Chapter 1

I was in the middle of securing a fifty-million-euro deal for the company.

On the video call, the German clients couldn't stop praising my professional translation work, and my boss stood right beside me, gripping my shoulder with barely contained excitement.

That's when my phone screen lit up with a message from HR: [Due to company restructuring, your position has been eliminated. Please begin handover procedures immediately.]

I looked at my boss' face, flushed with the thrill of imminent success, and switched to English calmly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. King, but you'll need to handle the rest of the translation work yourselves."

The conference room fell into instant, suffocating silence.

*****

The conference room's AC hummed quietly overhead, pumping cold air through the vents.

On the massive LCD screen, Ronald Schmidt's stern face filled the frame. He was the VP of Schmidt & Partners, and he'd just praised my flawless translation of a complex technical clause.

"Frau Lane, Ihre Professionalität ist beeindruckend," he said, his accent crisp. (Ms. Lane, your professionalism is truly impressive.)

Beside me, Richard King was grinning like an idiot, his face creasing into what looked like a wilted chrysanthemum. He clapped my shoulder hard enough to bruise, like he was trying to physically extract every ounce of effort I'd poured into this company over the years.

"Excellent work, Emily!" he crowed, practically bouncing in his seat. "When this deal closes, you'll be our star performer."

His voice dripped with the kind of excitement that only a fifty-million-euro contract could produce.

But my world had just stopped.

Under the table, my phone screen lit up, and the message from HR landed like a knife between my ribs.

[Emily, due to recent strategic restructuring, your position has been eliminated. Please complete all handover procedures and vacate the premises by the end of business today.]

Strategic restructuring? What a beautifully polished excuse.

I'd spent three months on this project, sleeping four hours a night, wading through thousands of pages of German technical documents. When my mother, Felicia, was hospitalized, I'd spent my nights in the corridor outside her room, hunched over my laptop reviewing contract terms.

And now, right as the deal was about to close, I was being "optimized" out.

They'd used me up and thrown me away.

A sharp ringing filled my ears, and then sound rushed back in.

On screen, Ronald was still talking, walking through some critical detail about tolerance standards.

Richard was still riding high on his excitement, and he nudged me with his elbow, urging me to keep going. "Come on, Emily, what did Mr. Schmidt say? Hurry up!"

I looked up and saw Richard's face twisted with greed and anticipation, and something inside me finally snapped. That last thread I'd been holding onto just broke.

I took a deep breath and shoved all my anger, frustration, and resentment back down into my chest, letting it freeze into cold, hard calm.

Then I switched off the German in my head and spoke in clear, precise English instead. "Sorry, Mr. King, but you'll have to handle the rest of the translation yourselves."

My voice wasn't loud, but it hit the conference room like a bomb going off.

Richard's smile froze on his face, and his expression warped like someone had just thrown acid on a painting. His features looked all wrong.

He stared at me like I'd lost my mind.

On the screen, Ronald picked up that something was off, and he frowned and asked in German, "Was ist passiert? Gibt es ein Problem?" (What happened? Is there a problem?)

The other executives in the room sat there, their faces frozen in shock, like broken puppets.

Richard finally snapped out of it and grabbed my arm, leaning in close and hissing through his teeth, "Emily! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you know where you are right now? Keep translating!"

His nails dug into my skin so hard it hurt.

But the pain just made everything clearer.

I didn't look at him. I just closed my laptop with a calm I didn't know I had and unplugged the projector cable.

The soft click echoed in the silence, and it felt like my final goodbye to this job.

Richard's face turned an ugly shade of red, and she could see him struggling. He wanted to explode, but the important client on the screen held him back. His whole face twisted into something grotesque.

I stood up and looked past him, staring straight at Ronald on the screen.

In fluent and sincere German, I said, "Entschuldigen Sie bitte, Herr Schmidt. Aus persönlichen Gründen kann ich meine Arbeit leider nicht fortsetzen." (I'm very sorry, Mr. Schmidt. Due to personal reasons, I can no longer continue my work.)

My voice stayed calm, but there was a finality to it that left no room for argument.

Ronald's frown deepened. He was a tech genius who valued professionalism and rules above everything else. He'd always been impressed with my work, so he clearly knew something was seriously wrong.

"You wouldn't dare!" Richard grabbed my arm and hissed through clenched teeth, "If you walk out that door today, I'll make you—"

Before he could finish his threat, I yanked my arm free.

I put everything I had into that movement.

Richard stumbled and nearly lost his balance.

I finally looked him straight in the eye, and my voice was ice-cold. "Mr. King, just a few minutes ago, your HR director told me I was fired. She said I needed to start the handover process immediately."

I held up my phone and waved the message in front of his face.

"Since I've already been terminated, I don't have any obligation to work for this company for even one more second," I said. "I'm not even bothering with the handover process, and I'm leaving right now. That's me doing you a favor and letting you save face."

My words landed like a hammer.

The entire conference room went dead silent.

The only sounds were Richard's heavy breathing and Ronald's confused questions on the screen as he tried to figure out what was happening.

I ignored Richard's furious shouting behind me and walked toward the door. A dozen pairs of eyes followed me—some shocked, some bewildered, some sympathetic, and some clearly enjoying the drama. I kept my back straight and pushed open the heavy glass door.

The door slowly closed behind me.

Right before the door sealed me off from everything, I heard Richard roaring into his phone. "Get Angela over here. Now!"

Angela Wheeler was Richard's precious son's girlfriend—Jason King's arm candy.

She'd wormed her way into the company through connections and barely scraped by her Goethe-Zertifikat on the second try. A complete airhead with a pretty face.

I couldn't help but sneer.

The show was just getting started.