My resignation had just been approved.

The very next second, Gretchen Barnes posted a notice in the company group chat, tagging everyone.

"Marcus Abbott is leaving the company. Tomorrow night, dinner's on him for the whole office. Pick any restaurant you want."

I stared at my phone, momentarily stunned.

There were over a hundred people in this company. Nobody had given me a heads-up about this.

The group chat had already exploded. Hundreds of replies flooded the screen in seconds.

"That new sushi place just opened up. Two hundred bucks a head. We're never working with the guy again anyway, so why not milk it?"

"Surf and turf! Lobster! King crab! Let's eat through his project bonus. I heard he pulled in some serious cash last month!"

"The man's already got one foot out the door. We HAVE to bleed him dry on the way out!"

I watched the replies pop up one after another, my expression blank.

My fingers moved slowly across the keyboard. I typed in the address of the most exclusive restaurant in the city and hit send.

Then I picked up my phone and dialed the travel agency.

"I need a ticket on the earliest flight to the Maldives tomorrow morning. As soon as possible."

……

I hung up. By then, the group chat had already lost its mind over the location I'd shared.

"Holy shit! Marcus is really going all out!"

"Guy keeps his head down for three years, and now he wants to treat us to something nice on his way out? That's the least he can do."

"Exactly! The commissions from those big projects of his could cover ten dinners like this!"

"@Marcus Abbott What time tomorrow? I'm skipping lunch to save room!"

I stopped paying attention to the endless stream of messages. I placed my phone face-down on the desk and started clearing out my workstation.

Three years. I'd poured countless days and nights into this company.

I'd believed every word of the bright future Gretchen Barnes had painted for me.

"Marcus, you're the only one who can carry this project..."

"Marcus, just push through a little longer. It's for our future..."

"Marcus, you're the biggest reason for my success..."

But when I finally submitted my promotion application, all I got back was a breezy "You need more time to develop."

And the position I'd been desperate for was handed the very next day to Julian Sawyer, a man who couldn't even put together a basic financial report without it being riddled with errors.

That was when I realized my three years of grinding around the clock had been nothing more than paving the road for the man she actually loved.

And now they still wanted to play me for a fool.

Force me to pay out of my own pocket to wine and dine that backstabbing couple and every last vulture in this office?

Fine. I hoped every single one of them would remember exactly what this meal tasted like.

"Hey, Marcus."

A nauseating voice came from behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Look at you." Julian Sawyer stood there with his arms crossed, looking me up and down, a phony grin plastered across his face. "I figured you'd be in Gretchen's office right about now, begging her to pull your resignation."

"Turns out you've been holding out on us. That revolving restaurant? Gretchen took me there once. Dinner ran us a few grand."

I ignored him and kept packing my things, one item at a time.

Being brushed off didn't seem to bother him. Instead, he reached over and pressed his hand down on the folder I was organizing. Not hard. Just enough to stop me.

"Marcus, don't be in such a rush. I came over here for a reason."

He flashed that same fake smile and pushed his laptop in front of me with his other hand.

On the screen was an open PowerPoint presentation. The data was an absolute mess.

"The quarterly department summary report. Gretchen needs it first thing tomorrow morning. Do me a favor and put it together, would you? Shouldn't take you more than a few minutes."

I glanced at the disaster on the screen.

"Julian, let me remind you of something. My resignation has been fully processed. What you're asking is no longer part of my job."

The smile on Julian's face dimmed.

"Come on, Marcus, don't be like that. I know you're upset about leaving, but this report affects the entire department's performance review. If Gretchen finds out, she'll say you didn't handle the handover properly, right?"

"The handover checklist was signed and confirmed."

My tone was flat. My eyes swept over several glaring errors in the PowerPoint.

"Besides, these are the most basic mistakes imaginable. They have nothing to do with the handover."

My bluntness wiped the fake smile clean off Julian's face.

"Marcus! What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sure, I don't have as much experience as you." His voice climbed higher with every word. "But Gretchen trusts me with the important work now, not you!"

He jabbed a finger in my direction, practically shaking.

"Don't like it? Too bad. I'm the one sitting in the project manager's chair. I'm the one who'll be by Gretchen's side going forward. No matter how capable you think you are, you were nothing but a stepping stone for me! You don't get to judge my abilities!"

Colleagues nearby turned to stare.

I didn't bother watching his performance. I kept packing my things.

"Your abilities will speak for themselves in time. You don't need my evaluation."

"You—!"

He sputtered, finger jabbing toward my face, ready to launch into another tirade.

"What are you two arguing about?"

Gretchen's voice cut in, dripping with impatience.

Her brows were drawn tight. Her gaze landed first on Julian, visibly agitated, and her tone softened by half a degree.

"Julian, what happened? Who's giving you trouble?"

"Gretchen..."

Julian latched onto her like a drowning man finding a life raft, breathless with indignation.

"I just asked Marcus to look over my report, and he—he mocked me, said I was incompetent, called my work garbage... He even said I stole his position..." His words tumbled out in a mess. "I was just trying to do a good job. I didn't want to let you down..."

