My Online Boyfriend Fired Me Today

Id started to notice a pattern: every single time my long-distance, text-only boyfriend and I got into a fight, our high-strung CEO would force the entire department to work overtime.

It was uncanny. So, sitting at my desk, I finally typed out a message to him: Every time we fight, I end up stuck at work. I think we need to break up. Youre bad luck.

Less than a minute after hitting send, disaster struck.

Panic-stricken, I furiously tapped out another text: "Im not even kidding, you really are a curse! The boss just announced he's cutting our salaries! Let's block each other. Goodbye."

A moment later, the CEOs personal assistant, Simon, stepped out of the corner office. His eyes swept across the room, meticulously scanning our desks, before finally coming to a halt right in front of Clara.

"Take this pen," Simon said, his voice flat but carrying a strange weight, "and follow me to the office."

The silver fountain pen in Claras hand was mine.

Id lent it to her just yesterday.

And it was a gift from my text-boyfriend.

Three minutes ago, I had officially cut ties with my virtual boyfriend.

Immediately after, Simon had rushed out of the boss's office, looking thoroughly rattled. Hed ordered us all to stand up, clear our desks, and searched for... something.

Then, he took Clara and the pen away.

We held our breath as Clara was led away, only letting out a collective sigh once the heavy glass doors clicked shut behind them.

Instantly, the office erupted into quiet whispers.

"What did Clara do?"

"Shes going to get absolutely shredded."

"Someone get the tissues ready. Its going to be a bloodbath."

The dread was entirely justified.

The Harley family owned a massive, sprawling empire, and Zachary Harley had originally been the high-flying CEO of the parent company. But after our branchs performance took a nosedive, they sent him down here to personally whip us into shape.

Tall, impossibly handsome, highly educated, and possessing the kind of tailored physique that belonged on a runwaythat was our first impression of him.

For about twenty-four hours, Zachary was the collective fantasy of every woman in the office.

But by day two, he shattered those illusions with a brutal iron fist.

No being late.

No office romances.

No personal phone use during work hours.

And the absolute kicker: our annual revenue target was arbitrarily doubled to a billion dollars. For context, we had barely scraped five hundred million the year before.

He was ruthless, treating performance metrics like a matter of life and death, moving through the office like a flawlessly programmed, unfeeling machine. People went into his office with forced smiles and came out in tears. If you did well, he expected better; if you fell short, he tore you to shreds without a second thought.

He was our resident Grim Reaper.

Under the crushing weight of this daily anxiety, I had turned to a coping mechanism: a secret online relationship.

It had started as a complete accident.

My cousin had gotten a new number, and when I went to add him on WhatsApp, I mistyped a digit. Surprisingly, the stranger on the other end accepted my request anyway. Assuming it was my cousin, I immediately fired off a barrage of random texts.

The only response I got was a single question mark.

Pissed off, I snapped back: "What is your problem? Want a fight? Keep it up and see what happens."

The stranger replied with another silent: "?"

A prickle of unease set in. I tapped on his profile picture and scrolled down. It was completely blankno status updates, no photos, nothing like my cousin, who posted every single detail of his mundane life.

My stomach sank. Oh, God.

Cringing, I typed: "I am so incredibly sorry. Wrong number. Can I buy you a coffee to make up for it?"

I sent him a quick Venmo of five dollars.

He immediately sent back fifty.

Intriguing. I decided I liked him already.

After a few more exchanges, I realized there was something uniquely captivating about him. Despite never having met, we fit together with an ease that felt almost predestined. We didnt share names, photos, or occupations. We were looking for a connection of the mind, a sanctuary from our real lives.

Eventually, we drifted into a relationship. Even without physical presence, it was understood that we belonged to each other.

He was sweet, mostly, though he had a sensitive streak. Hed get broodingly quiet if I took too long to reply, or if I forgot to text him goodnight. If I teased him too sharply, hed go cold.

And every single time he went cold, Zachary Harley would suddenly order us to work late. It was the most bizarre, agonizing coincidence.

Once or twice, I could shrug it off. But every single time? My sanity couldn't handle the double whammy of a moody boyfriend and a tyrannical boss.

So, I broke things off.

And the immediate, terrifying fallout? A company-wide salary cut.

Dear Lord. If keeping a secret boyfriend meant destroying my livelihood and everyone else's, it was a curse. We were clearly cosmically incompatible.

And now, poor Clara had been dragged into Zacharys office all because of that pen.

