At the company dinner, I snatched my unconscious male colleague back from death's door. But the first words out of his mouth when he woke up were accusations that I'd taken advantage of him. He even posted online demanding I make it up to him by becoming his girlfriend. I thought that was the peak of shamelessness -- until today's meeting, when he collapsed at my feet clutching his chest again, and the entire company pressured me to save him. I let out a cold laugh, took half a step back, and dialed 91 "I wouldn't dare touch him this time. What if he wakes up and demands I pay with my life?" 1 The moment those words left my mouth, the conference room -- previously noisy with panic -- fell into a deathly silence. Dozens of pairs of eyes swept back and forth between me and Trevor, who was convulsing on the floor, filled with shock, confusion, and veiled accusation. The air seemed to freeze. Trevor's number one lackey, Harvey -- always quick to read the room -- turned beet red with fury, jabbing his finger at my nose as he launched into a tirade. "Clara! How can you be so vicious? This is a matter of life and death, and you're throwing a tantrum? If anything happens to Trevor, can you handle the legal consequences?!" "No, I can't," I shot back, meeting his gaze without backing down, my eyes cold as ice. "At last month's company dinner, he had an allergic reaction to seafood that caused acute shock. He couldn't even breathe. I was the one who used my certified first aid training to perform the Heimlich maneuver and CPR, literally dragging him back from death's door!" I took a deep breath, my voice echoing through the spacious conference room. "And what happened? When he woke up, he said I ripped his shirt. Said I groped his chest while he was unconscious. Even claimed I forced a kiss on him under the guise of rescue breathing! Not only did he demand ten thousand dollars for emotional distress, he posted a sob story in the company group chat pressuring me to become his girlfriend to 'restore his reputation'!" "This time, if I touch him again and he wakes up claiming I deliberately hurt him, demanding I transfer my house to him and support his parents in their old age -- Harvey, are you going to pay for all that?" Harvey was struck speechless by my rapid-fire questions, his face turning the color of liver, unable to squeeze out a single word. Quinn from the administrative department, always one to smooth things over, stomped his feet anxiously and rushed over to grab my arm, his voice trembling. "Clara! Please, I'm begging you -- stop being stubborn! Save him first! Whatever the misunderstanding is, we can mediate it internally after Trevor wakes up, okay?" I forcefully shook off Quinn's hand and cast a cold glance at Trevor lying on the floor, his chest still heaving violently. I held up my phone, the screen showing an active 911 call. "I've already called an ambulance. City Central Hospital is only two blocks away. Professional medical personnel are a thousand times more reliable than a half-baked certified amateur like me." I scanned the circle of colleagues around me -- all looking anxious but not one stepping forward -- and my lips curved into a mocking smile. "And let's be honest -- if I have a sudden burst of compassion today and he stops breathing halfway through the rescue, won't his family turn around and sue me for practicing medicine without a license? For manslaughter?" "Besides, all of you who usually call him your buddy and are so concerned about him now -- how come not one of you is stepping up to give him mouth-to-mouth?" "Go ahead! Maybe when Trevor wakes up, he'll look at you all starry-eyed and say you're secretly in love with him, and you'll have to take responsibility for his entire future!" The moment those words left my mouth, several colleagues who had been itching to persuade me suddenly shut up as if electrocuted. Everyone looked at each other, then uniformly took two large steps backward, as if afraid of being contaminated by something dirty. Just then, Trevor -- lying "at death's door" on the floor -- suddenly twitched his fingers in an extremely unnatural way. Immediately after, he let out a weak but extraordinarily clear voice. "Clara... please... save me... if you save me, I won't... blame you for what happened at the dinner... isn't that enough?" I almost laughed out loud from sheer anger. I took another step back, completely withdrawing from the circle surrounding me, crossing my arms and looking down at his pathetic performance. "Don't, Trevor. Please don't be so generous. After you catch your breath, who knows -- you might say I'm lusting after your body and demand I bear your child as penance. Someone like you? I could never aspire so high." Just as I finished speaking, the wail of an approaching ambulance siren came from outside the window. The piercing alarm cut through the quiet office building. A miracle occurred. The instant he heard the siren, Trevor -- who had seemed on the verge of death just seconds ago -- suddenly opened his eyes wide. He planted his