I’m probably the only one in the entire company who actually knows why my boss is so irritable. She got dumped. And the person who dumped her… was me. She just doesn’t know that yet. Lately, my boss has been… intense. The first sign was when she publicly grilled one of the senior analysts over a minor formatting mistake—something she would usually wave off with a dry joke. Then it kept happening. She started sending projects back for revisions that never used to matter, questioning timelines, pushing for higher standards, demanding explanations for anything that wasn’t airtight. By midweek, the entire office had figured it out: she wasn’t just being thorough—she was in a bad mood, and her bar for acceptable work had shot straight into the stratosphere. But here’s the twist: I’m probably the only one in the entire company who actually knows why she’s so irritable. She got dumped. And the person who dumped her… was me. She just doesn’t know that yet. It all goes back to a two-year online relationship. We met on a forum after she posted a thread titled: “Why Can’t I Find a Partner?” Curious, I clicked. Her post read: “Female, 5’9”, 99 pounds, 25, Ivy League grad in Management Science and Engineering. Currently a VP at a Fortune 500 company. Seven-figure annual income. Owns home and car. Gorgeous. Still single. What am I doing wrong?” The comments section tore her to shreds. “Obvious troll. Move along.” “No way a 25-year-old VP. Daddy’s company?” “At least make your lies reasonably believable.” Amused, I replied: “Maybe it’s your looks. Why not post a picture?” Didn’t think twice and logged off. A few hours later, she DM’d me: “Hi, can I send you the photo privately?” I frowned, intrigued. “Sure.” A second later, a photo popped up. I nearly sprayed coffee all over my keyboard. Five-nine? In what universe? She looked closer to five-two. The photo was a badly angled mirror selfie. Half her face hidden, thick black-rimmed glasses, and a vibe that screamed unintentional vintage disaster. But her features… Her features were stunning. She had the kind of face that would be lethal if she knew how to use it. And weirdly, she felt familiar. Thinking, “Wow, a genuinely gorgeous woman who has no idea what she’s working with,” I decided—purely out of charitable instinct—to help. I zoomed in and out a few times, then typed a full critique: “Upgrade your glasses—rimless or contacts. Avoid that angle; tilt your phone so the charging port points at you. Swap that skirt for something shorter, preferably black. And get better lighting—seriously.” She replied: “Thank you so much!” I thought that was the end of it. The next day, she sent a new photo applying everything I’d said. Then the day after. And the day after that. By day five, I was getting tired. Then she asked if she could pay me for “consultation services” and requested my personal messaging info. Money is money, so I gave her my private account. A moment later, a familiar profile picture popped up. It was my boss. I froze. My thumb slipped and hit accept before my brain caught up. Instant panic. I switched my settings to “chat only” and prayed she wouldn’t connect the dots. She messaged: “Thank you for everything. Here’s a small gift.” Then sent me $5,000 with the note: “No conditions.” I stared at the screen, stunned. I checked her profile picture again. Checked the forum selfies. No mistake. My mysterious online crush was my real-life boss. “Well, hell,” I thought, accepting the transfer. “At least she doesn’t know it’s me.” From then on, I kept helping her polish her style. She learned fast, and soon she was walking around radiating confidence. And just when I was preparing to quietly bow out of her life, she blindsided me. She confessed. Her message was long and dramatic—a digital love letter. I skimmed until the final line: “I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time… I like you.” I froze. “Thanks,” I typed. “What?” she replied. “I appreciate it!” “I’m serious,” she insisted. “I really like you.” “And I really appreciate it!” Silence. Then: “Can I at least try to pursue you?” I didn’t answer. The next morning she began sending good-morning messages. Then good-afternoons. Then good-nights. Updates every hour like we were already dating: “I’m heading to work.” “I just arrived.” “Going into a meeting.” Her persistence was… something. I responded halfheartedly. That only encouraged her more. A month later, things took a sharp turn. I was scrolling through social media, admiring models, and accidentally shared one with her instead of a buddy. “God, she’s gorgeous. I’d lick the screen,” I wrote. “Here’s the video.” She replied instantly: “???”
