The company’s annual holiday party was in full swing when I pulled the raffle ticket that effectively ended my career. “I’m so sorry, Sloane,” Brenda, our HR director, said, her voice dripping with a sickly sweet, unmistakable schadenfreude. “You know how the market is right now. The tech sector is taking a beating, and we just can’t afford to keep everyone. We have to let you go.” I stood there, staring at the Q4 sales dashboard projected on the wall behind her. My name sat at the very top, boasting a cool $6 million in closed revenue for the quarter. I let the silence stretch, my mind spinning trying to process the sheer audacity of it. I had never, in my life, heard of a company stupid enough to lay off their top-performing sales director to cut costs. By that afternoon, I had packed my desk, walked out the door, and taken my ongoing $20 million client portfolio directly to our biggest competitor. When my now-former boss finally realized the magnitude of his catastrophic error, he called me, practically in tears, begging me to come back. But my new firm offered a culture and a compensation package that made my old job look like a bad joke. My new CEO even took the phone from my hand during one of those desperate calls. “Back off, Declan,” he barked into the receiver. “Sloane belongs to us now. You cut your own jugular to save a buck. Don’t come bleeding on my carpet.” 1 “Oh my god!” Ashley, one of the junior account executives, let out an ear-piercing squeal. “I won the five-day stay at Declan’s Aspen cabin!” The rest of the staff waiting in line buzzed with restless anticipation, practically vibrating with the hope of pulling a winning ticket. I was the only one standing off to the side, entirely unfazed. I knew exactly how this company operated. A startup that expected you to log into Zoom on a Sunday morning wasn’t suddenly feeling generous. Whatever “perks” were handed out tonight would undoubtedly be squeezed back out of us in unpaid overtime by mid-January. When there was only one folded slip of paper left in the glass bowl, Brenda waltzed over to me, a plastic smile plastered across her face. “Come on, Sloane. The whole floor has drawn a ticket except for you. I’ve got exactly one left. Just play along for the sake of the party.” Cornered by the HR director in front of half the marketing team, I felt a familiar flush of awkwardness. I didn’t want to be the office killjoy. “Sure. Thanks, Brenda,” I muttered, taking the slip. I unfolded it. Printed in bold, cheerful letters were the words: Indefinite Sabbatical. We hope you enjoy your time off! What the hell was this? An indefinite sabbatical? That wasn’t a prize. That wasn’t even a corporate concept. Before I could ask Brenda to clarify, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a Slack message from Declan, our CEO. Sloane, emergency meeting in Conference Room A. Need you here right now. I typed back a quick On my way, my stomach tightening into a cold knot as I navigated through the crowd. As I passed the women’s restroom, the heavy oak door was propped open, and I caught the hushed, urgent voices of two colleagues. “I don’t know whose toes Sloane stepped on,” one whispered, “but firing the top earner? It’s insane.” “Keep your voice down!” the other hissed. “If Declan hears you defending her, you’ll be next. Just keep your head down.” I stopped dead in the hallway. I looked down at the stupid little slip of paper in my hand—Indefinite Sabbatical—and suddenly, the pieces clicked together with sickening clarity. This was a setup. Declan and HR had orchestrated this entire humiliating spectacle. A bitter, incredulous laugh escaped my lips. Even through the shock, my dominant thought was simply: Who the hell fires their cash cow? 2 I had been with Hayes Digital since day one. Four years ago, this company wasn’t the sleek, five-hundred-person operation it was today. It was a no-name digital agency operating out of a cramped, poorly ventilated loft. In the beginning, we barely made payroll. Declan, a trust-fund kid playing entrepreneur, frequently had to dip into his own pockets just to keep the lights on. But even in our darkest months, he never missed a paycheck. Because of that bare-minimum loyalty, I turned down lucrative offers from established firms. I poured my soul into his vision. When the pandemic hit, I saw the shift in digital consumption and pivoted our entire strategy. I became a one-woman production house—writing scripts, shooting content, handling client outreach. There were weeks where I survived on black coffee and adrenaline, going three straight days without seeing a bed. The grind paid off. Our accounts exploded. A modest following turned into millions of impressions, and suddenly, premium brands were knocking on our door. Our monthly revenue didn’t just grow; it skyrocketed. We outgrew the loft, then the midtown office, expanding rapidly until we hit five hundred employees. Everyone was stunned by the