hands on the ground and sprang upright from the floor in one smooth motion! Not only was his complexion rosy, even his breathing had become perfectly smooth. "Clara! Do you have to be this difficult?" Trevor brushed the dust off his suit, looking at me with an expression of wounded disappointment. "I know you've secretly had a crush on me, and that day at the dinner you were just trying to make a move. You're shy and embarrassed to admit it -- I get it, I understand all that." "But how can you say such vicious things just to spite me because I called you out? Don't you know how much that hurts my feelings?" The colleagues who moments ago had been panicking, thinking someone might die, now stood frozen in place. Then the shock on their faces rapidly transformed into the excitement of watching drama unfold. "Oh? So you're not dead after all?" I said with a cold laugh, my gaze sharp as a knife. "Since you're so full of life, you can go downstairs and pay the ambulance dispatch fee yourself." "Oh, and since you just claimed I'm spitefully trying to hurt you -- want me to play the recording of you cornering me in the break room yesterday, forcing me to transfer you ten thousand dollars as a 'relationship sincerity fund' for everyone to hear?" Trevor's face instantly went from red to white, then from white to green, his eyes beginning to dart around anxiously. "You... what are you talking about! What ten thousand dollars! That... that was me testing your feelings for me! That was our future relationship fund!" The surrounding colleagues finally couldn't hold it in anymore and burst into laughter. The way everyone looked at him now was like watching a complete clown. I didn't even spare him another glance, turning and striding back to my workstation. Saving him at last month's dinner was the stupidest, most disgusting thing I'd ever done in my life. If I softened today, I'd be completely brain-dead. I thought that publicly exposing his true colors would finally put an end to this farce. But I underestimated how shameless people could be, and how dark the workplace really was. That evening at ten o'clock, I was at home applying a face mask when my phone suddenly vibrated. It was a voice call from Quinn. "Clara, you don't need to come in to clock in tomorrow." 2 I thought I'd misheard. I pulled off my face mask and turned my phone volume to maximum. "Quinn, what exactly do you mean by that?" On the other end, Quinn's voice carried the coldness of official business and obvious impatience. "Trevor just submitted a sick leave note from City Hospital to the company, along with a diagnosis of severe depressive tendencies from the chief psychologist." "He's filed a formal complaint with upper management, claiming you publicly subjected him to verbal abuse and psychological harassment in the conference room today, causing him extremely serious psychological trauma." "Management held a meeting to discuss it. The leadership's decision is that for the greater good, you should voluntarily submit your resignation tomorrow. This looks better on your resume and minimizes the impact on the company." I laughed in fury, anger surging to the top of my head. "He faked illness to extort people -- the whole company saw it! Instead of firing that troublemaker, you're firing me, the victim?" "Clara, don't be so naive!" Quinn's voice shot up an octave. "The company isn't a court -- the company wants stability and profits! The company doesn't want to get dragged into your messy romantic drama!" "Last month's dinner incident caused such an uproar that even several major clients came asking about the gossip. Do you know how much negative impact that had on the company's corporate image?" "You young people dating, breaking up, getting back together -- normally the company doesn't interfere. But Trevor's medical records clearly show he has a history of allergies and arrhythmia. If something had really happened to him in the company today, who would take responsibility for the workplace injury? Could you handle that?" Quinn paused, his tone taking on a naked threat. "I'll only say this once. If you don't agree to resign voluntarily, the company will issue a formal termination notice tomorrow." "When that happens, your resignation letter will clearly state 'terminated for suspected workplace sexual harassment and malicious bullying of colleagues.' You're still young -- you don't want to carry that kind of stain to job interviews at other companies, do you?" I gripped my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. I didn't waste another word on this sycophantic manager, directly pressing the hang-up button. After taking several deep breaths to force myself to calm down, I opened the company SnapChat group. The group had completely exploded. Trevor had posted an extremely affected selfie. In the photo, he was lying in a hospital bed with an IV needle in his hand, connected to a drip, his chest wrapped with heart rate monitoring bands, his expression melancholic and broken. The caption was even more nauseating: [I always