By the time I saw the message, it was far too late to take it back. Admiring someone’s looks is normal enough, but for some inexplicable reason, guilt punched me right in the chest. Then she sent another message. “Is this your type?” A video came attached. It looked freshly shot at a gym. Not the overly ripped aesthetic—just smooth, pale skin and a sharply defined V-line that disappeared beneath her workout shorts. And up top… Well, let’s just say the color was pink. The girl in the video seemed shy. By the time the clip ended, her entire face was flushed bright red. I was instantly hooked. “Got more? Send another!” I fired back without thinking. She hesitated, but eventually she sent a few more. Each one was more stunning than the last. I’ll admit it: I was thoroughly seduced. Who would’ve imagined my boss—the paragon of composure and restraint—could be… like this behind closed doors? How do I even describe it? Strangely electrifying. Just as I was fully 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 chase four things in life: money, power, fame, and beauty. The first three don’t tempt me much. But beauty? That one hits me right in the weakness. “Well… I guess I could consider it,” I replied. I mean, it was just an online relationship. Nothing real. Of course, I laid out strict ground rules: no public posts, no changing profile pictures, no video calls, and absolutely no in-person meetings. She didn’t love the terms, but she still agreed. And that was how it all started. We “dated” online for two years. As her confidence and sense of style improved, I was more than happy to enjoy the benefits. Her pictures and videos only grew more breathtaking, and she executed every look I suggested perfectly. Honestly, I thought we could keep things this way forever—until the day she asked to meet in person. “Didn’t we agree from the start? No meeting up. This is strictly online,” I reminded her. She sounded hurt. “I know, I’m sorry… but I really want to see you.” And I knew exactly why she was pushing it. A couple days earlier, I’d gone to a college reunion. Afterward, an old classmate confessed she liked me. I turned her down politely, but she didn’t take it well and started sending me a barrage of cringe, borderline-gross messages. Fed up, I screenshotted everything, posted it to my socials, and roasted her publicly before blocking her. Since I was “in a relationship”—even if only online—my boss must’ve seen the post. I figured she wanted to meet to publicly assert her territory. But I had my reasons for refusing to meet. There was no universe in which I was agreeing to that. After dodging her requests for a full week, I finally lost patience and broke up with her. She spiraled. Completely deflated—like someone had punctured her with a thumbtack. My phone lit up over and over with her calls. By the tenth round, I sighed, flipped it face-down on the table, and ignored it. That was 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 department. Normally he’d sprint to deliver anything to her, but she’d been in a terrible mood lately. The last time he tried comforting her, she snapped so hard he practically ran out of her office. I winced. “Kenneth, isn’t this a bit above my pay grade? Shouldn’t you be the one—” “Just do it. Don’t make me repeat myself.” …Fine. Even though I’d basically seen every inch of Aurora online, meeting her face-to-face still rattled me. Especially at work, where she was known for her sharp tongue, iron composure, and a level of intimidation higher than her heels. I hesitated, then grabbed my phone. Ever since the breakup, she’d been flooding me with apologies. I hadn’t responded—not because I didn’t care but because I needed things to cool off. I typed out a message: “We don’t have to break up, but can you please calm down? I really don’t like it when people break promises.” Her reply came immediately: “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, braced myself, and knocked on her office door. There was a pause before she cleared her throat. “Come in.” Her red-tipped nose was the first thing I noticed when I stepped inside. Had she been crying? She caught my glance and tapped the desk awkwardly. “Dropping off the proposal? Leave it here and go.” Her tone was noticeably softer than usual—on a normal day, she would’ve snapped at me for bypassing Kenneth. Of course, the proposal didn’t meet her standards, and she sent it back for revisions. Naturally, Kenneth dumped the work right back onto me. That Friday, everyone left early, eager for the weekend. Aurora had actually left on time, and the office emptied quickly, leaving only me and the receptionist. I stayed to finish the proposal, promising the receptionist I’d lock up afterward. It was well past 10 p.m. when I heard the door unlocking. My heart almost shot out of my chest. Who the hell shows up at this hour? Images from every horror movie I’ve ever seen flashed through my head. Ghosts aren’t real, I told myself, but my body refused to move. Then a familiar figure appeared. Aurora. “Why are you still here? Don’t you have a home to go to?” she asked, genuinely surprised. I bit back the retort—Whose fault do you think this is? “The proposal’s due soon, and I didn’t want to risk it being incomplete tomorrow. I figured I’d stay late and finish.” Her expression softened. “Oh, that one. Let me help. It’ll be faster if I just explain what I want directly.” I froze. My computer was still logged into my personal account—the one I used to message her. She stepped closer. “Pull it up. I’ll take a look.” Panic slammed into me. I felt my brain short-circuit as I scrambled for time. “Wait a second!” I blurted.