He stammered and stuttered as though he'd suffered some unspeakable injustice at my hands.

"Gretchen, am I really that useless? Should I not have taken this position? I've put you in a difficult spot..."

I had to hand it to him—the man could twist the truth like no one else.

After hearing him out, Gretchen's frown deepened. She patted Julian's back reassuringly.

"Don't be ridiculous. You've been doing great. This position is yours, and nobody has the right to say otherwise."

Then she turned to me. Her expression hardened, eyes sharp with reproach.

"Marcus, what is wrong with you? You're on your way out and you still can't keep the peace? Julian came to you for guidance. Even if you weren't going to help, there was no reason to tear him apart. Look at the state you've put him in! Apologize. Now."

Her voice rang clear through the quiet office floor. Every head turned. Every pair of eyes locked onto me, waiting.

I looked at the two of them—one a masterful actor playing the victim, the other blindly taking his side without a shred of fairness.

For three years, scenes like this had ended with me swallowing my pride. Not today.

"Ms. Barnes, I'm not the one who owes anyone an apology."

My voice was steady. I held her gaze without flinching.

Gretchen seemed caught off guard. She studied me for a long moment, then lowered her voice.

"Marcus. My office. Now."

She shut the door, sealing off the prying eyes outside.

Leaning against the edge of her desk, she tried to soften her tone.

"Alright, Marcus. It's just us. Stop throwing a tantrum."

"That dinner tomorrow—I was just talking. Giving you an easy out. You think I'd actually make you pay that kind of money?"

"I know you're upset because Julian got the promotion. That's why you're threatening to leave. Look, how about I bump your salary by two thousand a month? Will that do it?"

"Stay. Be Julian's deputy and do what you do best. Nothing has to change between us. I still value you. I still trust you."

"With your talent, you'll keep the projects running smoothly. The team stays stable, the company stays happy. Everyone wins."

She gripped my wrist, her thumb tracing slow circles over the back of my hand, wearing the expression of someone who genuinely had my best interests at heart.

I looked at her face and felt nothing but nausea. I yanked my hand free.

"Ms. Barnes, my resignation was a carefully considered decision. I'm not joking around."

Gretchen's smile froze. Disbelief crept into her voice.

"So you'd rather shell out a hundred, two hundred grand of your own money tomorrow night to treat the entire company to dinner than accept my offer?"

She let out a scornful laugh.

"Marcus, who taught you math? Why insist on being the fool who picks up the tab?"

My tone didn't waver.

"Ms. Barnes, I've done the math. Some investments are a total loss. The smart move is to cut them before they bleed you dry."

"Cut your losses?"

A muscle in Gretchen's face twitched. She reached up, slow and deliberate, and straightened her collar.

"Fine. Wonderful."

"Since you're so flush with cash, why not do one more good deed?"

She leaned forward, her voice dripping with mockery.

"This quarter, hand your project numbers over to Julian. You're leaving anyway. You won't see a dime of that commission, so you might as well do him a favor on your way out."

I stopped what I was doing and looked at that familiar face.

The last shred of hope I'd been holding onto crumbled to dust.

"The Tiancheng account took me eight months to close."

"The contract just cleared processing last week. The first payment hit the account yesterday. By company policy, that commission belongs to me."

The smile on Gretchen's face dimmed.

"Policies are written on paper. People are flexible."

"Julian's taking over all your clients. If his numbers look pathetic right out of the gate, how's he supposed to command any respect? You're leaving anyway. Go out on a high note. Keep things friendly for when you run into people down the road."

"Ms. Barnes."

I lifted my head and cut her off, meeting her eyes squarely.

"Personally, I don't believe my reputation needs to be purchased that way."

My refusal, again and again, finally cracked the mask she'd been wearing. The pretense of goodwill fell away, and raw anger bled through her voice.

"Marcus! Don't push your luck! I'm handing you a graceful exit! Who do you think you are without Lingua Tech? You think anyone in this industry is going to hire someone who burned bridges with their last employer?"

"Who I am without Lingua Tech, I'll find out soon enough. You don't need to worry about that."

"As for the dinner..."

The corner of my mouth curved, just barely.

"I've already sent the address. You pick the time."

Gretchen had probably never been defied like this by me before. Her face cycled between red and white, and it took her a long moment to force words through clenched teeth.

"You've got nerve, Marcus! Fine. Tomorrow night it is! I want to see just how generous you can be!"

By the time I walked out through the front doors, the sky had faded to dusk.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out. Gretchen had sent another message to the company group chat, tagging everyone:

"Tomorrow at six. Everyone shows up on time. Bring your families, bring your friends, the more the merrier. Whoever doesn't come is disrespecting Marcus and disrespecting me! @Everyone"

Below it, replies flooded in: "Got it" "Thanks, boss!" peppered with excited emojis.

I swiped the notification away without responding.

I knew that the higher they were bouncing now, the harder they'd crash tomorrow.