My ex-boyfriend had insisted I keep it with me at work, treating it like some sort of talisman. Id lent it to Clara yesterday because her own had run dry. Dating that man was a hazard to myself and everyone around me.

A short while later, the heavy door swung open.

Clara emergednot crying, not trembling, but with a soft, triumphant smile gracing her lips.

Simon walked a half-step behind her. Usually, Simon was a carbon copy of Zachary: starch-shirted, unapproachable, and utterly humorless. But right now, he was hovering behind Clara like a well-trained puppy.

Clearing his throat, Simon announced to the room, "The pay cuts have been rescinded. No overtime tonight, and Mr. Harley is treating the entire department to dinner."

Before we could process the sudden miracle, he added, "Also, Clara has been promoted to Assistant Project Lead." He paused, letting the words hang in the air, before delivering the coup de grace: "And Clara is officially Mr. Harleys girlfriend."

The silence in the room was absolute.

Clara had only been with the company for six months, while I had poured five years of sweat and tears into my desk just to earn that exact same title.

But who was going to complain?

When a man as powerful and cold as Zachary Harley decided to show blatant favoritism to his woman, there was no room for logic. It was less about jealousy and more about awe.

Within seconds, the spell broke. My coworkers abandoned their keyboards and swarmed Clara, showering her with sugary praise.

"Clara, oh my gosh, are you really dating Mr. Harley?"

"How did you do it? How did you tame the beast?"

"Seriously, you saved our lives today. We owe you big time!"

Clara stood at the center of the storm, playing the part of the demure, blushing maiden perfectly.

I had no desire to join the parade. Stepping away, I quietly checked my phone.

Nothing. No texts, no desperate pleas. My virtual relationship was officially dead.

I headed toward the breakroom to get a coffee, but before I could make my escape, Clara parted her sea of admirers and walked straight up to me.

"Gwen," she said, her voice dripping with sweet courtesy.

"Yes?" I asked, keeping my tone polite.

She smoothed her dark red lipstick, looking momentarily hesitant. "I wanted to ask you... that silver pen you lent me yesterday. Was it a gift from your boyfriend?"

"Yeah," I replied simply. "My online boyfriend."

Clara leaned in a fraction closer, her eyes scanning mine. "Do you know what he looks like? Or his real name?"

"No. That's kind of the point of the whole anonymous dating thing." I gave her a curious look. "Did the pen cause some sort of problem in there?"

"Oh, no. Mr. Harley didn't mind at all," she said quickly, her smile returning. "Actually, I really love the way it writes. Would you be willing to sell it to me?"

I didn't care about the pen anymore, nor did I want to know what it had cost him, though the weight of the metal suggested it wasn't cheap.

"Don't worry about it," I said, shrugging. "If you like it, keep it."

Keeping it would only remind me of a dead relationship.

"But... your boyfriend gave it to you," she pressed, tilting her head.

"We broke up."

"Why?"

I leaned in and whispered, "Bad feng shui. The universe basically told me he was a hazard to my health."

Clara looked deeply pensive. "I see... Would you mind telling me a bit more about him? What was he like?" Seeing my raised eyebrow, she quickly softened her expression. "I know its a weird question. Its just... I havent had much relationship experience, and sometimes with Mr. Harley, I find it so hard to read him. I'm trying to understand how men think."

I took a sip of my coffee and offered a polite, distant smile. "You're gorgeous, Clara. I don't think you'll have any trouble figuring him out. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should get back to work."

The restaurant Zachary booked was the most expensive steakhouse in the city. It was a classic power move, reallybuying our goodwill to ensure his new girlfriend had a smooth ride at the company.

Clara sat closely by his side, practically dripping in newly acquired diamonds that caught the candlelight. Zachary watched her with a softened intensity that felt entirely out of character.

Who would have thought our resident monster was actually a hopeless romantic under all that starch?

As luck would have it, the moment dinner ended, the heavens opened up in a torrential downpour.

My colleagues paired up under shared umbrellas and dispersed into the wet night. Having forgotten my own, I stood stranded under the restaurant's awning, watching the sheets of rain.

"Let me give you a ride."

I looked up to find Simon standing beside me, offering a rare, gentle smile as he tilted his umbrella to cover me. "Mr. Harley and Clara left together. My car is parked just over there."

"Oh, thank you so much," I said, genuinely relieved.

Once we were on the road, Simon glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "How long have you been with the firm, Gwen?"

"Five years."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Just broke up, actually."

