I was about to speak up when the department manager poked his head out of his office, wearing an expression of fatherly concern that made my skin crawl.

"We're all colleagues here, Matilda. Don't make this ugly."

"Besides, Mercedes was only thinking of you. You earn more than most of us. Treating everyone to a coffee run wouldn't even dent your paycheck."

My stomach turned.

My salary was higher than most, sure, but higher than a department manager's? Not a chance.

I was done wasting my breath. I slammed my laptop shut, kept my face blank, and said one thing:

"If anyone wants coffee, they can buy their own. I'm not paying."

What I didn't expect was the delivery guy showing up the next afternoon, arms loaded with two overstuffed bags, asking,

"Are you Matilda Chavez? Twenty-eight drinks. You paying by app or cash?"

Twenty-eight drinks. All Starbucks.

The delivery guy's voice carried across the entire open-plan office.

Heads swiveled. Conrad was the fastest, craning his neck until he spotted the logo on the bags. His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

I stared at those two bulging bags, and the anger looped all the way past fury and came out the other side as dead calm.

"I didn't order these. Whoever did can pay for them."

The delivery guy blinked.

"The person who placed the order said Matilda Chavez is covering it. Said it's her treat."

Before I could respond, a saccharine voice floated up from behind me.

"Oh, they're here already?"

I turned around. Mercedes, of course.

She stood with her arms crossed, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

"Come on, Matilda. The drinks are already here. All you have to do is settle the tab. You're not really going to make this poor delivery guy run back for nothing, are you?"

Her words were wrapped in politeness, but her tone dripped entitlement, as if spending my money were the most natural thing in the world.

I stared at her, cold and unblinking.

"Who told you I agreed to this?"

Mercedes blinked, all wide-eyed innocence.

"Everyone's been waiting. I figured last night was just you blowing off steam. You wouldn't seriously embarrass the whole department over a few dollars, would you?"

The words barely left her mouth before several colleagues had already torn open the bags.

I almost laughed. The bill hadn't been paid and they were already helping themselves. Did they really take me for a pushover?

I pressed my hand down on the bag, and my voice dropped to ice.

"You want afternoon coffee? Fine. Whoever drinks, pays. But don't pin it on me. I'm not covering a single cent."

The smug grin slid right off Mercedes's face. She hadn't expected me to shut her down in front of the entire office without leaving her an inch of dignity.

Her eyes narrowed, glaring at me.

"Matilda, seriously? It's barely a thousand bucks. What fraction of your salary is that? Do you really need to nickel-and-dime everyone like this?"

"Be generous for once. Think of it as building goodwill. Don't throw away an opportunity like that."

I nearly choked on a laugh at her twisted logic.

So refusing to bankroll their coffee habit made me cheap, and somehow I was supposed to thank her for the privilege?

I turned straight to the delivery guy.

"I didn't place this order, and I'm not paying. Find whoever ordered it and collect from them. If they won't pay, call the police."

Mercedes's expression flickered, and a thin edge of threat crept into her voice.

"Matilda, have you lost your mind? Calling the cops during work hours? Are you trying to ruin someone's career?"

"We all work in the same department. We see each other every single day. You humiliate everyone today, how do you plan on showing your face tomorrow? And just so you know, I placed this order as a department event. The manager already signed off on it."

I narrowed my eyes.

"The manager signed off on it?"

Mercedes's confidence swelled back.

"I told him this morning. He even said I was great at boosting team morale, and that someone with your salary should've been treating everyone ages ago. If you refuse to pay now, it's not just my face you're slapping. It's the entire department's."

The words barely left her mouth before a colleague next to me, someone I'd always gotten along with, tugged at my sleeve.

"Matilda, just let it go. Mercedes isn't someone you want to cross. Her cousin's in admin, and the manager has her back. If you make an enemy of her today, she'll never let it rest."

"Why don't you just pay this time? Think of it as spending a little to avoid a lot of trouble."

It was my money. Since when did anyone else get a say in how I avoided trouble?

I thanked her for the concern, but I didn't waver for a second.

"I'll say this one last time. I didn't place that order, and I'm not paying a single cent."

"Whoever wants a drink can scan the code and pay for it themselves. Stop using my salary to make yourselves look generous."

The office went dead silent. The people who'd been scrambling to rip open the packaging a moment ago pulled their hands back like they'd been burned, lips curling in distaste.

"Who'd even want one? Eighty bucks for a coffee? That's insane."

Mercedes's face cycled between white and green. A few seconds passed, and then she laughed.

"Fine, Matilda. You've got backbone. Let's see if you're still this tough tomorrow."

The next morning, the break room was unusually crowded.

Mercedes spotted me and raised her voice on purpose.

"Some people love bragging about how they've already paid off their mortgage, but they can't even treat the team to an afternoon coffee run. Yesterday the whole department lost face because of her. I honestly can't figure out what goes on in her head."

Someone chimed in immediately.

"So what if she makes good money? With that kind of stinginess, who'd respect her?"

A cluster of them huddled together, snickering under their breath.

I set my bag on my desk and walked straight over.

"Are you done?"

The break room fell quiet. Mercedes didn't look the least bit guilty. If anything, she let out a deliberate sigh.

"Matilda, don't get the wrong idea. I'm not singling you out. I just think we're all in the same department, seeing each other every day. There's really no need to take things this far."

I looked at her, and the words came out dry as bone.

