When I opened my eyes again, I realized with a jarring jolt of adrenaline that I was back. Back to the very first day that the most loathsome man I’d ever met joined the firm. Dustin was the kind of guy who used "honesty" as a weapon and "innocence" as a shield. He had a mouth that never stopped, always leaking poison disguised as casual observation. In my first life, he started his campaign on day one. He’d announced to the entire open-plan office that he’d seen some "old guy in a Porsche" dropping me off, trailing off with a wink that implied it certainly wasn't my father. Later, when I landed a seven-figure account, he spent his lunch breaks in the breakroom whispering that I hadn't used my brain to close the deal, but my "other assets." When I finally went to my manager, Frank, to report the harassment, Frank just sighed behind his mahogany desk. He told me Dustin was just a "green kid with no filter," that I was being "too sensitive," and that as a senior lead, I needed to "be the bigger person." It all culminated at the annual company gala. Dustin took the mic on stage and "accidentally" let it slip that he’d seen me leaving a hotel with the CEO. He’d covered his mouth in fake horror, pretending he’d made a slip of the tongue. The rumor reached the CEO’s wife within minutes. Regina was a woman defined by her ferocity and a hair-trigger temper. That night, fueled by a blind, vengeful rage, she had me followed. I never made it home. A heavy-duty truck, "out of control," plowed into my sedan, crushing the life out of me before I could even scream. But this time? This time, I wasn't going to argue. I wasn't going to defend myself. I was going to let that loose cannon of a mouth fire until it finally blew up in his own face. … 1 "Jane! Hey, Jane! I saw you downstairs this morning. That older guy in the Porsche... the one with the receding hairline..." The familiar, nasally voice cut through the morning hum of the office. I blinked, the ghost of the car crash still cold in my bones, and saw Dustin. He was leaning against a cubicle wall, smirking and gesturing toward the rest of the team. "Oh, guys, don't get the wrong idea! I’m sure the guy in the fancy car was just a... relative. Right, Jane?" He paused, eyes glinting with malice. "I mean, the way he was leaning over to kiss—I mean, talk to you... totally normal family stuff. I swear I didn't see anything! Everyone, stop guessing! My lips are sealed!" A ripple of low laughter spread through the room. Several women exchanged looks—that sharp, judgmental squint that happens when gossip is served fresh at 9:00 AM. It was exactly as it had happened before. Every word. Every smirk. I was really back. "Dustin," I said, my voice steady and cold as a winter morning. I stood up and looked him dead in the eye. "You swear you didn't see anything?" Dustin flinched slightly, taken aback by the lack of flustered defense he’d expected. But he recovered quickly, throwing his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. "Whoa, Jane! Why the heat?" He pouted, looking around for sympathy. "I’m literally telling people not to gossip! You’re making it so awkward. Gosh, you’re so sensitive. Can’t you take a joke?" "She’s right, Jane," Frank, our department head, said as he strolled over with his travel mug, frowning at me. "Dustin’s just out of college. He’s a good kid, just doesn't have a filter yet. He didn't mean anything by it." Frank gave me that disappointed-father look he used to gaslight me for years. "You’re a senior here. Be the bigger person. Don't ruin the vibe on a Monday." In my last life, I’d lost my temper. I’d screamed, I’d tried to prove my innocence, and I’d ended up looking like a hysterical woman with something to hide. I wasn't going to be that woman today. "You’re right, Frank," I said, a small, sharp smile playing on my lips. Dustin’s eyes sparked with triumph. He thought I’d folded. "See? I knew you’d understand, Jane. I’m just a 'tell it like it is' kind of guy—" "Actually, Dustin, I’m impressed by your eyesight," I interrupted, tossing a thick blue folder onto my desk with a satisfying thud. "The 'old guy' you saw? That’s Mr. Whitaker." I leaned back, watching the color drain slightly from Frank’s face. "He’s the founder of Whitaker Capital—our biggest target for the Q4 portfolio. The CEO spent three hours in a