Chapter 1
At the company's annual party, Linda Grant, our general manager's wife, suddenly stormed onto the stage, snatched the microphone from the host, and pointed her finger right at me.
She yelled, "You homewrecker! You seduced my husband! My husband bought that Audi for her!"
The whole room erupted. Everyone's eyes were glued to me—some filled with contempt, some with pity, and some clearly relishing the spectacle.
With everyone staring at me, I kept my expression stone-cold, pulled out my phone, dialed my boss, and switched to speaker mode.
I said, "Mr. Grant, could you show the payment record? Your wife claims you paid for my car."
*****
In the dazzling banquet hall, crystal chandeliers scattered dreamlike patterns of light everywhere.
The air was heavy with an overpowering blend of perfume, booze, and food.
My name's Emily Lane, just a nobody in the marketing department here.
Tonight, I picked up the Newcomer Award for my stellar performance this quarter.
All I got was a 200-dollar gift card and a flimsy certificate.
I stood on stage, wearing a practiced smile, ready to deliver the usual speech.
Suddenly, a piercing scream tore through the pretend harmony of the room.
A middle-aged woman, draped in fur and sporting dramatic makeup, charged onto the stage.
She was like an enraged lioness, ripping the microphone straight out of the host's hand.
I knew her instantly. She was Linda Grant, wife of Richard Grant, our general manager.
She was a pampered woman, living in the fake luxury her husband built for her, spoiled to the point of never really growing up.
Her finger was nearly poking my nose, her blood-red nails flashing with venom.
"It's her! Emily Lane! Everyone, get a good look at this homewrecker!"
Her voice, blasting through the microphone, echoed harshly across the hall.
"Young as she is, all she does is mess with married men!"
"Did you see hat Audi A7 in the garage? My husband bought it for her!"
The whole place went dead silent.
Then came a buzz of hushed whispers, impossible to hold back.
Everyone's eyes were like a thousand tiny needles, all stabbing right at me.
Their eyes were full of contempt, disdain, and pity. But most of all, people loved the drama.
I could read every change on my coworkers' faces, every emotion flickering across them.
Some folks instantly pulled out their phones, aiming them at me to catch every second on video.
People were whispering and gesturing at me behind my back.
All that raw, ugly malice came pouring out, and nobody even bothered to hide it.
My supervisor, John Smith, who had just been smiling and praising me, suddenly took two big steps away from me.
His face twisted into an awkward grin, desperate to make it clear he had nothing to do with me.
"Emily, this is your own mess. You'll have to sort it out yourself," he said.
Just like that, he threw me under the bus.
I was an island.
Seeing me stay silent, Linda looked even more pleased with herself, her voice shooting up another octave.
"Cat got your tongue? Feeling guilty? You homewrecker, you should be thrown into the river for what you've done!"
Her insults were so vile that it made my skin crawl.
I looked at her calmly, watching her face contort with anger and jealousy, completely unfazed.
There wasn't even a flicker of emotion inside me. Honestly, it was almost laughable.
This was Richard's idea of a "model wife", a brainless blade, but sharp enough to cut deep.
He'd set her loose on me, the stubborn thorn he just couldn't pull out.
With everyone's burning stares on me, I didn't shed a tear or try to defend myself.
I slowly pulled my phone out of my pocket.
The cold glow from the screen lit up my unfazed face.
I found the number I knew by heart, saved as "Mr. Grant".
Then, right in front of everyone, I hit speaker.
The ringing tone cut through the noisy hall, impossibly clear.
Everyone held their breath.
The call connected.
"Hello? Emily, what's up?" Richard's voice came through—smooth, polite, and just fake enough to make my skin crawl.
I raised my phone, holding the mic close to my lips. My voice was steady and clear, just loud enough for everyone to catch every word.
"Mr. Grant, could you show the payment record? Your wife claims you paid for my car."