I found the sudden curiosity strange. Simon wasn't exactly known for his warm conversational skills.

"Clara was just promoted to Assistant Lead," Simon said, keeping his eyes on the road. "Since she's still relatively new, I was hoping you could help guide her through the ropes of this next project."

Ah. There it was.

"Of course," I replied, a little dryly. "She's the boss's girlfriend. I know how the game works."

"Actually, Gwen, that's not what I meant at all." Simon met my gaze in the mirror. "Rachel is going on maternity leave soon. When she does, her position as Project Lead will be vacant. Personally, Im hoping you'll be the one to fill it."

A subtle hint, but a welcome one. Given my track record, I deserved that spot.

"Thank you, Simon. I'll make sure to put my best foot forward."

For the new campaign, Clara and I were co-leads, each handling half of the workload. She took the preliminary market research and strategy, while I handled the execution and financial projections. Once compiled, the final report had to be personally presented to Zachary.

Clara insisted on handling the presentation herself.

Normally, presenting to Zachary was the corporate equivalent of walking the plank; we used to pass the duty around like a hot potato. But since she was the golden girl now, I was more than happy to let her take the spotlight.

When she finally emerged from his office, however, her face was completely drained of color. She walked back toward our cubicles with heavy, dragging steps.

A bad feeling settled in my stomach. Did being the bosss girlfriend not shield her from his wrath?

"Clara, are you okay?" I asked, rising from my chair.

"Gwen, I need a massive favor. Please, you have to help me," she pleaded, her eyes welling with tears as if she were the victim of some grand tragedy.

"What's going on?"

"I made a really stupid mistake on the first half of the report. I didn't realize we had to use this year's projected metrics; I just used last year's closed data. When Mr. Harley started losing his temper, I got so scared... I told him that part was yours."

I stared at her, utterly speechless. "You did what?"

Clara grabbed my forearm, squeezing it tightly. "He wants to see you in his office right now. Please, Gwen, just take the fall for this one time. I'll buy you dinner, I promise!"

My cubicle neighbor, Zoe, nudged my foot under the desk, shooting me a warning look. But seeing Clara's frantic state, and knowing the power dynamic, I let out a tired sigh and nodded.

"Fine."

"Oh, thank you so much, Gwen!" Her tears vanished instantly. She spun on her heel, her perfectly curled hair bouncing as she practically skipped away.

Zoe gave me a look of pure sympathy. "She's the boss's girl," she whispered. "We can't win. Good luck, Gwen. Fight hard."

Bracing myself for the worst, I marched toward the lion's den.

Zacharys office was decorated in stark, oppressive shades of charcoal and slate, designed to make visitors feel small. He sat behind his massive desk, radiating a cold, lethal aura. He didn't even bother to look up when the door clicked shut.

"Took you long enough. Are you physically incapable of walking at a normal pace?"

"Just pretend he's yelling at Clara," I chanted silently to myself. "It's fine."

"How long have you been with this company?" Zachary asked, his voice sharp with irritation.

"Fi... five years," I stammered, hating how small I sounded.

"Five years? And you present this utter garbage?" He picked up the heavy binder and tossed it. It skittered across the polished floor, stopping right at my feet.

I bent down to retrieve it, and as I stood up, my eyes met his. His gaze was icy, razor-sharp, and entirely unyielding.

"Five years of experience, and you make a rookie mistake like this? Do you honestly believe you're still an asset to this department?"

Terrified and utterly overwhelmed, my brain short-circuited. "Yes, sir. You're right. I'm an idiot."

Simon slipped into the office carrying a stack of folders. He took one look at my pale face and frowned slightly.

"The second half of this report is acceptable," Zachary continued, relentless in his criticism. "But the beginning is a complete disaster. If you don't want to do your job, Gwen, let me know."

"Actually, sir, Gwen is one of our most reliable seniors. This seems unlike her," Simon interjected gently, trying to throw me a lifeline. "Wasn't this a joint project with Clara?"

Zachary glared at his assistant as if Simon had suddenly grown a second head.

My eyes drifted to the desk, landing on the fountain pen gripped in Zacharys hand.

A jolt went through me.

It was incredibly familiarnearly identical to the vintage pen Id bought for my text-boyfriend. Id spent hours hunting it down in an antique shop, and the owner had sworn it was a one-of-a-kind piece.

Before my rational mind could stop me, the words slipped out: "Does that pen write well?"

Zacharys expression hardened even further. "Mind your own business, Gwen." He snapped the file closed. "You're working overtime tonight. Don't even think about leaving until this is fixed."