lobby last month just trying to get a five-minute meeting and failed." I tapped the folder. "Since you’re so observant and clearly so interested in Mr. Whitaker’s movements, I’ve decided to hand his account over to you. He’s coming in for a site visit next week. You can handle the lead on the presentation." Dustin’s eyes practically turned into dollar signs. An account like Whitaker Capital meant a six-figure commission and a fast track to a VP title. Frank’s face twisted. "Jane, wait. That’s a ten-million-dollar deal. Dustin is a rookie—" "So? You said yourself he’s got potential," I countered, locking eyes with Dustin. "Right, Dustin? Or are you only good for making 'jokes' in the breakroom? Maybe you can't handle real work?" The bait was set. For a guy as arrogant and hungry as Dustin, there was no way he wouldn't bite. He lunged for the folder, clutching it to his chest like a prize. "I can handle it! Totally!" he shouted, his face flushed with greed. "Don't worry, Jane. I’ll make sure Mr. Whitaker is... well-taken care of. I won't let the firm down!" "Good," I nodded. Within minutes, Dustin had posted a selfie with the folder to his Instagram. The caption read: No handouts, just hustle. 22 and already closing eight-figure deals. #TopTier #Grind. I watched him preen, a cold satisfaction settling in my chest. I truly hoped he’d keep that same energy when the walls started closing in. 2 By Tuesday morning’s briefing, Dustin was acting like he owned the building. He stood by the whiteboard, pointing at a timeline. "Just an update for the team—I’ve already made contact with Whitaker’s office." He paused, throwing a condescending glance my way. "His executive assistant was very impressed with my approach. We’ve locked in the site visit for Wednesday afternoon." A murmur of impressed whispers broke out. "Wow, Dustin, that’s fast," someone said. "That’s what the new generation brings to the table, Frank," Dustin bragged, his voice rising in volume. "I don't wait for things to fall into my lap. I don't believe in... shaking hands behind closed doors to get ahead. I rely on pure merit." I ignored the jab and walked out to get more coffee. At 3:00 PM, HR rolled in the snack cart to celebrate a win. "Congratulations to Jane for closing the Hyatt group contract!" My coworkers crowded around. "Jane, that’s huge! That CEO is notoriously cheap. How did you do it?" Before I could answer, Dustin wedged himself into the center of the group, coffee cup in hand. "Seriously, Jane, it’s impressive!" he drawled, his voice dripping with insinuation. "I mean, spending all that time at the hotel with him last night... you must have put in some serious overtime." He suddenly slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with mock horror. "Oops! Forget I said that! We all know Jane is a 'hard worker.' Say no more! Wink-wink!" The breakroom went silent. The air curdled. I saw two of the younger associates exchange a look that said, So that’s how she does it. Frank stood nearby, blowing on his tea, staring at the floor as if he were suddenly fascinated by the linoleum. I set my cupcake down and walked straight up to Dustin. "Say no more about what?" Dustin scrambled back an inch, his hands up in his "innocent boy" defense. "Jane, chill! You’re getting that scary look again." "Finish the sentence, Dustin," I said, my voice a flat line. "What happened at the hotel?" He rolled his eyes, turning to the crowd. "I was just saying you must be exhausted from 'working' in the hotel lounge all night! Gosh, Jane, your mind is in the gutter. Why are you attacking me? I was trying to be nice!" He raised his voice so the whole floor could hear. "You’re so defensive. It’s almost like you’re projecting. If you didn't do anything wrong, why are you so pressed?" The peanut gallery chimed in. "Yeah, Jane, he didn't even say anything." "If the shoe fits..." one girl whispered. Frank finally looked up, his voice weary. "Alright, Jane, that’s enough. We’re supposed to be celebrating. Don't be so sensitive. He’s just a kid making a joke. Be the bigger person and stop creating a hostile environment." In my last life, this was the moment I would have snapped. I would have screamed about the double standards, and I would have been labeled "difficult" by the end of the day. "You’re right. I’m being sensitive," I said, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. I walked back to my desk and pulled a blue-bound contract from my drawer. "As an apology, Dustin... here." I handed him the master service agreement for the Hyatt project. "This is the final pricing and vendor list. The hotel's board needs a final walkthrough of the numbers. Since I’m so 'tired,' why don't you take the lead on this too? It’s a great way to build your profile before the Whitaker meeting." Dustin froze. Frank dropped his spoon. "Jane! Are you insane? That’s the Hyatt core file! It has all our internal margins and trade secrets. You can't just give that to a junior!" I turned to Frank, my expression innocent. "But Frank, you said I was being too hard on him. This is a high-level responsibility. Isn't that what 'mentoring' is about?" Dustin didn't wait for Frank to protest. He snatched the file, his eyes gleaming with the thought of stealing my commission. "You all heard her!" Dustin shouted to the room. "Jane gave this to me! I’m the lead on Hyatt now!" Frank looked like he was having a stroke, but he couldn't argue with my "generosity" after he’d spent all day telling me to be nicer. Ten minutes later, I headed to the restroom. As I passed the stairwell, I heard Dustin’s muffled, frantic laughter. "I’m telling you, man, I’ve got the whole deck," Dustin whispered into his phone. "The woman is a total idiot. She’s hit menopause or something—completely lost her edge. I poked her a few times and she just handed me the keys to the kingdom." He let out a sharp, triumphant breath. "Yeah, I’ll have the pricing sheet scanned and sent to you by tonight. Your firm’s bid will blow ours out of the water, and I’ll look like the hero who caught the 'error.' We’re gonna be rich." 3 Wednesday afternoon was supposed to be Dustin’s big moment—the site visit with Mr. Whitaker. Instead, Dustin slammed back into the office an hour early, his face a sickly shade of gray. He marched over to my desk and screamed, "Jane! What the hell did you do to piss off Whitaker?" The entire office went dead silent. I didn't even look up from my monitor. "What do you mean?" Dustin’s voice cracked. "I barely mentioned your name as the person who prepared the preliminary brief, and the guy went nuclear! He kicked me out of his office! He said he 'can't stand people who play games with their private lives' and called you 'toxic'!" He turned to the room, his voice reaching a fever pitch. "Jane, whatever gross stuff you’re doing in your free time, don't drag the company’s reputation down with you!" A wave of murmurs broke out. Mr. Whitaker was legendary for being a "moralist." He was old-school, hated scandal, and loathed office politics. Dustin, in his desperate attempt to look like the hero, had obviously tried to tell Mr. Whitaker a "secret" about how I was "unstable" or "promiscuous" to make himself look like the only sane one left on the account. He had tried to use a "yellow rumor" to seal the deal. But he’d miscalculated. He’d played the game with a man who hated the board. "So," I said, finally looking up. "The deal is dead?" "Of course it’s dead!" Dustin shrieked. "He said he won't work with a firm that allows 'that kind of woman' in its senior ranks! I practically begged him on my knees, but he wouldn't even look at me. This is all your fault!" Frank stormed out of his office, his face purple. "Jane! What have you done?" He pointed a shaking finger at me. "If we lose the Whitaker account, the entire department’s bonus is gone. The CEO is going to have my head!" Dustin stepped right up next to Frank, nodding like a bobblehead. "It’s worse than that, Frank. I heard rumors... and now I see they’re true. She’s not just messy outside the office. She’s been messing around here." Frank’s eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?" Dustin covered his mouth, looking "terrified" that he’d said too much. "Oh, no... I shouldn't have. I didn't say I saw her in the parking garage with the CEO last night... I definitely didn't say that! Please don't ask me!" The office exploded. "The CEO? Is she insane?" "Regina is going to skin her alive." "No wonder she got that VP track so fast. She’s sleeping her way to the top." Frank looked at me with pure disgust. "Jane, you’re done. Hand over your keycard. Effective immediately, you’re on administrative