The Company Is Mine Again

I sold my shares in the startup Id built from the ground up. I was getting married.

But my two co-founders, the women who had sworn theyd never marry anyone but me, didnt know yet.

They were too busy throwing a celebratory dinner for our new male secretary.

It was my deal. I was the one who drank with the client until I was coughing up blood. But after I collapsed, hed left me in a hotel room and taken the signed contract back to the office to claim all the credit. And they, my partners, had believed him without a second thought.

The next day, compromising photos of me circulated through the companys group chat. The whispers were everywherethat Id only landed our biggest accounts by sleeping my way to the top.

I called them from my hospital bed, desperate to explain. Their response?

"You're a grown man, Simon. Stop being so dramatic. Making up stories about bleeding stomachs? Really?"

"We've seen you drink. You have an iron stomach. You could drink battery acid and be fine."

"Alex landed a huge win for us, and we're celebrating. Come if you want, don't if you don't."

The day I was discharged, I sold my shares to their biggest rival. Then I called my parents.

"I'll marry her," I said. "I'll marry the heiress. You can start planning the wedding."

Isabelle and Olivia pushed open my office door just as I hung up. Their brows furrowed in unison.

"Wedding? What wedding?"

With the ceremony only ten days away, there was no point in hiding it.

"Mine," I said. "I'll send you both an invitation."

They exchanged a look of disbelief.

Just then, my phone began buzzing incessantly. My mother was spamming me with over a dozen design concepts for wedding rings.

They leaned over my shoulder, their eyes widening as they saw the images.

Isabelles voice was sharp. "What are you doing looking at wedding rings, Simon? Are you planning to wear one on each hand?"

Olivia interrogated me like a suspect in a lineup. "You're a workaholic. You don't even have a girlfriend. Who are you marrying?"

The irony was laughable. These were the two women who had once vowed to spend the rest of their lives with me.

Alex, the new secretary, chose that moment to walk in with a stack of documents. He overheard the conversation, his face a mask of shock.

"Mr. Davies, you're not actually going to be Mrs. Gable's boy toy, are you? I heard her son is already in college. Isn't that a little inappropriate?"

Thanks to him, the entire office now thought I was having an affair with our biggest client.

My gaze turned to ice. "Barging into my office without knocking is just bad manners. But stealing my credit and then spreading slander about me? Is that just ignorance of the law?"

My harsh tone made his eyes well up. He stammered an apology, wringing his hands.

"Mr. Davies, I didn't I never thought people would misunderstand like this. But you and Mrs. Gable, that night in the hotel room"

He trailed off, his face beet red, unable to finish the sentence.

But hed said enough. Isabelle and Olivias faces darkened, their eyes now dripping with contempt.

"That's enough!" Isabelle snapped at me. "If you didn't want people to know, you shouldn't have done it. Don't take your humiliation out on Alex."

"He was just concerned for you," Olivia added. "Mrs. Gable is old enough to be your mother. Do you have to debase yourself by becoming some rich womans plaything?"

I let out a harsh, humorless laugh and kicked all three of them out of my office.

We had a lifetime of friendship, five years of building a company from nothing. And yet, they trusted a man who had been here for less than two months over me.

I refused to let their toxicity get to me. I went back to choosing a wedding ring.

Two minutes later, a notification popped up. It was a message from Isabelle in the company-wide group chat, announcing that Alex and I would be swapping offices.

Her reasoning? As their secretary, Alex needed to be closer to them to improve "work efficiency."

The chat, filled with hundreds of employees, immediately flooded with messages congratulating Alex. A few loyal team members, however, questioned the decision. It was absurd for a freshly graduated intern to be given the general managers office after only two months.

I was about to privately message them to stand down when Alex sent a voice note to the group, his tone dripping with false humility.

"Isabelle, it's all my fault. I was so focused on the contract that night that I failed to take care of Mr. Davies. I don't deserve his office. I'm too ashamed to even face him. I'd like to formally submit my resignation!"