thought that if I was understanding enough, I could soften a stubborn heart. I never imagined that just because I rejected an irrational confession, I'd be publicly humiliated and denied life-saving help in front of the entire company. My chest still hurts. The doctor says I'm at risk for severe depression. I really don't know what to do anymore. Do men in the workplace really deserve to be bullied like this?] What made it even more chilling was the long string of supportive, partisan comments below. Harvey was the first to jump in: [Hang in there, Trevor! Clara really went too far this time! No matter how bitter you are about rejection, you can't joke around with someone's life! This is basically attempted murder!] Another female colleague who was close to Trevor joined the pile-on: [Exactly! About last month's dinner -- maybe Clara really did force herself on Trevor while drunk. Trevor is usually so nice, always buying us afternoon tea. How could he possibly extort anyone?] Someone even made a snide remark: [I could tell ages ago that Clara had designs on Trevor. At the last team building event, she deliberately wore the same color outfit as Trevor. The way she looked at him -- like she wanted to devour him whole.] Looking at these comments that twisted the truth, I rolled my eyes dramatically. The bigger the forest, the more kinds of birds you find. What a time to be alive! Trying to use these underhanded tactics to force me to resign voluntarily and whitewash your fake peace? Dream on! The next morning at nine o'clock, I put on a full face of makeup, clicked my heels, and clocked in right on time at the company entrance. As soon as I reached my workstation, I saw Trevor leaning against my desk holding a cup of coffee. Seeing me appear, surprise flashed across his face first, then that disgusting smile of "I knew you couldn't stay away from me" spread across his features. "Clara, you still came. I knew it -- those heartless things you said in the conference room yesterday were just to get my attention. You were just being contrary." I looked at him coldly, as if looking at a pile of non-combustible garbage. "Move. You're blocking me from breathing fresh air." Not only did he not move, he actually leaned in closer, lowering his voice in what he probably thought was a charming tone: "Alright, stop pretending. I know you're proud and would rather suffer than lose face. Yesterday you deliberately didn't save me because you wanted to test whether I care about you, right?" "Let me tell you the truth -- I already talked to Quinn. I told him we're just a couple having a little spat, that I'm not pressing charges, and the company won't fire you." He raised an eyebrow with a magnanimous expression. "How about that? So moved you could cry? As long as you be my girlfriend right now, I'll protect you at the company from now on." I was genuinely shocked by this delusional man's mental gymnastics. Did he really think he was some kind of domineering CEO? I laughed mockingly, loud enough for colleagues at several nearby workstations to hear clearly. "Trevor, do you not only have heart problems, but brain stem atrophy as well?" "Thanks so much to your whole family! Save your 'touching gestures' for when you're visiting your own grave." "And stay away from me. That scumbag stench on you is too suffocating. Bad luck!" Several colleagues who had been eavesdropping couldn't help but snicker out loud. Trevor's face instantly flushed red, completely unable to save face. He slammed the coffee cup on the desk and jabbed his finger at my nose, hissing viciously: "Clara! Don't be so ungrateful! I'm telling you -- if you don't agree to be with me now, even if you strip naked and beg me on your knees later, I'll think you're too dirty!" I didn't even lift an eyelid, simply pulled out a disinfectant wipe and vigorously cleaned the desk surface he'd just touched. Just then, the internal messaging software on my computer started flashing. Quinn sent a message: "Clara, come to my office. Now." 3 I pushed open the manager's office door. Quinn was sitting in his executive chair with a dark expression. "Clara, wasn't I clear enough on the phone last night? The company asked you to voluntarily resign. Why did you still come in to clock in today?" I pulled out a chair and sat down calmly. "Quinn, I follow company rules and regulations. I'm never late or leave early, and my performance reviews are all excellent. I haven't done anything wrong -- why should I resign?" Quinn slammed his hand on the desk. "You haven't done anything wrong? Your scandal with Trevor has the entire building gossiping about our company! Do you know that even the property management was asking me this morning which one of you harassed the other?" "You believe whatever Trevor says? He says I harassed him, but I say he's extorting me! I have recordings of him forcing me to give him money yesterday. Why don't you believe that?" Quinn was momentarily speechless from my retort, irritably loosening his tie. "Why are you being so stubborn with him? He has a