“From now on, this… will be my private office,” Regina announced, chin tipped up.

The smug expression on her face had no resemblance to the modest, soft-spoken intern I remembered.

“By ability?” I asked, my voice low.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. “You mean your ability to change variable names in parameters I already debugged, reformat my annotations, and then submit neatly organized test cases as if they were core algorithms? Or do you mean the ‘ability’ to start hammering away at useless lines of code or open a pre-written document whenever Mr. Jefferson happens to walk past your desk?"

My quiet words stung, each one targeting her most sensitive spots.

These were details I’d only pieced together in hindsight.

She took advantage of the fact that I was too busy caring for my mom’s illness to pay close attention. She utilized her position as an intern, despite not having access to the core system, and was exposed to intermediate files and test cases.

In just a month, she carefully created the illusion that she’d 'deeply participated' in the project, even 'led' it.

Regina’s expression changed. That layer of fake confidence and pride instantly broke, replaced by a bright, embarrassed flush.

Her breathing turned rapid, her composure unraveling.

"Y-You’re lying!” she snapped, her voice shrill, her eyes darting with panic.

She couldn’t even look me in the eye.

“You know better than anyone whether I’m making this up,” I replied, my tone staying cold. “Those so-called core modules you submitted, the ones you claimed to have written yourself? Their low-level function calls and logical structure are identical to the framework I built at the start. You just slapped on a clumsy wrapper with flashy, useless annotations and a decorative layer.”

I tilted my head, pressing the point. “Would you like me to line up your code with my original designs, side by side, and post it on a tech forum for everyone to admire and dissect?”

That broke Regina completely.

Her biggest weakness has always been a shallow technical base.

She can’t handle serious scrutiny.

After all, Grant Jefferson didn’t understand code. He could be fooled by surface polish.

But the tech world—the people who live and breathe code?

They see everything.

Right there, Regina’s face shifted from red to white, then white to a sickly green. Just then, her eyes caught sight of something: the old photo frame on my desk.

It held a picture of my mom and me, taken during our trip last year.

A flicker crossed her eyes.

Suddenly, with a deliberately casual sweep, she knocked the frame off the desk.

It fell to the floor with a loud crash, shattering glass that scattered everywhere.

Regina lurched a step forward and deliberately brought her foot down, hard, onto the broken glass and the photograph.

“Oh no, sorry, Avery. Didn’t see it there,” she said, feigning innocence.

In that instant, it felt like all the blood in my body rushed to my head.

My palm met her cheek, and the crack of the slap cut through the office.

Regina’s head snapped to the side, a vivid red handprint already blooming on her cheek.

“Get out!” I shouted.

The office door flew open.

“Ms. Sanderson, what the hell are you doing?!” Grant barked.

Grant Jefferson stood in the doorway, his face dark with anger.

He must have been passing by and caught the scene.

Regina wasted no time. Her inner actress came out instantly as she trembled with just the right amount of hurt and fragility.

“Mr. Jefferson, I-I just came to apologize to Avery about the bonus. I didn’t know why she suddenly got so angry, and then she just hit me…”

“Avery!” Grant snapped. “I never thought you’d be this petty! The company made its decision about the bonus. Even if you’re dissatisfied, that’s no excuse for hitting a colleague! Especially when Regina came here in good faith to apologize!”

“Apologize?” I turned to him coldly, pointing at the broken frame on the floor. “She smashed a photo of my mom and stepped on it. That’s your idea of an apology?”

Grant glanced at the floor, his brows tightening, then smoothing out.

“It’s just a photo frame,” he said dismissively. “So it broke, what’s the big deal? Is it really worth getting so upset over?"

He then shot me a look, his voice rising. "I think you’ve lost your mind, all this over a bonus.”

Regina, standing off to the side, let out a perfectly timed sniffle, looking even more fragile and helpless.

“Mr. Jefferson, please don’t blame Avery. Maybe it’s really my fault. I must’ve done something to upset her…” she murmured, eyes glistening.

Grant looked at her, his anger spiking.

“Avery, I gave you a chance. You didn’t appreciate it. Now, pack up your things. Get out of the company immediately,” he ordered, voice like ice.

Quietly, I picked up the photo and placed the last of my personal belongings into my bag.

The silence and calmness in my actions caught both Grant and Regina off guard. They probably expected me to explode, to argue, to lose my composure.

But I didn’t. Instead, I zipped up my bag and walked straight toward the door.

As I passed Grant, I stopped.

Turning slightly, I met his eye, my voice steady and flat. “Mr. Jefferson, remember what you said today. I hope you won’t regret it. And I hope Regina… truly is as ‘competent’ as she’s trying to appear.”

Grant’s brow furrowed, as if he wanted to say something. But I didn’t give him the chance. I stepped forward, leaving without looking back.

There was nothing left for me to stay here for.

...

Back at home, my mom, just out of the hospital, was resting on the sofa.

When she saw me get home much earlier than usual and noticed the change in my demeanor, she looked at me with concern.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

I didn’t hide anything. I told her everything about resigning and losing the bonus.

My mom didn’t blame me at all. She simply took my hand and gently patted it.

“You did right,” she said softly. “That kind of company isn’t worth my precious daughter’s sacrifice. Your health comes first, and peace of mind is even more important. I still have some savings. Don’t rush to find a new job. Take some time to rest.”

Her words washed through me like a warm current, easing something tight in my chest.

...

In the days that followed, it felt as though my life was moving at a snail's pace.

In the mornings, I went with my mom to the market, listening to her haggle with effortless skill as we picked the freshest vegetables.