The moment I heard her footsteps approaching, panic kicked in. I slapped my palm against the desk—loud enough to make Aurora jump. For a brief second, the confusion on her face actually made her look… pretty cute. And that’s when it hit me like a punch to the gut: the Aurora standing in front of me and the Aurora I’d been flirting with online were the same person. I cleared my throat, trying to pull myself together. “Sorry, Aurora. I, uh… suddenly got a stomachache. I’m gonna run to the restroom real quick. You can look over the document while I’m gone.” She blinked, still a little startled. “Oh… okay?” I snatched my phone off the desk and bolted to the restroom. My hands were shaking as I pulled up the app. Thank God for the quick logout button. Once I hit it, I finally felt like I could breathe again. The problem was, Aurora explained things with painful levels of detail. If any pop-up notification appeared while she hovered near my screen, even just by accident, everything would blow up. After responding to her unread messages and buying myself some time, I lingered in the restroom a few extra minutes before heading back. When I returned, Aurora had already reviewed the document and motioned for me to sit so she could walk me through the revisions. After going over everything line by line, she stood up and said, “I’m going to grab something from my office. Be right back.” Be right back? Internally, I groaned. Couldn’t she just go home? But I swallowed it down and focused on the edits. Aurora lived up to her workaholic reputation. With her hovering behind me, offering “guidance,” we didn’t finish the proposal until almost midnight. “Looks good. Let’s go with this,” she finally said with a satisfied nod. I exhaled in relief. “Great. Glad we’re done.” But inside, I was dying. Just when I thought I could pack up and escape, she suddenly asked, “You’re in the company dorms, right? Want me to drive you home?” “What?” I froze and waved my hands frantically. “Oh, no, no. It’s fine. It’s close—I’ll walk.” “It’s not safe to walk alone this late,” she insisted. After a couple more failed attempts to decline, I reluctantly gave in. When I climbed into the passenger seat, Aurora quietly texted someone: Driving a coworker home. Didn’t let him sit in the front seat. I texted back a simple: ok. The ride was painfully silent. I didn’t dare pull out my phone, so I just stared out the window like a fool. Out of nowhere, Aurora asked, “By the way… if you were a guy—well, since you are a guy—what kind of gift would you want from a girlfriend?” I blinked. Oh, right. My birthday was coming up. “Uh… honestly? It’s not about the gift. It’s the thought that matters.” She frowned. “The problem is, I’ve given my boyfriend gifts before, but he returned them. I don’t know what to get anymore.” I nearly choked. Was she serious? She had given me luxury watches before. My family’s middle class on a good day—I didn’t have the lifestyle for that. Wearing those would make people assume I was showing off a fake. Returning them was the only rational choice. After thinking for a moment, I suggested, “Maybe something handmade? Something small and personal. It doesn’t have to be expensive—just thoughtful.” She looked deep in thought. Then she shifted the topic. “You look pretty young. How old are you?” My pulse spiked. “I’m a year older than you.” “What month?” she asked. “August.” She nodded quietly, then hesitated. “I just realized… I don’t know your name. What do people call you?” I froze for half a second before answering. “Mason.” We didn’t say much after that. When we reached the dorms, I thanked her politely. “Thanks for the ride, Aurora.” “No problem. Get some rest,” she said with a small, almost gentle smile. I nodded and turned to leave. “Mason!” she suddenly called after me. I stopped. “Yeah?” She opened her mouth, hesitated, then shook her head. “…Nothing. Get inside safe.” A couple of weeks later, Aurora and I landed a major client thanks to the proposal we’d worked on. Her mom—the company’s CEO—was thrilled and treated the entire office to dinner. People were drinking and chatting around me. I wasn’t much of a drinker, so I focused on my food. That’s when Kenneth decided to put me in the spotlight. “Everyone, this is Mason from our team. Don’t let his age fool you—this kid’s talented. Even Aurora praised his proposal, didn’t she, Mason?” Kenneth slapped a hand on my shoulder, grinning. I forced a polite smile, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. The only reason that proposal ended up with me was because he dumped it on my desk. Online, I could rant all I wanted. In real life? I was a pushover. “Oh, it was nothing. I just did my part,” I said lightly. “Really, it was thanks to Kenneth’s leadership.” Kenneth beamed. “Come on, don’t be modest! Top graduate from a great school—your talent speaks for itself. Mason, why don’t you give everyone a toast?” “Huh?” I stiffened. “I don’t drink.” “You don’t drink? That’s not going t
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