leave." "Tonight is the annual gala," Frank added, his voice low and threatening. "Regina is going to be there. If a single word of this reaches her, I will personally make sure you never work in this city again." He slammed his hand on my desk. "Hand over all your client files to Dustin. He’s the only one I trust to fix this mess." I pulled open my drawer and tossed a stack of folders onto the desk. Dustin grabbed them like a vulture. Just before the end of the day, I went to the restroom. When I returned, my desk was covered in cold coffee dregs. My keyboard was ruined. And someone had used a red Sharpie to write one word across my chair: WHORE. A group of women nearby giggled into their hands. Dustin walked up to me, offering a single tissue with a fake, pitying sigh. "Jane, don't take it too hard." "Rumors die down eventually," he whispered, a cruel glint in his eyes. "I mean, everyone knows it’s true, but I’ll try to keep them quiet. Just... maybe stay in the shadows at the gala tonight. Don't go near the CEO. For your own sake." I didn't take the tissue. Instead, I smiled. "Dustin, you should eat a lot at the gala tonight." He blinked, confused. "What?" "Because after tonight, you might not be eating 'outside' for a very long time." 4 The gala started at 7:00 PM in the grand ballroom of the Peninsula. Frank and Dustin were at the head table, clinking glasses with the board members. I was tucked away at the very back, at the "overflow" table. The people sitting with me literally moved their chairs away, treating me like I had the plague. Then came the "New Talent" speech. Dustin, dressed in a tuxedo that probably cost two months’ rent, swaggered onto the stage. He took the mic, his eyes scanning the crowd until they locked onto me. "I want to thank my mentor, Jane," he began, his voice amplified throughout the hall. Every head in the room turned toward me. "It’s just..." He paused, letting the silence hang. He looked "confused," staring at the CEO’s empty chair at the head table. "Jane, why aren't you sitting with Lawrence? I saw you two heading into the Hilton together yesterday... I thought for sure you’d be his plus-one." He suddenly gasped, banging the mic against his forehead. "Oh! My big mouth! I’m so sorry! I didn't see anything! Forget I said it! Everything’s fine!" The ballroom went deathly silent. CRASH. At the head table, a wine glass shattered. Regina, the CEO’s wife, stood up. Her face was a mask of cold, vibrating fury. Behind her, four massive security guards stood like statues. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as she marched toward me. "Well, well," Regina hissed, her voice trembling with rage. She pointed a finger inches from my nose. "I thought you were a professional. Turns out you’re just another cheap little social climber trying to screw her way into a paycheck." "Hold her," she commanded. Two of the guards stepped forward. Just like in my first life, they grabbed my arms, twisting them behind my back and forcing me down onto my knees on the hard floor. "Regina, please! Don't be rash!" Dustin shouted, running down from the stage, his phone already out and recording. "I’m sure she didn't mean to seduce Lawrence! Maybe she was just... 'reporting' in his hotel room!" "Don't record this, guys! Jane needs her face for 'business'!" he yelled, while making sure his own camera was perfectly framed on my humiliation. Regina looked down at me, her heel inches from my hand. "Business? Is that what you call it?" "I’m going to make sure the only business you do from now on is on a street corner," she spat. Around us, my "colleagues" were all filming. Not a single person moved to help. Frank stood in the back, shouting, "Regina, the department does not condone this! She’s fired! I’m firing her right now!" The memory of the truck hitting my car flashed through my mind. The pain, the darkness, the injustice. But this time, I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I looked up at Regina and started to laugh. "You might want to take a look at the screen behind you, Regina," I said, my voice calm. "And tell me... who exactly is Lawrence 'reporting' to?" Regina’s brow furrowed. She instinctively turned around. When she saw what was playing on the giant projector screens, the entire room gasped.
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