In the afternoons, we'd head to the park, and I'd awkwardly join the older folks practicing yoga, fumbling through the movements.

Afterward, we'd sit on the balcony, sipping herbal tea, watching the leaves drift by, and chatting about family stuff. Time passed by slowly, quietly, and peacefully.

That long-forgotten, steady rhythm started to heal the numb heart I’d crushed in the corporate world.

In that rare quiet, the past few years played back in my mind like faded film reels, each frame sharp again.

I remembered the company’s hardest early days. To break through the technical barriers of our first game, I led a handful of core game developers and spent three straight months in the office, eating and sleeping there.

When we were wiped out at night, we’d spread cardboard under our desks and grab a nap.

In the end, we didn’t just solve the problems; we crafted an optimization plan that exceeded expectations, helped the company achieve its first real profit, and built our reputation in the industry.

I also recall an incident where a competitor maliciously attacked our servers, nearly bringing our services to a standstill.

Clients were furious. The system was hanging by a thread.

I stayed awake for forty-eight hours straight, leading the team to trace the attack. Not only did we successfully fend off the assault, but we also identified a loophole on their side, saving the company from huge losses and delivering a decisive counterpunch.

That battle catapulted our reputation in the industry.

And then there was the game that won the international award.

The original idea for the game came from a childhood dream of mine.

It was crafted through countless sleepless nights, facing a screen full of code and data, repeatedly debugging, optimizing, and refining it bit by bit.

The initial rough demo was also tested on my personal computer. Consequently, the core and structure of this game have been associated with my name from the very start.

Over time, these battles helped the company, which began as a small team of just twelve people in a cramped office, gradually grow, becoming stronger and more capable.

Eventually, thanks to that game, we won an international award, our valuation soared, and we stood on the brink of going public.

Meanwhile, the company’s founder, Richard Jefferson, was a sharp, forward-thinking middle-aged man who valued me greatly.

He not only placed absolute trust in me at work but also, privately, would often clap me on the shoulder and half-jokingly, half-seriously say to others, “If only Grant had half of Avery’s steadiness and competence. I think, if I ever handed over both him and the company to her, I’d finally feel at ease.”

At that time, Grant was studying abroad, and we all took those words as the boss’s playful remarks.

Even so, that recognition and expectation warmed me deeply, and I felt that all my hard work had been worth it.

But fate had other plans.

Richard Jefferson passed away suddenly due to illness. His son, Grant, who had spent years studying management and art overseas, rushed back to run the company.

At first, he treated me with respect, consulting me on technical decisions. However, somewhere along the way, the atmosphere within the company began to shift.

The management style he introduced, emphasizing 'attitude,' 'dedication,' and 'corporate culture,' gradually replaced the pragmatic, results-driven approach his father had supported.

Now, the polish of a PowerPoint presentation, leaving the lights on at one’s workstation after hours, and showing enthusiasm at company team-building events—these superficial things seemed more important to him than the technical contributions and project results that his father had valued.

While I stayed focused on the work itself, lost in my pursuit of cleaner code and better systems, I didn’t realize how far the tides had turned.

It wasn’t until the $10 million bonus incident, like a thunderclap, that I was jolted awake.

What Grant needed was not a strong technical leader capable of achieving incredible feats, but a 'role model' who aligned with his management philosophy.

And Regina happened to be exactly what he was looking for.

After a month of rest, I began browsing job boards, updating my résumé, and sending applications to several well-known game companies.

At first, I was confident. With my experience and technical abilities, landing an ideal job shouldn’t be difficult.

But most of the résumés I sent out disappeared without a trace.

A few companies invited me for interviews, but after the first round of talks, their attitude suddenly changed. Their words became vague, their smiles polite, and eventually, the conversations fizzled out.

After a few rejections, a former colleague quietly told me the truth:

“Avery, it’s not that your skills aren’t good. Someone in the industry’s been spreading rumors about you, saying you’re difficult to work with, that you rely on your seniority and bully the younger ones," he hesitated, lowering his voice. They even say you steal the interns’ work and that you’ve hit people. Now, many companies think you’re a toxic presence in the industry.”

At that moment, everything clicked into place.

This was Grant Jefferson’s doing.

Not only had he forced me out of the company, but he was now trying to cut off all my future opportunities.

When my mom noticed the constant frown on my face over the past few days, she asked me for an explanation.

Once I told her the whole story, her face went pale with anger.

She immediately stood up, ready to march out the door.

“I’m going to confront him! How dare he slander you like this?” she exclaimed.

I gently grabbed her hand and held her back.

“Mom, don’t. Not yet.”

I turned to look out the window, my voice calm and steady.

“Just about time,” I murmured. “Very soon, he will come begging me himself.”

My mom looked at me, confused, about to speak when my phone suddenly rang on the table.

The caller ID lit up with one name:

[Grant Jefferson]

I hit 'Accept' and switched to speaker mode.

“Avery?” Grant’s voice had lost its usual composure; urgency roughened the edges. “You need to get to Brighton Tech in Westview City immediately. It’s an emergency! The game we sold them hit a major bug during the final presentation. The client is furious. This has to be resolved today!”

Behind him, voices rose, keyboards clacked, and the tension mounted.

I waited until he finished his breathless explanation.

Then, unhurried and calm as still water, I spoke. “Mr. Jefferson, did you dial the wrong number? I’ve already resigned. If the company has technical issues, I believe you should reach out to the one who received the $10 million bonus. The one who stays late working overtime every night is Regina, right?”