His performance was so nauseating it made me want to puke.

The glass door to my office flew open. Olivia stood there, glaring at me. "Look what you've done! Pack your things and clear out for Alex. I don't want to see you bullying a young man who's new to the professional world ever again!"

Isabelle followed close behind, urging me to hurry up while simultaneously typing a message in the group chat, consoling Alex.

Then, someone in the office shouted that Alex was on the roof.

The color drained from both their faces. They sprinted out of the room, their long legs carrying them toward the stairwell.

I watched them go, then picked up my phone and dialed the number of the person who wanted to buy my shares.

Isabelle and Olivia's arch-nemesis, Evelyn Vance, had somehow heard I was selling. She made me an offer I couldn't refuse.

I glanced at the email Id sent Isabelle and Olivia. Yesterday had marked the 30-day deadline. Their failure to respond meant they had forfeited their right of first refusal.

Evelyn had given me three days to consider. I called her back and told her we could sign the papers immediately.

By the time they had coaxed Alex down from the roof, they returned to find my office exactly as it had been. Their patience had worn thin.

"It's an office swap, not a cross-country move," Olivia snapped. "What's taking you so long?"

Alex bit his lip, his eyes red and swollen as he looked at me. "Mr. Davies, I'm sorry. I don't have to have this office"

"It's fine," I said coolly. "If you like it, it's yours. You can have the general manager title, too."

My words made fresh tears well up in his eyes. The ruthless ambition hed shown when he stole my deal was nowhere to be seen.

"What's with the sarcasm, Simon?" Isabelle chimed in. "It's just an office. Do you have to be so petty?"

I had already sold my shares. I couldn't care less about the office. My dismissive smirk, however, seemed to infuriate Olivia. With a sharp movement, she swept the few personal items I had on my desk into a box and dumped it on an empty cubicle outside.

Isabelle shot me a cool glance before she started personally helping Alex arrange his new space. HR sent up plants, flowers, and even collectible figurines. You would have thought they were decorating a honeymoon suite.

At the end of the day, Isabelle knocked on the edge of my new, cramped desk. "Don't leave when you clock out. We're having a team dinner to celebrate Alex's new office."

I was stunned. A celebration for an office swap?

But I didn't refuse. I figured it would be a fitting farewell dinner with my former colleagues.

At the restaurant, I noticed that the few employees who had defended me in the group chat were gone. I messaged them one by one.

They told me Isabelle and Olivia had fired them on trumped-up charges, warning them not to contact me or they would be blacklisted from the industry.

To appease Alex, they had cast aside their most loyal employees without a second thought. After that display of power, no one else dared to cross them for my sake.

Instead, they kicked me while I was down.

"Simon," one of them slurred, "you missed Alex's last celebration. You should really toast him tonight. If he hadn't closed that deal, who knows what other sacrifices you would have had to make."

The insinuation reminded me of the disgusting comments I'd overheard in the restroom earlier that day.

"He's got some nerve, showing up to work like nothing happened."

"A guy who sleeps with rich old ladies to land clients doesn't need a sense of shame."

I ignored them all, pouring myself a glass of soda and sipping it quietly.

Isabelles face went cold. She snatched the glass from my hand and dumped it out. Olivia, in a seamless move, filled it to the brim with hard liquor.

"You bullied Alex so badly today he almost jumped off a roof," she said. "A drink to apologize isn't too much to ask, is it?"

"Besides," Isabelle added, "you owe him one from the last party you skipped."

Without a second thought, I flicked my wrist and sent the contents of the glass into Olivias face.

"Who the hell is he to deserve a toast from me?"

The table fell silent, everyone stunned by my action.

Isabelle, ever the stoic one, simply refilled the glass and held it out to me. "Simon, this is for team unity. You're drinking it, whether you like it or not."

Alex, ever the actor, feigned concern. "Isabelle, it's okay. I know Mr. Davies looks down on me. If he doesn't want to drink, let's not force him"

But Olivia, still dripping with liquor, was having none of it.

