I looked at his self-satisfied face, slightly sagging from years behind a desk.

And suddenly, everything became clear.

All those moments when I used to tell myself, he’s a business guy, he doesn’t get it—they flashed through my mind like a fast-forward reel.

This wasn’t the first time.

When Vivian had just joined, the company was preparing for the Annual Tech Summit.

David asked me to handle the content and Vivian to handle the presentation format.

I led my team to compile all the year’s major technical breakthroughs and architecture optimizations into detailed documentation and slides.

Vivian, meanwhile, decorated the entire venue like a hip coffee shop and designed a bunch of party games.

At the final prep meeting, David slammed my slides on the table and barked,

“Sophie! Your slides are crammed with code and charts—who’s going to enjoy that?”

“Learn from Vivian—make everyone feel the magic of technology in a light and fun atmosphere!”

He publicly praised Vivian for being “creative” and “great at engagement,” while ignoring my team’s painstakingly prepared technical work.

In the end, he ordered me to turn the summit into a “Tech Carnival.”

Content was secondary—what mattered was that it looked lively.

I told him that would turn a serious technical exchange into a shallow sideshow.

He accused me of being rigid, inflexible, full of “engineer arrogance.”

So I gave in.

I spent two more days repackaging all my hard work into a hollow, flashy shell.

Naturally, the event was declared a “great success,” because the photos looked good and got plenty of likes on LinkedIn.

At the end of the summit, David made sure to call Vivian up on stage in front of everyone and said,

“This event’s success owes everything to Vivian’s creativity. She made our tech go viral.”

Another time, the company needed a fundamental system overhaul to prepare for three years of projected growth.

I started technical research six months in advance, wrote a report and implementation plan tens of thousands of words long—

from server selection to data migration, every step tested and risk-proofed.

I submitted the plan, and David sat on it for a month without approval.

When I asked him, he sounded impatient.

“Sophie, this plan is full of jargon.”

“And the investment is huge, the risk even bigger. What if it fails? The current system still works, doesn’t it?”

“Can’t you make something that I—and the marketing team—can understand?”

In that moment, I just felt utterly exhausted.

I built systems with professionalism, with logic, with respect for technology—

not to write a PR brochure that makes non-technical people nod in approval.

I wasn’t incapable of such tricks. I just refused to stoop to them.

I used to believe that in a tech company, technical strength was the ultimate foundation.

Now I realized I had been wrong.

In David’s world, technical strength was only the bare minimum—expected, taken for granted.

What really earned you points were the things that let him boast at conferences and on LinkedIn: “vibes,” “user experience.”

He didn’t want a precision instrument quietly solving core problems.

He wanted a flashy speaker system playing background music.

The company’s technical framework was now stable, the core business running smoothly—

In his eyes, my value had already been drained dry.

I was like a high-speed engine—too noisy, not pretty enough—ready to be replaced by shinier, more decorative parts.

What he needed now was no longer an engineer who could solve critical technical challenges, but a cheerleader to sing his praises.

I watched his mouth keep moving, the same tired clichés spilling out.

I knew then—the time had come.

Five years.

I had poured the best years of my life into this place.

I had built the company’s entire architecture, handled countless emergencies, and provided its most solid backbone.

As the engineer who designed it all, I knew every single screw in this machine.

I had thought this was my career, my creation, my life’s work.

But now I saw clearly—I was just a sentimental fool of a programmer.

Fine.

I cut him off mid-lecture, my voice so calm it startled even me.

“…David Ross, you’re right.”

David kept talking, spit flying so close it nearly hit my face.

All those lofty words sounded like chewed-up sugarcane—flavorless, bitter.

I looked at him and nodded solemnly during a pause, as though I’d just had an epiphany.

“David, I understand now.”

A smug smile crossed his face. He was about to deliver his perfect closing remarks.

But I didn’t give him the chance.

Meeting his shocked gaze, I calmly opened my laptop and drafted a new email right there in front of him.

The recipient? The CEO of Riverton Labs.

“Sophie, what are you doing?”

David’s face twisted from triumph to alarm, his brows furrowing in suspicion.

He thought I was bluffing, trying to scare him with childish theatrics.

I ignored him, fingers tapping softly on the keyboard, loud enough for him to hear every word I was writing.

“Michael Chen, hello. Last month you mentioned wanting me to join as your Chief Technology Officer. Is the offer still on the table?”

David’s pupils contracted sharply.

I kept typing, my tone as calm as if I were filing a weekly report.

“If yes, I can bring a complete, mature system architecture with me.”

“It has been market-tested for over five years, supports millions of daily active users,”

“and holds full independent intellectual property rights, with no legal conflicts with my current employer.”

Before I could even hit send, my phone rang—it was Michael.

I glanced at David’s darkened face and put the call on speaker.

Michael’s voice came through, steady and clear.

“Sophie, first of all, congratulations. I heard things aren’t great with your current company.”

“If you join us, your salary and position will exceed expectations, and we’ve reserved the largest possible share of stock options for you.”

“Thank you, Michael. I’ll be in touch.”

The entire process was smooth, decisive—without a second’s hesitation.

The office was dead silent.

David’s face had gone from shock to a dark, furious shade.

His chest heaved as though he’d been punched, struggling to catch his breath.

He glared at me, eyes full of disbelief and rage.

“Sophie!”