hyper-growth. The original core team I’d started with were all bumped up to VP or C-suite roles. All of them except me. I was left in middle management, still doing the heavy lifting on the floor. I hadn’t fought it. Office politics and schmoozing weren’t in my DNA. I was a worker bee, happiest when I was in the trenches, closing deals and building campaigns. Because I didn’t care for the spotlight, someone else was more than happy to steal it: Harper Montgomery. Harper was Declan’s personal hire. The rumor mill had long since deduced she was sleeping with him, but everyone was too afraid of Declan’s temper to say it out loud. When she first arrived, she was placed under me to “learn the ropes.” For exactly two weeks, Harper played the eager, humble protégé. Then, the mask slipped. She didn’t want to learn; she wanted a stage. She started taking subtle digs at my background, weaponizing her elite education against me. “When I was at Columbia, my professors always emphasized macro-trends,” she’d purr during meetings. “But it’s so cute how much you’ve managed to pick up, Sloane, considering you just went to a state school.” Harper was there to build a resume without doing the work. When I landed in the ER for exhaustion after working three consecutive all-nighters, Harper took my meticulously crafted quarterly presentation, slapped her name on the title slide, and delivered it at the corporate summit. She was promoted to department head the next day. When my team and I stayed up until 4:00 AM drafting a massive pitch for a legacy retail brand, Harper took the client out for mimosas and shopping on Madison Avenue, casually handing them my proposal as if she had written it on a napkin over brunch. Whenever anyone dared to question the sheer imbalance of it, Declan shut it down immediately. “Harper is an Ivy League graduate with an eye for the big picture,” he would say, looking pointedly at me. “Some people need to stop being bitter just because they don’t have the pedigree for executive leadership.” Pedigree. He used my state university degree like a weapon, conveniently forgetting that it was my blue-collar work ethic that bought him his glass-corner office. The digital space is brutal and fast. Recently, newer, hungrier agencies had started eating into our market share. Revenue was dipping, and HR had been whispering about “optimizing headcount.” I had been too busy working to see the writing on the wall. I had outlived my usefulness. Now that the empire was built, they were throwing out the architect. 3 I hadn’t even officially been terminated yet, and Harper’s loyal lapdogs were already dancing on my grave. As I approached Conference Room A, a sharp, nasal voice echoed from the open bathroom door, stopping me in my tracks again. It was Jessica, Harper’s newly appointed deputy and chief sycophant. “Are you guys seriously falling for Sloane’s martyr act?” Jessica scoffed. “If Sloane was actually some genius rainmaker, why is she still slumming it in middle management while Harper is running the department?” Jessica continued, her voice echoing off the subway tile. “Think about it. Everyone who started with Sloane is a VP now. It just proves she doesn’t have what it takes. Honestly, if she wasn’t riding on the ‘original employee’ pity card, she would have been fired years ago.” “But Harper totally takes credit for Sloane’s campaigns,” one of the younger girls murmured hesitantly. “Jessica, are you sure?” another voice chimed in. “Sloane is always the last one to leave the office. And whenever I need help with a client brief, she actually knows the product inside and out…” Jessica scoffed loudly, the sound sharp and condescending. “That’s exactly why you juniors are so easily manipulated. It’s all a performance. Sloane just acts busy to cover up the fact that she’s incompetent. Trust me, give it two days and she’ll be out on the street with her things in a cardboard box.” They were doing this right out in the open. They were so confident in my demise that they didn’t even bother to lower their voices. I pushed the bathroom door all the way open. It hit the wall with a dull thud. “Wow, Jessica,” I said, my voice eerily calm, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. “I had no idea I was such a manipulative mastermind. You seem to know my career trajectory better than I do.” Jessica stiffened, the color draining from her face. But she quickly recovered, crossing her arms and jutting out her chin. “Sloane? I thought you liked playing the quiet, unbothered victim. Why are you suddenly trying to pick a fight? Did HR finally give you the boot? Barking because you’re backed into a corner?” I didn’t waste time on a witty comeback. I closed the distance between us in two strides and slapped her. It wasn’t a movie slap. It was a sharp, stinging crack across her cheek that echoed through the tiled room. I was never one for corporate diplomacy. If you pushed me to the edge of the cliff, I was going to take a piece of you with me on the way down. Jessica gasped, clutching her face, a high-pitched scream tearing from her throat. “I’d advise you to brush up on your legal terminology,” I said, leaning in close so she could see the absolute zero in my eyes. “What you were just doing is called defamation. Say my name again, and see what happens.” I turned on my heel and marched out of the bathroom, leaving her sobbing in shock. I was getting fired anyway. To hell with networking. 