Furious, she slapped me across the face. While I was still reeling, she grabbed the glass and forced the liquor down my throat.

"You have no right to look down on him," she hissed, "you, who sell your body for contracts."

The two women who once fretted if I had a single drop of alcohol were now force-feeding it to me for Alex's sake, their words dripping with venom.

The fiery liquid burned a path down my throat, igniting a sharp, searing pain in my stomach. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

But they didn't notice. They were too busy pouring Alex his favorite fruit juice.

He drained his glass in one gulp and gave me a triumphant smile. "Mr. Davies, thank you for your sacrifice. I'll work even harder from now on."

Everyone else thought he was talking about the office. I saw something else in his eyes: the unwavering certainty that he would conquer Isabelle and Olivia next.

"Well then," I said, my voice tight, "here's to you marrying the bosses and reaching the pinnacle of your career."

I clutched my stomach and tried to stand, needing to get to the restroom.

Isabelle blocked my path. "A couple of sips of liquor and now you're acting like you're dying? Stop the theatrics."

The burning in my stomach was nothing compared to the ache in my heart.

I looked up at her, my eyes bloodshot. "I just got out of the hospital for stomach bleeding, and you're forcing me to drink?"

Her hand, which had been pressing against my chest, froze. "Couldn't you come up with a more believable excuse? You've been drinking for years. I've never seen you bleed from it."

Olivia, the one who had poured the drink down my throat, scoffed. "I barely got a mouthful in you. You, the man who can drink anyone under the table. Are you serious?"

Its easy to be dismissive when youre not the one in pain.

It used to be that when Olivia saw me drinking with clients, shed pull me aside and ask, "Simon, there will always be more clients. Is one contract really worth this?"

Back then, she and Isabelle would cry seeing me drunk. Theyd make me hangover soup, take turns staying up all night by my bedside, just to hand me a glass of warm water if I stirred. The next day, theyd go to the office with dark circles under their eyes and work twice as hard, determined not to let my efforts go to waste.

We had survived the hardest years of our startup. They had sworn they would never marry anyone but me. And now, they were using Alex as a weapon to destroy me.

"I just need to use the restroom," I gasped, the pain in my stomach twisting into sharp cramps. I was doubled over, barely able to speak, leaning against the wall for support.

A female colleague was the first to notice something was seriously wrong. She stood up to help me.

Isabelle shoved her away. "Don't touch him." She sneered at me. "Is this how you do it, Simon? Drink a little, then play the weak, vulnerable man to win over your female clients?"

The colleague who had tried to help me blushed with embarrassment. "Isabelle, I think you're mistaken. He really doesn't look well."

Olivia let out a derisive laugh. "He knows he's made a fool of himself. This is all an act."

I couldn't blame her for not believing me. For years, no matter how sick I felt from drinking, I had always pushed through it. This was the path I chose.

I had embraced the struggle of building something from nothing, thrived on the sense of accomplishment. In their eyes, I was invincible.

Alex, having enjoyed the show long enough, now stepped forward with a glass of hot water, a look of faux concern on his face. "Mr. Davies, no matter how you landed the contract, you're a hero to this company. We're all grateful for your contribution."

His words were gasoline on a fire.

Isabelle, who had been supporting me, abruptly let go, as if I were something unclean. "If you don't want to be here, then just go home." She then walked over to the restroom and began vigorously washing her hands.

Under the contemptuous glares of everyone at the table, I clutched my stomach and turned to leave.

But Alex stopped me. As he grabbed my arm, the scalding water from the glass he was holding splashed onto both of our hands. I recoiled instinctively, pushing him away.

Olivia shot up from her seat, yelling for a waiter to bring an ice pack for Alex. She didn't seem to notice that the majority of the hot water had landed on me. Alex had a small red patch on his hand. The back of my hand was completely scalded.

Isabelle came out of the restroom, saw Alex on the verge of tears, and her anger finally boiled over.