Sarah smoothed the fabric of her blouse one last time before stepping into the sleek glass lobby of Carter Tech headquarters. Her palms were damp, her heart doing a nervous flutter inside her chest, but beneath it all was a flicker of excitement. This was it—the call she had been waiting for.
"Please come to Carter Tech headquarters tomorrow morning to finalize your employment. You'll be receiving your letter and an orientation tour..."
She had been invited to pick up her employment letter. Not just that, but she had been told she would meet with the boss himself.
It felt unreal, almost like a dream. After weeks, suffering from humiliation & betrayal from her marriage and rejection from job after job, this was finally a step forward. Something solid. Something that was hers.
The Carter Tech building loomed above her like a silver giant scraping the clouds. Inside, everything gleamed—polished marble, spotless glass, a cold rush of air-conditioning that contrasted sharply with the sun outside. A woman was waiting for her at the reception desk.
The marble floors gleamed beneath her heels as she signed in with the receptionist and was ushered into a plush waiting area. Minutes later, a tall woman in a pencil skirt and High bun appeared.
"Ava Bennett, management office," she introduced herself, her smile tight, forced, more polite than warm. "Come with me."
From the first glance, Sarah felt it. That prickling tension that told her she wasn't welcome. Ava's eyes seemed to scan her too carefully, lingering just a second longer than necessary on her shoes, her hair, her posture. Judgment dripped from every small smile and every snide remark.
Still, Sarah followed silently as Ava led her through spotless corridors, into elevators that hummed like machinery out of a futuristic film, and finally toward the topmost floors.
The tour was brisk, efficient, and laced with subtle disapproval. Ava pointed out the different departments, the open-plan work areas, the glass-walled meeting rooms. When Sarah asked a small question, Ava responded with monotonous answers. Something in her tone screamed: you don't belong here.
Sarah squared her shoulders. She'd been underestimated before by the other women who came for the job interview, and yet here she was, a letter of employment waiting.
Finally, Ava led her to the topmost floor of the sky-high building. The air itself felt different up here—quieter, heavier, important. Ava gestured to a wide double door across the hall.
"You'll be working here," Ava said curtly, gesturing toward a wide office area with an expansive view of the city. Then she tilted her chin toward the grand set of double doors across the hall. "And that—" Her voice lowered with something that sounded like envy. "That is the CEO's office. He wants to meet you now."
Sarah blinked. "The CEO?"
"Yes," Ava said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Try not to waste his time."
Sarah's breath stuttered. With trembling hands, she pushed open the door.
And froze.
Sitting behind the massive mahogany desk, in a tailored navy suit that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, was the man who had interviewed her. No longer just the sharply dressed stranger from the club, or the kind interviewer who had asked her about her skills—today he was something more. Commanding. Dashing. Effortlessly confident.
Her gaze flicked to the polished nameplate on the desk, The nameplate gleamed: Ethan Carter, CEO.
Her heart thudded in disbelief. The man who saved me from David is my boss?
"Good morning, Mrs. Cadwell," he said smoothly, his baritone filling the office. "Please, sit."
She sat, every muscle tense, acutely aware of the luxurious room: leather chairs, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, modern art lining the walls.
"I trust you've read the employment terms?" Ethan asked, steepling his fingers.
"Yes," Sarah replied quickly. "I don't have any objections."
"Good. There's one matter I'd like to stress," he continued. "From time to time, you may be required to travel with me for business meetings. Does that pose a problem?"
Sarah swallowed. "No problem—as long as it's strictly business."
One of his brows lifted. Something unreadable flickered across his face before he moved on.
"You'll be responsible for my morning routine," he said matter-of-factly. "Coffee, my schedule, reminders, correspondence. I expect efficiency. Self-awareness is also important. I won't remind you twice. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Mr. Carter."
He nodded. "Welcome to Carter Tech." He extended his hand.
Her palm met his—warm, calloused. A jolt of awareness shot through her. Those weren't the hands of a man who had always lived behind a desk.
She pulled back quickly, muttering a polite thank you, but the sensation lingered.
--------
The first weeks were overwhelming Sarah had never been in such a high-powered environment, never been the gatekeeper to someone so important. She fumbled, worried, over-prepared. But slowly, she adapted. She quickly learned what Ethan Carter expected each morning:
Every morning she arrived before Ethan, brewing his coffee exactly the way he liked it—strong, black, with a thin slice of lemon peel.