4 The moment I stepped into Conference Room A, Brenda slammed a stack of exit paperwork onto the mahogany table. “Sloane! You are literally on your way out the door, and you have the audacity to pull a stunt like this?” Brenda’s face was flushed purple with rage. “Harper just told me you physically assaulted Jessica in the restroom! She’s threatening to call the police!” The adrenaline from the bathroom was still coursing through my veins, hot and volatile. “She was spreading malicious lies about me to junior staff,” I snapped back, refusing to cower. “That does not give you the right to put your hands on another employee! You need to pack your personal belongings and vacate the premises immediately.” “I want to hear it from Declan.” “This is Declan’s directive,” Brenda countered, her voice dropping into that robotic, liability-dodging HR cadence. The injustice of it formed a hard, suffocating lump in my throat. I swallowed it down. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “What about the handover for my accounts?” I asked, my voice dangerously tight. “I have twenty million in active Q1 pipelines.” “That is no longer your concern. Just pack your things and go. Frankly, Sloane, our hiring standards have evolved. We only take Ivy League or top-tier candidates now. Your role isn’t something we can’t easily replace with a fresh graduate.” I let out a dark, humorless laugh. If she wanted to devalue me, I wasn’t going to stand here and beg for my worth. I flipped open the termination letter. Under Reason for Dismissal, it read: Failure to meet performance standards and suspected ethical violations regarding client kickbacks. The fire that had just started to cool roared back to life, scorching my lungs. They weren’t just firing me; they were trying to destroy my reputation so I couldn’t poach my clients. They were making me the scapegoat for their declining numbers. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the paper. I spun around, bypassing Brenda entirely, and marched toward the executive suites to find Declan. But I didn’t make it to his office. The moment I stepped out of the conference room, I ran straight into Harper. She wasn’t alone. She had two of the building’s burly security guards flanking her, looking like a queen presiding over an execution. “Well, if it isn’t the violent liability,” Harper sneered. “Running away now that you realize you’re actually in trouble?” “Get out of my way, Harper. I’m talking to Declan.” “Oh, honey. You really think you’re important enough to demand an audience with the CEO? Look in a mirror. You don’t belong here.” “I built here,” I hissed, taking a step toward her. The security guards tensed. “I bled for this company when it was a ten-person operation running out of a basement. I am the reason you have a job to play pretend at. We both know you couldn’t close a deal if your life depended on it. Let’s see how long you survive playing executive once I’m gone and my numbers walk out the door with me.” Harper’s smug smile faltered. For a split second, genuine panic flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced by vicious anger. “You’re delusional! Everyone knows I’m the one driving the sales department! You’re just a bitter, aging dinosaur coasting on the fact that you’ve been here since the start.” A few people in the open-plan office muttered in agreement, too terrified of Harper to do anything but nod along. Realizing that logic was useless against a cult of personality, I decided to cut my losses. I turned to walk back to my desk to grab my things. But Harper stepped in front of me, her hand pressed flat against my chest to stop me. “You aren’t going anywhere until the police get here. Jessica is in the breakroom with an ice pack! You psychopathic bitch, you’re going to pay for that.” My vision blurred at the edges. I raised my hand, fully prepared to give Harper the exact same treatment I’d given her lapdog, when a booming voice echoed down the hall. “What the hell is going on out here? This is a corporate office, not a reality show!” Declan strode out of his glass suite. Instantly, Harper morphed from an attack dog into a wounded butterfly, fluttering over to his side and lightly gripping his bicep. “Declan, thank god,” she breathed, her voice trembling with manufactured distress. “Sloane completely lost her mind when Brenda gave her the news. She attacked Jessica!” Right on cue, Jessica emerged from the breakroom, clutching her cheek and looking appropriately devastated. “It’s true, Declan,” Jessica whimpered. “Sloane thinks just because she’s an original employee, she can bully anyone she wants.” Watching Harper and Jessica execute their synchronized performance, a profound, heavy exhaustion washed over me. I had spent weeks mentoring Harper when she first arrived. I had stayed late to help her fix her mistakes. And this was the return on my investment. 