Chapter 1
My name was Callum Phillips.
I was an administrative specialist at Delimbia Group, employee number 1782, with a monthly salary of 3000 dollars.
I'd been with the company for three years, but most of my colleagues couldn't even remember my full name.
To them, I was just Erin Phillips's husband from the marketing department, working in admin, handling water orders, fixing printers, and helping out with moving furniture now and then.
I was about as invisible as the pothos plant in the lobby.
Whether it got watered or dried up, nobody cared.
Today was the annual performance review meeting.
Over three hundred people were seated in neat rows in the company's multi-purpose hall.
I was in the third-to-last row by the window, a glass of warm water in front of me, idly wondering if the cafeteria would have braised pork or sweet and sour ribs for lunch.
On stage, David Clarke was giving the year-end summary.
He was dressed in a deep blue suit, his tie perfectly knotted, and his hair slicked back so neatly it looked like it could reflect light.
When he spoke, he had that typical overseas vibe, not too strong, but so affected it made my teeth itch.
Every time he mentioned an achievement, the audience erupted in applause.
A few of the women in the marketing department had stars in their eyes.
This was David, the vice president of Delimbia Group.
He had an MBA from Shyrannion University, was the only son of the Clarke family, and was the third-largest shareholder in the company.
He was thirty-two, single, and honestly, he was ridiculously good-looking.
He'd been voted the company's "Most Desirable Husband" for three years straight.
He was also my wife's unattainable crush.
"Next, we're moving on to the list of employees who didn't make the cut this year," David said, his tone taking a sharp turn.
A hint of a smirk played at his lips as his eyes scanned the crowd and locked onto me.
My hand froze mid-air, the glass of water still in my grip.
The air in the room suddenly grew tense.
People around me started whispering, and a few were already glancing my way.
"Callum Phillips, Administrative Department," David announced.
He dragged out my name, like he was savoring a treat, making sure everyone felt the weight of it.
My performance report popped up on the big screen. The attendance was 92%. Project participation was D. Overall score was last.
A wave of whispers rippled through the crowd.
I stared at the numbers and took a sip of water.
I only took one day off the whole year, and that was just to help Thomas Houghton move a freezer for his stupid coffee shop. I wondered how my attendance was only 92%.
I rolled my eyes. 'Project participation: D?
'Last quarter, I helped the logistics department with that warehouse management plan, and even Lucas Brooks gave me a shout-out at the monthly meeting. And I still didn't even get a C grade?'
I looked up at the stage.
David was smiling with that perfectly courteous, gentle look.
I'd seen that smile way too many times. Every time he bumped into me in the hallway, patted my shoulder, and said, "Callum, you've been working hard," it was always that same smile.
Like he was watching a grasshopper stuck in a cage, bouncing around but never getting out.
"According to company policy, those who didn't make the cut will need to complete their resignation procedures by the end of this month," David announced.
He took a folder from his assistant and stepped down from the stage.
Three hundred pairs of eyes followed him as he walked straight toward me.
The hall was so quiet you could hear the air conditioning humming.
He stopped right in front of me, towering over me like he owned the place.
He opened the folder, pulled out a sheet of paper, and instead of just placing it in front of me, he made a show of it.
He didn't set it down gently.
He flicked it across the table.
The corner of the paper flipped up and tapped my glass of water.
It was a termination letter.
It was all there in black and white, with the company's bright red seal stamped on it.
He said, his voice so low only I and a couple of people nearby could hear, "Callum, you've been here three years. That's long enough, don't you think? Not everyone deserves a seat like this."
There was even a hint of "friendly advice" in his tone.
It was like he was doing me a favor.
It was like he was setting me free.
I didn't bother looking up at him.
Instead, I let my gaze drift past his shoulder, landing on the second row.
Erin was sitting there.
She was dressed in a gray business skirt, her hair neatly pinned up, her profile sharp and striking.
She was looking right at me.
Her lips parted, like she was about to say something.
But she didn't actually say anything.
The colleague next to her nudged her arm and whispered something. Erin dropped her gaze and looked down.
I held her gaze for three seconds.
Then I turned my eyes away.
I picked up the pen.
I signed my name.
I took my time, writing each letter carefully, making my signature look better than it ever did before.
David raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting me to sign so quickly.
He probably had a whole speech lined up in case I decided to make a fuss.
Too bad for him, he never got to use it.
I set the pen down, closed the termination letter, and slid it back across the table.
I stood up.
The chair legs scraped against the floor with a shrill screech.
Three hundred pairs of eyes drilled into my back.
I didn't look back.
As I walked past the third row, I passed by Rebecca Williams's seat.
Rebecca Williams, the front desk lady, a bit on the plump side, early forties, absolute queen of office gossip, but she got a good heart.
She was staring at me with wide eyes, clutching an unopened bottle of water.
"Callum..." she whispered.
I gave her a small smile.
"Rebecca, could you water the pothos on my desk for me?" I said.
She just stared, totally stunned.
I kept walking.
As I pushed open the door, David's voice echoed from the stage behind me.
"Okay, let's move on to next quarter's..."
The door closed behind me.
The hallway was dead quiet.
Sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing me in warmth.
I stood there for a few seconds.
Then I pulled out my phone.
I dialed a number.
It rang twice before someone picked up.
"Thomas," I said.
On the other end, I could hear the whir of a blender.
"Hang on. Haylee, don't put too much ice in the bayberry juice. If you add too much, it's not worth the money. Okay, Callum, go ahead," Thomas said.
I leaned against the windowsill, watching the rows of shiny cars parked below.
"Hey, can you pull up Delimbia Group's shareholding structure for me?" I said to Thomas.
The blender on Thomas's end stopped.
"What did you just say?" Thomas asked, completely caught off guard.
"I said, sort out all the documents for my 23% shares. And while you're at it, dig up Delimbia Group's financial reports from the past three years, especially the ones David handled," I said.
There was a five-second silence on the line.
Then Thomas took a deep breath.
He muttered, "Holy shit.
"You finally came to your senses?"
I didn't answer.
Thomas asked again, "What happened?"
I paused for a moment.
"Nice weather today. Perfect for getting some work done," I said.
Thomas went quiet for a moment, and then his voice suddenly got serious, which was rare for him.
"How long will it take?" he asked.
"Three months," I replied.
"Got it," he said.
He didn't ask any more questions.
That was Thomas, my childhood friend who'd been by my side for over ten years.
When it was time to slack off, he could chat endlessly, but when it came to business, he was all action, no words.
I hung up and slipped my phone back into my pocket.
I turned and headed for the elevator.
As I passed by the security guard, he looked up at me.
"Callum, leaving early today?" he asked.
I gave him a nod.
"Yeah, I probably won't be coming back," I said.
Alfie Read opened his mouth, looked like he wanted to say something, but just waved me off.
"Well, take care," he said.
"You too," I replied.
It was exactly 10:30 AM when I walked out of the Delimbia Group building.
The sun was shining brightly.
I stood at the entrance, eyes closed, soaking up the sunlight for a moment.
The last thing that lingered in my mind was Erin, her head bowed, that delicate profile.
I shoved that memory.
I pulled out my phone and ordered some fried chicken on the food delivery app.
I had it delivered straight to Thomas's coffee shop.
I asked for extra spice.
*****