While I'm in a bathroom stall, I overhear one of the new hires standing at the sink sharing some good news with his family excitedly.

"I've passed probation. My salary is 12,000 dollars a month!"

I sat there, swallowed by a heavy, resentful silence.

I've been with this company for six years.

In my first year, my salary is 6,000 dollars, and I didn't get a raise. In my second year, it's still 6,000 dollars. At the end of the year, I get a 5% raise, which is an extra 300 dollars. In my third, fourth, and fifth years, my salary stays exactly the same at 6,300 dollars.

Currently, I'm in my sixth year. HR talks to me today and tells me that next year, I'll receive another 5% raise, bringing my salary to 6,615 dollars.

At this point, I'm responsible for coordinating five separate projects. Because the workload is too much, the company hires three new employees for me to train.

The newest one has just passed probation, and his salary is 12,000 dollars.

It is nearly double of what I make after six years of working for this company.

I walk out of the restroom and head straight for the HR office to submit my resignation.

The HR manager is stunned as she asks, "Why?"

I reply, "Because the pay sucks, and I'm tired of being miserable."

After hearing that, Harper Sullivan was stumped for half a minute before she said, "Don't do anything rash, Sophia."

"I'm not being rash," I responded. "I should've said this six years ago."

From graduation up until that point, I had worked at the company for a full six years.

In those six years, I had gone from a lowly intern to managing the coordination of five major projects. Company operations, client collaborations—there wasn't a single link in the chain that could function without me. In fact, to help me perform even better, my boss had hired three interns at the start of the year specifically to assist me.

Yet, what had my dedication gotten me? In six years, my base salary had only gone from 6,000 to 6,615 dollars. Meanwhile, the male intern who had just transitioned to a permanent role was making a base salary of 12,000 dollars.

"I don't want to drag this out, Harper. I'd appreciate it if you could fast-track my resignation process."

Harper's expression soured. "But you're handling five major projects right now, Sophia. Don't you think you're hitting below the belt by quitting right now?"

"Oh, I'm hitting below the belt?" I sneered.

When I first joined, this company could barely even be called a studio. The boss and the employees altogether added up to fewer than ten people and were all crammed into a small 215-square-foot room. There was no air conditioning in the summer, no heating in the winter, and we had to work unpaid overtime every single day.

However, I endured all of it.

Relying entirely on the raw passion of someone fresh out of school, I stubbornly stuck it out, helping the company grow from a shabby little factory on the brink of bankruptcy to a business that could afford to rent four floors of an office building. Yet, it was only today that I learned a newly converted intern's salary was twice mine.

"Harper, do you know how much I make a month? 6,615 dollars. For that measly sum, I work an average of three hours overtime every day and revise proposals late into the night. Even when I'm traveling back to my hometown for the New Year, if the company calls, I have to edit proposals right there on the train.

"Meanwhile, the male intern who just became a permanent employee today has been with the company for three months. He clocks in right on time and leaves right on the dot. Last week, he even got a meeting time wrong, and the heads of five departments all came to me to complain. And yet, his monthly base salary is 12,000 dollars!

"Harper, are you seriously talking to me about fairness right now?"

Harper went silent for what felt like an eternity before she ultimately muttered, "Look, at the end of the day, you're a woman. What do you expect?"

"Excuse me?" I stared at her, unable to believe my ears.

Harper pursed her lips and sighed. "I thought you knew how the world works, Sophia. You're a woman, and you're already 28 this year. You're at the age where you'll be getting married and having kids soon. Between wedding leave, maternity leave, and nursing leave, you'll be out of commission for almost a whole year.

"Besides, research online shows that a woman's mental capacity declines after marriage. The boss is worried you won't be able to balance career and family when the time comes, so… you should see things from the company's financial standpoint."

Harper's words sank into my chest like a knife.

Before I could even process how absurd that sounded, I instinctively asked, "In that case, what about you? You're five years my senior, and your second child is already in kindergarten. How much do you make a month?"

Harper curled her lip and responded casually, "Eight grand, but Mr. Hawthorne is my cousin."

That one sentence knocked the wind out of my sails.

All of a sudden, I recalled the countless all-nighters I'd pulled over the last three years, the countless slices of cold office pizza I had shoveled down at my desk just to meet deadlines, and the professional training courses I'd paid for out of my own pocket just to upskill.

I had busted my ass for so long and put up with so much bullshit, and in the end, none of it mattered because, according to my boss, I was a woman.

Because I was a woman, my staggering contributions meant less than a male intern who didn't know how to do a damn thing. Because I had no connections, I was deemed unworthy of a fair wage, even though this place would literally fall apart without me. It all boiled down to the fact that I was born female.

I let out a derisive chuckle. "Right." I rose to my feet. "I see how it is."

Harper froze. "What?"

Ignoring her, I threw open the door and walked out. It hit me that this dumpster fire of a company should've burned to the ground six years ago.

I yanked open my desk drawer. My eyes landed on the voice recorder I'd recently bought. It was originally meant for meeting minutes, but now, it was the only weapon I had to fight back.

I tucked the voice recorder securely into my breast pocket.

Right then, a cup of coffee was placed in front of me. It was from Mason Brooks, my boyfriend of three years, who was technically my superior. "Harper told me you're throwing in the towel?"

Without looking up, I responded, "Yep."

