each one more dazzling than the last. I admit, I was completely seduced by her beauty. Who would’ve thought that my boss, who always carried herself with such restraint and composure, could be… so… well, like this in private? How do I describe it? It was strangely thrilling. Just as I was thoroughly enjoying myself, another message popped up. “If you agree to be my boyfriend, I’ll send you videos like this every day. As many as you want.” People spend their lives chasing four things: money, power, fame, and beauty. The first three don’t mean much to me, but the last one? That’s my kryptonite. “Well… I guess I could consider it,” I replied. After all, it was just an online relationship, right? Of course, I set some ground rules: no public announcements, no changing profile pictures, no video calls, and absolutely no meeting in real life. She wasn’t thrilled about the conditions but eventually agreed. And that’s how it started. We dated online for two years. As she got better at styling herself and presenting her beauty, I was more than happy to reap the benefits. Her photos and videos became increasingly breathtaking, with her pulling off every look I suggested. I thought this arrangement could last forever—until one day, she asked to meet in person. “Didn’t we agree from the start that there’d be no meeting up? This is strictly an online thing,” I reminded her. She sounded hurt. “I know, I’m sorry… but I really want to see you.” I knew exactly why she was pushing this. A couple of days earlier, I’d gone to a college reunion. Afterward, one of my old classmates confessed her feelings for me. I turned her down politely, but she didn’t take it well and started sending me a bunch of gross, cringy messages. Fed up, I screenshotted everything, posted it on my social media, and dragged her through the mud before blocking her. Since I was in a relationship (well, “online”), my boss must’ve seen the post. I figured she wanted to “meet up” to stake her claim publicly. But I had my reasons for not meeting her. There was no way I was going to agree. After dodging her attempts for a week, I finally got fed up and broke up with her. She freaked out. Completely deflated, like a balloon with the air punched out of it. My phone lit up with her calls for the nth time. I sighed, flipped it face-down on the table, and ignored it. That’s when Kenneth, my direct supervisor, called me over. “Mason, take this proposal to Aurora.” Kenneth’s crush on Aurora was the worst-kept secret in the entire office. Normally, he’d jump at any excuse to see her, but lately, she’d been in a terrible mood. The last time he tried comforting her, she snapped at him so hard he practically fled the room. I winced. “Kenneth, isn’t this a bit above my pay grade? Shouldn’t you be the one to—” “Just do it, man. Don’t make me repeat myself.” …Fine. Even though I’d basically seen all of Aurora online, meeting her in person was still nerve-wracking. Especially at work, where she was known for being strict, sharp-tongued, and downright intimidating. I hesitated, and then picked up my phone. Since breaking up with her, she’d been bombarding me with apologies. I hadn’t responded—not because I didn’t care, but because I needed to cool things down. I quickly typed out a message: “We don’t have to break up, but can you please just behave? I really don’t like it when people break promises.” Her reply came instantly: “Baby, you’re finally talking to me! I’m so sorry! I’ll never do it again, I promise!” She even added a crying puppy emoji. I sighed, steeling myself before knocking on her office door. There was a moment of silence before I heard her clear her throat and say, “Come in.” Her red nose caught my attention the moment I stepped in. Had she been crying? She noticed my gaze and awkwardly tapped her desk. “Dropping off the proposal? Leave it here and head back.” Her tone was noticeably softer than usual—if this were any other day, she’d have snapped at me for going over Kenneth’s head. Still, the proposal wasn’t up to her standards and got sent back for revisions. Naturally, Kenneth dumped it back on me. That Friday, everyone else left early, excited for the weekend. Aurora had left on time for once, and the office quickly emptied, leaving just me and the receptionist. I stayed behind to work on the proposal, promising the receptionist I’d lock up when I was done. It was well past 10 PM when I heard the sound of the door unlocking. My heart jumped. Who could it be at this hour? Images from horror movies flashed through my mind. I gulped, telling myself ghosts didn’t exist, but I still froze, holding my breath. Then, a familiar figure stepped into view. It was Aurora. “Why are you still here? Don’t you have a home to go to?” she asked, clearly surprised. I bit back a retort—Whose fault do you think this is? “The proposal’s due soon, and I didn’t want to risk it being incomplete tomorrow. Figured I’d stay late and finish it.” Her expression softened. “Oh, that one. Let me help you out. It’ll go faster if I explain what I want directly.” I froze. My computer was logged into my personal account—the one I used to message her. She walked over. “Pull it up for me. I’ll take a look.” Panic set in. My mind raced as I stalled for time. “Wait a second!” I blurted.
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