Only when the air is stripped away will those high-and-mighty elites understand what suffocation truly feels like.

I raised a hand and flagged down a taxi.

"Home, please."

My phone vibrated—a bank notification. My salary had been deposited.

Just the base pay. No year-end bonus. They had even deducted the past few days' attendance.

A moment later, a message popped up on WhatsApp.

Vanessa: [Sandra, don't think you're off the hook just because you left. If you dare spread rumors about the company, I'll sue you for defamation.]

They probably really believed that discount had come from the boss's personal charm. Now that I was gone, the favor was gone. Everything would return to its true, transactional nature.

…

The holidays began.

The first thing I did after returning to my hometown was switch my phone to silent.

I blocked my ex-boss, Vanessa, and those former colleagues who used to do nothing but tag me in group chats—"change the water," "fix the lights," "pick up deliveries."

On the first morning, I woke to sunlight already spilling across the windowsill.

No more 5 a.m. ticket-booking calls. No more sudden repair requests lighting up my phone.

The silence was so complete it almost made me want to cry.

With nothing to do, I absentmindedly scrolled through TikTok.

Big data can be eerily precise—and cruel. It pushed me a local post. The cover image was a carefully edited collage of photos from the annual party.

The poster was none other than Vanessa. In the photos, she stood center stage, holding a glass of champagne, laughing as if she owned the world.

Her caption read: [Out with the old, in with the new. Removing negative energy from the team. Next year, I'll lead the administrative department onto the international stage!]

I tapped into the comments.

Just as I expected—it was lively.

A few familiar accounts chimed in below, their profile pictures belonging to the so-called "socialites" in the company.

Keisha Brody from reception commented: [Finally, don't have to deal with that hag's mood swings anymore. Always meddling in everything like someone's mom. She's so annoying. Last time I was just a little slow picking up a package, and she nagged forever.]

I let out a cold laugh.

What she called "nagging" was me reminding her that the package contained perishables that would spoil if not refrigerated.

Another girl from the finance department wrote: [Exactly. Dresses like a cleaning lady every day. Just standing at the front desk ruins the company's image. Vanessa is amazing—should've kicked her out long ago.]

Someone even posted a photo of that dog bowl in the comments.

The caption was even more vicious: [Some people should know their place. The annual party is for those who create value, not for janitors. Everyone belongs where they belong.]

As I read through the posts, I didn't feel angry.

If anything, I laughed.

They had no idea that what they called "low-skill work" was built upon a system held together by countless invisible details.

Like an iceberg—they only saw the polished surface above water, never realizing how vast the foundation beneath it truly was.

Just then, a message popped up. It was from Lisa Trudy, the only intern in the administrative department.

[Happy New Year, Sandra.]

A crying emoji followed.

[I don't want to stay anymore. Vanessa doesn't teach anything—she only scolds. You used to guide me step by step with spreadsheets and processes. Now that you're gone, I'm completely lost.

[And she told me to go back to the office during the holiday to feed the fish. She said if they die, she'll dock my pay. I told her I'd already gone back to my hometown, so she dropped it.]

Lisa had joined just a month ago. No one in administration had taken her under their wing. I couldn't bear to see it, so even though I was in logistics, I quietly taught her the administrative workflow.

Now, she was the only one in the company who understood that the sky was about to fall.

Me: [Don't rush to quit. There's a good show coming after the holiday. That tank of tropical fish is delicate—if the power and oxygen cut out for more than two hours, they'll start floating belly-up. Vanessa definitely has no idea where the backup power supply for the tank is.]

That tank of red arowana was the boss's prized possession, worth a fortune.

During the New Year holidays, the building would undergo electrical maintenance, cutting power for half a day.

Every year at times like this, I would go to the low-voltage room and switch on the backup power supply to keep the tank oxygenated.

That switch was hidden extremely well—only I knew where it was. As for the key to the low-voltage room, it was probably lying in Vanessa's messy drawer… or already tossed out as trash.

Lisa: [What? Then what do we do? Vanessa definitely doesn't know about this. She can't even find where the fish food is.]

Lisa sent a panicked emoji.

Me: [That's her problem, not yours. You're just an intern. You're not responsible for cleaning up after a director's mess.]

Me: [Listen to me. Turn off your phone and enjoy the holiday these next few days. When work resumes after the New Year holiday, you'll see quite a show.]

I set my phone down and looked out at the fireworks beyond the window.

The calm before a storm is always the most beautiful.

As for that tank of fish, let it be the first "opening gift" for Vanessa's so-called "international" administrative department.

…

On the third day of the New Year, I had just poured myself a cup of tea when my phone was bombarded by calls from an unknown number.

The moment I answered, the boss's furious roar nearly shattered my eardrum. His voice was thick with contempt and threats.

"Sandra, who the hell do you think you are? Fine, you threw a tantrum and quit—but now you're even keeping company secrets? I'm telling you, if you don't hand everything over today, I'll call the police and have you arrested for stealing trade secrets. I'll make sure you've got a record and can never hold your head up again!"

I held the phone a little farther away and took a calm sip of tea, unsure what new act he was putting on.

Vanessa's voice cut in immediately after, even more vicious—each word like a stab.

"Sandra, I've already drafted a statement: 'Logistics staff dismissed for misconduct goes missing and steals company secrets.' All it takes is our boss's approval, and I'll post it in every local workplace and recruitment group. You'll never find footing in this city's administrative and logistics circles again."

The boss's rage hadn't subsided; his tone grew darker, doubling down.

"That's not all. I've already prepared to contact every supplier who's ever worked with you. One word from me, and they'll all hear you've been stealing office supplies and reselling them. They'll blacklist you. Anyone who dares hire you will be going against me!"

My hand around the teacup remained steady. My voice stayed calm, but it carried an unmistakable certainty.

"If you want to make a scene, go ahead. I've kept no company secrets—that's pure slander. If you're planning to spread rumors or launch an online smear campaign, I'm fully prepared to take legal action.

"And since you've already gone this far, I won't sit back and wait. I've preserved all the chat records, your drafted statements, and evidence of your planned harassment. When the time comes, let's see what everyone thinks of your so-called 'elite company.'"

I hung up without another word, blocked the number, and muted every related workplace and hometown group. Then I turned to organizing all the evidence I'd need to clear my name.

Less than two minutes later, my phone rang again—this time a landline number.

When I answered, a steady male voice came through, measured and polite.

"May I confirm—are you Miss Sandra Muller? I'm calling from the Calipso Tower office building. There's something we'd like to verify with you."

Something stirred in my chest. I softened my tone.

"Yes, this is Sandra. What would you like to confirm?"

The man got straight to the point, his tone formal.

"Three years ago, you assisted Jonathan Seagar, our chairman. He has always remembered your kindness. When he learned you were working at Reese Tech, he specifically granted the company a discounted office lease. We've recently learned that you've resigned, and we'd like to confirm—should this rental discount be terminated immediately?"

I looked out at the snow falling beyond the window and smiled.

"Yes, I've already resigned. Since I'm no longer there, there's no need for the discount. Please proceed according to standard terms."

"Understood."