The Breaking Point

The whispers start before Victor's door even closes. "Did you hear what Miley said?" "Seduced him at a nightclub..." "I always thought she was too friendly with Mr. Ashford." "Sleeping her way to the top, probably." The words float across the office like poison, each one finding its mark. I keep my eyes on my computer screen, fingers frozen over the keyboard, trying to pretend I can't hear them dissecting my character with gleeful precision. Sarah from accounting walks past my desk, her eyes sliding over me with barely concealed contempt. Mark from legal—who asked me out twice and sulked when I declined—leans against the water cooler with his cronies, their voices deliberately loud enough to carry. "Guess we know why she's kept her position so long." "And here I thought she was professional." "Professional on her knees, maybe." Laughter. Cruel and cutting. My hands curl into fists under my desk. I won't cry. Won't give them the satisfaction. Won't let them see that every word is a knif