depression diagnosis from the hospital. If he really does something extreme at the company -- jumps off a building, cuts his wrists -- the company will be held jointly liable!" "Having you resign voluntarily now is completely to protect you! If it really comes to the company issuing a termination notice, your file will be completely ruined. How will you survive in this industry after that?" Looking at Quinn's sanctimonious face, I felt it was utterly ironic. "Thank you for your 'good intentions,' Quinn, but you needn't worry about my future." I pulled out my phone, brought up a photo of my advanced first aid certification, and shoved it right in his face. "At last month's dinner, my emergency response for Trevor fully complied with international standard operating procedures. Not only is he ungrateful, he fabricated facts to slander me and damage my reputation. I haven't even sued him in court yet, and your company is rushing to sweep the victim out the door?" "You want me to leave? Fine. If the company insists on terminating me, please issue a formal notice of contract termination according to labor law and pay N+1 compensation." "Short me one cent, and we'll see each other in labor arbitration. When that happens, I'll not only sue the company for illegal termination, I'll use Trevor's statements in the company group as evidence and sue the company for harboring and enabling workplace sexual harassment. We'll see whose face looks worse then!" Quinn trembled with rage, pointing at the office door, barely squeezing out one word: "Get out! Get out of my office!" I clicked my heels and walked out of the office with my head held high. As soon as I returned to my workstation, Piper -- an intern I usually got along well with -- came over with red-rimmed eyes, her voice very low. "Clara, stop fighting with the company. Look at Twitter and the local forum -- Trevor posted about this online last night and bought a troll army. The whole internet is cyberbullying you now!" My heart sank. I immediately opened my phone to search. Sure enough, at the tail end of the local trending topics was a glaring hashtag: #ManipulativeWomanTriesToMurderMaleColleagueAfterRejection Clicking in, I found a long post by Trevor, accompanied by a carefully edited video. The video was only about ten seconds long, starting from yesterday's conference room scene. In the footage, Trevor collapsed in pain, colleagues called for help anxiously, while I coldly stepped back, saying: "I wouldn't dare touch him. What if he wakes up and demands I pay with my life?" All context had been cleanly edited out, leaving only my "cold-blooded and heartless" moment. In the long post, he portrayed himself as a clean-living, hardworking, sunny young man, while I was a psychologically twisted woman who took advantage of him at the dinner, then held a grudge after being rejected and attempted to let him die in the conference room. The comment section had completely fallen, with unbearable abuse flooding in like a tide. [Holy crap! This woman is so vicious! If you can't have him, you'll destroy him? This is like a real-life Fatal Attraction!] [She looks so normal on the outside, but her heart is this black! Women like this should be arrested and sentenced!] [Men need to protect themselves in the workplace too! This woman is obviously a psycho!] [Someone expose this woman's workplace and home address! She needs to be socially destroyed!] [I know her! She works at our company. She's always been promiscuous at work, hitting on male colleagues everywhere!] I scrolled down several pages, looking at those vicious curses. Even my parents had been dragged into it. My hands trembled uncontrollably with rage. Piper tugged at my sleeve beside me, almost crying with anxiety. "Clara, a lot of netizens are doxxing your personal information now. Even your phone number has been posted. You should just apologize and resign to lie low for a while. We ordinary people can't afford to mess with scum like this." I took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the fury in my chest. Can't afford to mess with him? I'm going to mess with him anyway! Just then, Trevor sauntered over with his hands in his pockets. Looking at my pale face, he couldn't hide the smugness on his face. "How about it, Clara? Now you know what happens when you cross me, right?" He leaned down, using a voice only the two of us could hear, whispering viciously: "Let me tell you -- internet mobs have no reason. If I add a little more fuel to the fire, tomorrow your photo will be made into a funeral portrait and sent to your parents' phones." "You want to calm this down? Sure." A lecherous gleam flashed in his eyes. "As long as you kneel down in front of the entire company right now and apologize to me, admit that you seduced me. Then tonight, come to my place and keep me company. I'll be magnanimous, delete the post, and say it was all a misunderstanding." "Otherwise, I'll make sure you can never hold your head up for the rest of your life!"
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