She checked his schedule meticulously, highlighted important calls, flagged follow-up or urgent emails and pending approvals,
She then prepared a neatly printed schedule of his day, color-coded for priority and briefing notes prepared in case of investor calls and always left a soft reminder ten minutes before each meeting.
She handled travel arrangements, coordinated with Marcus Russell—Ethan's assistant who sometimes went in his stead—and even began drafting reports.
The workload was intense, but despite that, Sarah found herself adjusting quite fast. She learned where Ethan liked to sit in meetings, how he preferred his documents stapled. Slowly, she began to feel… capable.
Sarah also began to make a few work friends, except for Ava. Ava's glares never softened, her cold tone never warmed. If anything, the higher Sarah rose in competence, the more hostile Ava seemed.
Still, Sarah pressed forward. The pay was good. The environment, challenging. For once, she wasn't just David's wife—she was Sarah.
---------------
One afternoon, nearly a month into her new role, Sarah sat at her desk sorting Ethan's paperwork when her phone buzzed.
Ding.
She glanced down. The sender made her stomach drop.
David Cadwell.
She hesitated, then opened the message.
> I heard you got a job. You must have slept your way in. Tell me, how many men did you do it with?
Sarah's fingers froze above the keyboard. Her breath stumbled. Anger and confusion battled inside her. How did he even know she was working? She hadn't told him so who did?
She locked her phone, deciding not to respond and try to keep working.
But then—
Two minutes later:
Ding.
> Don't ignore me, Sarah. I know you. You're not cut out for real work. The only reason anyone would hire you is because you spread your legs.
Her throat tightened. Rage, hurt, and shame battled in her chest. She shoved the phone face down and tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her.
But the messages didn't stop.
Ding!
> What's wrong? No answer? Did I hit a nerve?
Ding.
> You think you're better than me now? Getting a paycheck doesn't erase the fact that you're nothing without me.
Ding.
> I bet you even enjoy men drooling over you. You always were desperate for attention.
Ding.
> Why aren't you answering? Too busy whoring yourself at your new job?
Ding!
>Don't forget you're still my wife. No matter where you go, who you think you impress, you're mine. Always mine.
Her stomach churned. She silenced the phone, but the notifications kept flashing.
Ding!
>Do you spread your legs for him too? For your boss? Or does he make you crawl first?
Ding!
>You disgust me. Playing secretary when everyone knows you're nothing but a cheap whore.
Her chest tightened, tears prickling at her eyes as her vision blurred. She pressed her palms to her temples. Why won't he stop? Has he gone mad??
Each message was a poison dart, reopening wounds she thought she had started to heal.
By the sixth message, she couldn't bring herself to look. The sound alone made her flinch. Finally, she silenced the phone and shoved it into her drawer.
But it didn't stop. The device buzzed like an angry wasp, relentless. When she couldn't take it anymore, she yanked it out and skimmed the last message.
> So this is it? You're just going to leave me on read? Not even trying to fix things? You're not even fighting for this marriage. Pathetic. You're a coward, Sarah and you'll never survive without me.
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not at work.
Ignore him, she told herself. [Don't give him the satisfaction.]
Her hands shook as she blocked his number, switched off the phone, and shoved it deep into her drawer. She needed her mind clear. Ethan was strict—distractions weren't tolerated. If he saw her unraveling, she could lose the only stable ground she had left.
["Focus, Sarah. You can't let him destroy this for you."] She thought.
-------
That evening, when she returned home, Sarah powered her phone back on. Dozens of missed calls from different numbers flooded the screen. She didn't dare call back as she knew it was David trying to reach her with different numbers.
Instead, she scrolled to the thread, screenshot every single abusive text, and sent them all to Racheal with a caption:
> I don't know what to do. Should I report this?
The phone rang almost instantly.
"Sarah." Racheal's voice was firm, controlled. "Listen to me. Save those messages. Every single one. Don't delete them.
"I already screenshot them."
"Good. This is harassment. Plain and simple. He's trying to break you down because he's losing control over you, these messages are evidence of harassment," Racheal said. "And if it continues, it can be grounds for a restraining order. Legally, you don't have to put up with this."