"Far? Spending my money to buy yourself goodwill. Now that's taking things far."

Mercedes's expression flickered.

"Matilda, that's a pretty ugly thing to say. I was trying to do something nice for the team. Everyone's been working hard, and I thought it'd lift the mood. But you? You made a scene in front of the delivery guy and embarrassed the entire department."

A few of the colleagues who'd been tearing into those bags yesterday jumped right in.

"Seriously, it was such a small thing. Why blow it up like that?"

"I ended up spending an extra hundred bucks, and my husband chewed me out for wasting money when I got home!"

I almost laughed from the sheer absurdity.

Nobody forced them to drink a thing. They didn't get their freebie, and suddenly they were the victims.

"So what you're all saying is, I owe you an apology?"

Conrad put on his best peacemaker face.

"Matilda, no need to be so harsh. Mercedes meant well. You're doing better than most of us. Would it kill you to look out for the team once in a while?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Then why don't you look out for them? Your numbers were the highest in the department last month."

Conrad's mouth opened and closed. Nothing came out.

Another woman picked up the slack without missing a beat.

"That's completely different. Conrad's got a family to support, a wife and kids. Not like you. Thirty years old and still single. If you're not the one treating, who should be?"

A cold weight settled in my chest.

In their eyes, being thirty and unmarried made me the easiest target in the room.

Mercedes watched the crowd rally to her side, and the triumph in her eyes was barely contained.

"Matilda, why put yourself through this? You already offended the whole department yesterday. If you still won't admit you were wrong today, the only person who's going to suffer is you."

"Trust me. All it takes is one word from me about you not being a team player, and the manager will make sure your performance bonus and your client list both take a hit this quarter. And when that happens, not a single person here will have your back."

Everyone within earshot heard what she said. Not a single person spoke up. They all pretended they hadn't heard a thing.

Their seamless solidarity made the whole scene feel pointless.

"Fine. Then let's see if you actually have the pull to back that up."

I turned back to my work and tried to focus.

But the stares coming from every direction never let up. Not for a second.

Someone muttered just loud enough to be heard:

"Must be nice earning so much. Even a cup of coffee is too precious to share."

I acted like I hadn't heard.

I barely survived until the end of the day. I was packing up to leave when my phone started buzzing nonstop.

Someone had dropped a screenshot into the company-wide group chat.

I tapped on it, and the blood rushed straight to my head.

It was my pay stub from last month. Base salary, bonus, project commission. Every single line item, laid bare.

And beneath the screenshot, someone had added a caption that burned itself into my eyes:

"$6,000 a month, and she won't even treat the department to an afternoon coffee run. What's the point of keeping someone like that around?"

The group chat erupted.

"$6,000 a month? No wonder she acts like she's above everyone."

"Making that much and she can't even spring for coffee? Why do we even keep her?"

I stared at the wall of messages, and something inside me sank, slow and heavy.

A leaked pay stub was a serious violation. But not a single person in that chat cared who had posted it.

All they cared about was why I wasn't spending my money on them.

The next morning, I had barely stepped into the department before I saw a crowd gathered around the bulletin board.

Pinned right in the center was my pay stub.

Next to it, someone had taped up unflattering photos of me with a label scrawled across them: CHEAPSKATE OF THE YEAR.

The cleaning lady looked uneasy.

"Ms. Chavez, it was already up when I got here this morning. I was going to tear it down, but that intern in your department told me to leave it."

I reached up and ripped every sheet off the board. Mercedes walked over right on cue, pressing a hand to her mouth in exaggerated shock.

"Oh my God, who would do something like that? But honestly, Matilda, if things have gotten this bad, you can't really blame everyone else, can you?"

I stared at her.

"Was this you?"

Mercedes blinked, the picture of innocence.

"Matilda, don't go throwing around accusations. There are hundreds of people in the company chat. Could've been anyone. But hey, I did stay late last night putting together your attendance records and colleague feedback. I'm about to hand them to Manager Whitney."

I looked at that face, barely concealing its smugness, and felt nothing but revulsion.

I didn't waste another word on her. I turned and headed straight for the manager's office. But before I could even open my mouth, Mercedes was already there, eyes rimming red.

"Manager Whitney, I'm so sorry to bother you with this. I never thought it would blow up like this. If I'd known Matilda was going to come make trouble for you, I would've just paid for the coffee myself."

She glanced at me, timid and wounded, as if she were the one who'd been wronged.

"Here are her recent attendance records, colleague evaluations, and client reception notes."

Maurice picked up the folder, flipped through two pages, and tossed it onto his desk with open irritation.

"Well, well, Matilda. So this is how you've been working. Half your colleagues describe you as selfish and uncooperative. How exactly do you expect to be a team player with an attitude like this?"

Right. I didn't buy them coffee, so now I was selfish and uncooperative. They were the ones who'd lost their minds.

I was about to respond when the door swung open and Duncan Swanson walked in. His gaze found me almost immediately.

"What's all the noise about? You're Matilda Chavez?"

"That's me."

Mr. Swanson's expression was cold, his face stamped with undisguised contempt.

"You think a decent paycheck makes you untouchable? Someone asks you to cover one coffee run and you turn it into a company-wide circus? This company needs people who can work with a team, not some overpaid prima donna who makes life miserable for everyone around her."

He didn't even give me a chance to speak. He turned to Maurice and said,