"Is it because of your salary?"

I froze and looked up at him. "You knew about it?"

He went silent for a moment. "I did."

"How much do you make a month?"

Since we weren't married yet, I had never asked about his salary. However, right now, I was dying to know.

Mason avoided my gaze when he heard that. "30,000 dollars. But I'm a project manager, and you're just the coordinator. We're on different rungs of the ladder, so obviously it's not apples to apples."

Looking him in the eye, I rebutted, "You were promoted to project manager at the start of the year, but you've been pulling that same salary for the last two. I started handling the coordination for the company's major projects the year before last, and my pathetic 5% raise didn't even put me at a third of your salary.

"It's been six years. I know every single project in this company inside out, and every single department takes its cues from me. Without me, this company would collapse before lunch, and we wouldn't be able to ship a single product. Mason, in this company, I'm more important than you!"

His brows knitted. "So what if you are? Talent doesn't automatically mean a bigger paycheck. Mr. Hawthorne calls the shots on salaries. If you've got a problem, take it up with him."

I rose from my seat. "You're right. That's exactly what I'm going to do."

I was going to demand what I was owed for the last six years. With that, I marched straight toward the elevators.

Mason was caught off guard. He chased after me and tried to stop me. "Don't do anything rash, Soph!"

Paying him no mind, I slammed my finger onto the elevator button. As I traveled from the bullpen to the fifth floor, memories of my years here flooded my mind.

Back in 2022, I was a fresh graduate at a fall job fair when I met Vincent Hawthorne, who was only 37 years old at the time. At the time, his startup was in its infancy. He had no capital, just pure, unadulterated drive.

He told me, "Don't judge a book by its cover, Sophia. We might only have a handful of people right now, but we've got vision, and we're willing to break our backs for it. If you join us, I promise you won't regret it!"

I had believed Mr. Hawthorne.

In year one, the company operated out of a puny 200-square-foot apartment in a residential neighborhood. It had been stiflingly hot in the summer and bitterly cold in the winter.

As the only woman on the team, Mr. Hawthorne had made sure to look out for me. Every month on payday, he'd slip me an extra 500 dollars to make up for the rough conditions.

"Sophia, you're a top graduate from a prestigious university. I hate putting you through this," he had admitted. Back then, everyone else had made just four grand a month, while I'd started at six grand right out of the gate.

Year two, things had started looking up. We relocated to an 861-square-foot office in a prime commercial building, and I finally had my own office.

Mr. Hawthorne was over the moon on moving day. He generously granted me a 5% raise at the end of the year, which amounted to an extra 300 dollars. That same year, Mason joined the company as my subordinate with a base salary of 8,000 dollars.

In the third year, I was barely sleeping, churning out 16 different proposals in half a month to secure Imperium Group's project. It was a massive windfall that permanently put the company on the map. My reward, however, was a cheap, wholesale award banner and a mountain of new responsibilities as the sole contact for all major accounts.

Mr. Hawthorne had patted me on the shoulder and said, "I knew I could count on you, Sophia. The future of this company rests entirely on your shoulders now."

I was 25 that year, pulling in a grand total of 6,300 dollars.

Flash forward to the fourth and fifth years; my portfolio grew, the business boomed, and we took over four entire floors of a commercial building in one fell swoop. Ironically, I lost my office in the move because Mason had been promoted to manager, and his new status required my square footage.

Mr. Hawthorn had already spotted a beer belly from all the wining and dining then. His eyes were always cloudy, jaundiced, and he radiated pure, unadulterated corporate sleaze.

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, Sophia. We passed on you for this promotion because your real strength belongs out in the field with clients, not behind a desk." Mr. Hawthorne took a drag from his cigar, acting as if he only had my best interests at heart.

"Mason may have joined the company later than you, and he may not have many achievements, but he's still a man. It's a lot more convenient for him to entertain clients at dinners. Plus, when your subordinates step out of line, a guy just has an easier time keeping them in line, wouldn't you agree?"

I had been so naive back then. I thought he had a point.

Besides, I genuinely hated being chained to a desk. So long as my boss valued me, a hollow title didn't mean a thing. Yet now, with Mason's entitled words ringing in my ears—"We're on different rungs of the ladder"—I realized what a joke I'd been.

Just then, the elevator chimed as it reached the fifth floor. I took a deep breath, walked to Mr. Hawthorne's office, and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

I pushed the door open to find Mr. Hawthorne smoking. When he saw me, he casually stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray next to him and said lowly, "Harper already filled me in about your resignation."

He personally poured me a glass of water. "Look, I get it; you're unhappy with your salary. However, you're one of our day ones. The company has nurtured you for so many years, and now you're just going to walk out on us? That's a pretty low blow, Sophia."

There it was again. Holding the glass of water, I met his gaze calmly. "I've been with this company for six years, and I make 6,615 dollars a month, Mr. Hawthorne. That intern has only been here for three months, and he makes 12,000 dollars."

His expression stiffened for a split second before morphing into a look of solemn concern. "Yes... Well, the payroll discrepancy was a total oversight on my end. Tell you what, I'll give you another 5% raise. How does that sound?"

A 5% increase on 6,615 dollars would bring me to 6,945.75 dollars. It didn't even crack seven grand. It left me short of that intern's pay by a staggering five grand.