When Zachary gave an order, there was no negotiating.

Clara was nowhere to be found for the rest of the afternoon. With no other choice, I sat down and began rebuilding her half of the project from scratchscraping databases, cross-referencing figures, and pulling new charts.

By the time the rest of the office packed up and left, I was still buried under a mountain of papers. I ordered a lukewarm black coffee, too exhausted to even think about dinner. The open-plan office was pitch black, save for the solitary glow of my monitor.

I rubbed a few drops of peppermint essential oil onto my temples, hoping the sharp scent would stave off the pounding headache. Once the revision was complete, I carried the binder back to Zachary's office.

He hadn't left either, still buried under his own mountain of executive paperwork.

As I approached his desk, he suddenly stopped writing and looked up, his nose wrinkling. "What is that smell?"

"Peppermint oil," I mumbled, rubbing my neck. "I was getting a headache."

"I don't like it," he said, his brow furrowing. "It has a..." He trailed off, searching for the word.

"A medicinal, apothecary smell," I supplied automatically.

The phrase slipped out before I could stop it. My text-boyfriend had used those exact words once when I told him about my favorite oil.

Zachary froze, his hand suspended in mid-air. He stared at me, a sudden, intense confusion flashing in his dark eyes. He rubbed his temples, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"Where did you hear that phrase?" he demanded, his voice dropping an octave.

"I..."

Before I could answer, the door burst open.

"Babe! You must be exhausted, I brought you"

Clara froze when she saw me standing there. She was weighed down with glossy shopping bags from Saks and Chanel. So that was where her "urgent client meeting" had taken her.

"Oh. Gwen. You're still here," she said, her voice dropping the high-pitched baby tone.

"No thanks to you," I thought.

Zachary skimmed the revised pages of my report, his expression unreadable. "This is acceptable. It's late. Go home."

I turned to leave, but as the door swung shut behind me, I caught the low murmur of Clara's voice: "What were you two talking about just now?"

I was too tired to notice the sharp, calculating look she threw at my back.

The next day at lunch, Zoe slid into the booth across from me, looking like a spy on a covert mission. She glanced left and right before leaning over the table.

"Gwen, theres a rumor spreading. People are saying you stayed late last night specifically to try and make a move on Mr. Harley."

I choked on my salad, coughing into a napkin. "What? Who said that?"

"Its all over the group chats. I know it's garbage, obviously, but still..."

Only Clara and I had been there last night. Why would she spin a lie like that?

Shaking it off, I tried to focus on my work.

Later that afternoon, I walked up to the executive suite to turn in the final contract specs. The heavy wooden door to Zachary's office wasn't fully closed, and Clara's voice drifted out into the hallway.

"Babe, you've heard the rumors," she was saying, her voice a soft, dramatic purr. "Honestly, I think letting Gwen go might be the best way to protect her reputation. And yours."

"She's been with the firm for five years, Clara," Zachary replied, sounding exhausted. "I can't just fire her without cause."

"But her work has been so sloppy lately! Most of the project we just turned in was actually done by me. If she leaves, it clears up the gossip and we don't have to worry about her bringing down the team's metrics."

I didn't wait to hear the rest.

I walked back to my desk and quietly began packing my personal things into a cardboard box. Ten minutes later, an email from HR landed in my inbox: "Termination of Contract."

"Gwen, can you take a look at these client files?" our department director asked, dropping a folder on my desk, entirely unaware of what had just happened.

I smiled politely and took the folder. I wanted to finish my final day with my head held high, even if leaving the place Id dedicated five years of my life to left a bitter taste in my mouth.

By the time I finished wrapping up the files, it was nearly eight in the evening. I carried my box of belongings out of the building and headed toward the subway.

My apartment was in a quieter, slightly older neighborhood, and due to ongoing road construction, my usual shortcut was blocked. I had to take a detour, turning my ten-minute walk into a dark, thirty-minute trek. The streetlamps were sparse, casting long, shivering shadows on the pavement.

A prickle of dread crawled up my spine.

Footsteps.

I glanced back. A dark silhouette quickly melted into the shadow of an alleyway.

My heart hammered against my ribs, my knees turning to jelly. Trembling, I pulled out my phone and went to my contacts.

At the very top of my list was the phone number my text-boyfriend had given me. "If you're ever in trouble," hed written months ago, "call this. I don't care what time it is. I'll find you."

With no other options, I pressed dial.