5 “That’s a lie,” I said, my voice cold and steady. “And you know it.” Declan held up a hand, cutting me off, his expression dripping with disdain. “Save it, Sloane. I know exactly what kind of person you are.” Harper’s grip on his arm tightened. “Declan, don’t let her manipulate you. She’s been undermining this company for months—” “Enough,” Declan snapped, silencing Harper. He turned his gaze back to me, shaking his head with a theatrical sigh of disappointment. “Security,” he commanded, gesturing to the guards. “Since Ms. Hastings is no longer an employee, escort her off the premises. If she causes a scene, call the NYPD for criminal trespassing.” He looked back at me, his eyes dead and unfeeling. “Consider this a mercy, Sloane. I’m not pressing charges for the assault, out of respect for our history. But you are going to pack your shit and leave, right now. I have a massive client coming in fifteen minutes, and I don’t have time for this middle-school drama.” It felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. To have four years of my life, my health, and my relentless dedication dismissed in three sentences… it was a betrayal so profound it physically hurt to breathe. But beneath the crushing grief, a slow, hot fury was igniting. I stood on the sidewalk twenty minutes later, the December wind biting through my coat. One of the security guards callously dumped my cardboard box of belongings onto the concrete. A few of my pens and a framed photo spilled onto the pavement. “You soulless corporate hack!” I screamed at the glass doors, not caring who heard me. “I built you! I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?!” Harper had followed the guards down to the lobby. She stepped out through the revolving doors, shivering in her designer silk blouse, an ugly smirk on her face. She casually kicked my spilled photograph further down the sidewalk. “I’d shut my mouth if I were you,” Harper sneered. “Our VIP investor is about to pull up. If you do anything to jeopardize this deal and embarrass us, I will personally make sure you are blacklisted from every agency in New York.” As I knelt down to gather my scattered pens, a sleek, jet-black Maybach silently glided to the curb, stopping mere inches from where I crouched. Instantly, Declan burst through the revolving doors, practically vibrating with eager subservience. He and Harper rushed toward the rear passenger door, elbowing me out of the way like I was an unruly panhandler. I clutched my cardboard box to my chest and stayed exactly where I was, watching the pathetic display unfold. They had absolutely no idea that their “VIP investor”—the savior they were banking on to keep Hayes Digital from going under—was my cousin. The only reason he had even agreed to look at Hayes Digital’s bloated, rotting financials was because I had spent three months begging him to give us a chance. Carter was a ruthless venture capitalist. He didn’t throw money at failing companies. He was only doing this because he believed in me. The gull-wing door slowly rose. A man stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his bespoke suit. He had sharp, intelligent eyes framed by tortoiseshell glasses. Declan immediately launched into a sickeningly sweet greeting, bowing his head like a peasant greeting a king. Harper shoved her chest forward, flashing a dazzling, flirtatious smile that she usually reserved for happy hours. Carter didn’t even look at them. His icy gaze landed directly on me, kneeling on the concrete with my box of desk supplies. Harper, sensing the tension, quickly tried to do damage control. “Mr. Sinclair, I am so sorry,” she cooed, gesturing dismissively at me. “That’s just a disgruntled former employee having a mental breakdown. She’s insane. We’re having security remove her right now.” Carter slowly turned his head to look at Harper. His brow furrowed in a way that made the temperature on the sidewalk drop ten degrees. “Excuse me?” Carter’s voice was dangerously soft. “Did you just call my sister a lunatic?” (Note: While cousins, ‘sister’ or ‘little sister’ is often used by protective older male figures in US contexts when asserting familial dominance, but for clarity of the original text’s “cousin/brother” dynamic, I will adjust to the exact American equivalent of a fiercely protective older cousin). “Did you just call my family a lunatic?” Carter corrected himself, his tone lethal.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “546279”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply