His Artificial Intelligence My Real Revenge

The Memorial Day holiday was just around the corner, and our firm was scrambling to prepare for a roster of high-profile clients.

In the middle of the open-plan office, the newly hired intern, Austin, leaned over his desk. He secretly pulled out his phone, whispering into a trendy AI application: "Book the largest private dining suite at The Zenith for tomorrow night. Twelve guests."

Watching him from my desk across the room, a faint, bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

In my previous life, I had always believed that relying on a virtual assistant for high-stakes reservations was reckless. To ensure nothing went wrong, I had spent sleepless nights running back and forth to the hotel, making dozens of frantic calls, and pulling every favor in my network. That was the only reason I had managed to secure a table at The Zeniththe most exclusive restaurant in the cityon a chaotic holiday weekend.

But when the CEO praised me in front of the entire company, Austin felt utterly humiliated. Unable to handle the blow to his fragile ego, he stormed out of the building in a blind rage and was struck by a speeding car, dying instantly.

My colleagues pretended to mourn, whispering about how thin-skinned he had been.

But on the seventh day after his death, they lured me back to the office under the guise of an urgent meeting. They drugged my coffee and filmed my torment.

"If you hadn't been so desperate to steal the spotlight, Austin wouldn't be dead!"

"You just couldn't stand that he was younger and more attractive, could you? You were terrified he'd take your job! You sick, twisted bastard!"

"He already had the room booked through the app! You just had to show off and claim he did it wrong!"

"You love the spotlight so much? Let's make sure everyone sees you now!"

The psychological torture, the viral videos, the absolute ruin of my reputationit was too much. The moment I woke up from the trauma, I jumped from the office building.

But now, the clock had wound back.

Austin stood up from his desk, his chest puffed out, announcing loudly to the room: "All set! Twelve people, tomorrow night, the Grand Suite at The Zenith."

This time, I was the first one to clap.

...

Austin blinked, momentarily startled by my sudden enthusiasm.

But his confusion quickly melted into a smug, victorious grin. "Wyatt, buddy, times change. The world is automated now. I know you're getting up there in years, but hey, at least you can appreciate efficiency."

The office erupted into giggles and snide remarks.

"God, gotta love Gen Z. They just say it like it is."

"Austin's not just honest; he's fast. Way faster than our senior manager, Wyatt."

"Seriously. Every year Wyatt takes weeks, begging and pleading for a reservation, and this kid does it in sixty seconds."

"Makes you wonder if Wyatt was just dragging his feet to make himself look indispensable, doesn't it?"

"Ten years of booking tables and he thinks he's a marketing genius."

I took a slow sip of my lukewarm coffee, letting their words wash over me without a fight.

The Zenith was the pinnacle of luxury in our city. Getting a table there on a normal Tuesday required a miracle, let alone during a major holiday.

More importantly, Helena Lancaster, the matriarch of the Lancaster Group, was notoriously old-school. She valued protocol, respect, and above all, sincerity. She once terminated a multi-million-dollar partnership simply because a junior associate handed her a brand of sparkling water she didn't drink. In her eyes, details were the ultimate measure of respect.

Because of her reputation, everyone in the office avoided this account like the plague. It was a career-ending minefield. For the past five years, I was the one who began currying favor months in advance. I knocked on doors, waited outside the restaurant until closing, and pulled strings with general managers just to secure that one table.

And it had worked. Helena had smiled across the table and said, "Your firm understands dedication. I won't forget this." Since then, the Lancaster contracts had renewed effortlessly, their value multiplying year after year. A one-hundred-million-dollar deal was riding on tomorrow's dinner.

And Austin believed a line of text to a free app could secure that?

Seeing my silence, Valerie, our department director, looked slightly uneasy. "Wyatt, you've handled this every year. Are you sure we're good to leave this to Austin?"

I looked at her. A heavy, familiar knot tightened in my chest.

Valerie had been my mentor, the one who guided me up the corporate ladder. Yet in my past life, she was the ringleader who pinned Austin's death on me, the one who suggested they record my humiliation. And it wasn't until my final moments that I realized the sick, twisted nature of her connection to the young intern.

Before I could speak, Austin shot up from his chair, his face flushed with defensive pride. "Valerie! Just because Wyatt is your favorite doesn't mean you have to play favorites! I booked this through official channels."

He thrust his phone screen in front of her face. "See? PocketPal confirmed it. It said they contacted The Zenith's executive suite. Due to the high profile of our guests, they're preparing their highest tier of service."

"And lookPocketPal even has a guarantee. If the booking fails, they pay out a thirty-million-dollar breach-of-contract penalty! What is there to worry about?"

In my previous life, this absurd thirty-million-dollar guarantee was exactly what made me realize the booking was a scam. It was a laughable, algorithmic illusion. But this time, I only smiled. I wanted to see who he would collect that thirty million from when the hundred-million-dollar account went up in flames.

Seeing my silent smile, Austin's temper flared. He pointed a finger at my face. "Valerie, look at him! He's sneering! You only doubt me because you want to keep throwing all the credit to Wyatt!"

Valerie saw the tears welling in the young man's eyes, and her protective instincts flared. She glared at me with sharp accusation. "Wyatt, that's enough. I only asked for your input out of courtesy. Don't get ahead of yourself. This company needs fresh blood, people like Austin who actually embrace the future."

"Since Austin has secured the reservation, the entire Lancaster account is now his responsibility. You will assist him. Whatever he needs, you execute. No questions asked. Understood?"

I let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Valerie, you're asking a senior director with ten years of tenure to assist an intern who started three weeks ago? If the board hears about this, what do you think they'll say?"

I closed my laptop with a quiet snap. "But fine. Since you've handed the reigns to Austin, I won't interfere."

The room went dead silent. By the time Valerie realized what I had said, I was already at the door.

"Wyatt!" her voice shrieked after me, sharp and frantic. "What is your attitude? How dare you threaten me with the board! And so what if you're a director? A real leader puts the work first!"

I paused, glancing back with a cold smirk. "Austin booked the table, didn't he? If the hard part is done, what do you need me for?"

Without another word, I walked out and returned to my office.

I sat at my desk, my eyes drifting to the framed photograph of my mother resting on the corner. The reality of my second chance finally began to settle in, heavy and sweet.

In my past life, when those horrific videos leaked online, my mother had thrown herself in front of the relentless wave of reporters and internet vigilantes. "My son isn't like this! Stop filming him! He was forcedhes terrified! Please, stop!" she had sobbed, her fragile frame shaking. "I know my son!"

But Valerie had shoved her aside with cold, calculated cruelty. "Ma'am, I know exactly what kind of man your son is. Ive seen him creeping around after hours. He brought his dirty affairs right into our office. He's a stain on this firm, and I am officially firing him."

The crowd had surged forward. My mother had stumbled, clutching her chest as she collapsed to the pavement.

I remembered screaming from the back of the crowd, "Stop! Please! Someone call an ambulance! She has a heart condition!"

But Valerie had only scoffed. "Oh, please. What a pathetic stunt for sympathy. Like mother, like son."

My mother had tried to stand, tried to crawl back to protect me, only to be kicked back down by the mob. Her lips turned blue, her final words barely a whisper as she gripped my sleeve: "Wyatt... Im sorry I couldn't protect you..."

The phantom pain of that memory pierced my chest. I pulled the frame close, holding it against my heart.

This time, I wouldn't lift a finger to save Austin or Valerie. Let them burn. As long as my mother was safe, nothing else mattered.

I put the photo back and opened my laptop. Outside, the meeting had adjourned. People filtered past my glass walls, throwing mocking glances inside.

"Look at him. Does he really think we can't function without him?"

"It's hilarious. He's probably terrified Austin is going to take his office."

"Ten years of riding on his high horse, and a rookie leaves him in the dust."

They gathered around Austin, raising their voices so I could hear every word. "Congrats, Austin! Valerie said you're the star of the show. Once the Lancaster dinner is wrapped, you're getting promoted straight to team lead!"

"In this place, it takes normal people three years to move up a single rung. You did it in weeks. Unbelievable!"

Austin scoffed playfully. "Oh, come on, guys. Its not that deep. Just a couple of taps on a screen."

Then, he strolled into my office, his hands casually shoved into his pockets. "Hey, Wyatt. When do you think you can pack up and clear out?"

I looked up, stunned. "Clear out?"

He feigned a gasp, covering his mouth in mock apology. "Oh, shoot. I forgot to mention. Valerie said since the Lancaster account is our top priority, and since I'll need to coordinate with her constantly, she's assigning this office to me. I mean, since you aren't really contributing to this project, it doesn't make sense for you to monopolize the private suite, right?"

I almost laughed out loud. Ten years of sweat and blood earned me this small windowed office, and this kid thought he could just inherit it after three weeks?

Before I could speak, my colleagues crowded in behind him.

"Austin, you're too polite. Why are you even asking him?"

"Valerie gave the order. If he doesn't like it, we can just throw his stuff in the hall."

"Yeah, Valerie's got your back. He can't do trash to you."

They began grabbing the organizers and papers from my desk.

I watched them, a profound, hollow exhaustion settling over me. For the longest time, I had wondered why they hated me so much. I was their peer. I had worked late nights beside them. What had I done to deserve their venom?

It was only in my final moments in my past life, bleeding on the asphalt, that I heard them whispering over my broken body:

We started at the same time. Why does he get to be two levels higher than us?

Exactly. All he does is book that stupid restaurant every year. Big deal.

Who knows what he had to do to get those tables? Slinking around the hotel at midnight... probably sold his soul, or his body.

It wasn't hatred. It was raw, ugly jealousy.

But jealousy of what? My performance metrics had been number one in the department for a decade. People came and went, but my team stayed stable, pulling in massive quarterly bonuses because my hard work shielded them from the layoffs. They didn't see the shield. They only saw the shadow it cast.

My silence emboldened them. They began clearing my desk with aggressive, sweeping motions.

With a cold smirk, Austin grabbed the framed photo of my mother and tossed it carelessly into the trash can. "I have a bit of a germ phobia, Wyatt. You don't mind, do you?"

A switch flipped in my brain. I lunged forward, shoving him back hard. I bent down and snatched the photo from the trash. "Austin! Touch my things again, and I will personally see to it that you pack your boxes today!"

The sudden ferocity in my voice stunned them. They glanced at each other, uneasy.

"Pack his boxes?!" Valerie's voice cut through the crowd. She stepped into the office, her eyes flashing. "Wyatt, while the CEO is away, I am the voice of authority in this office. If anyone is packing their boxes, it's the person who refuses to follow my lead!"

Just then, my phone buzzed on the desk.

I went to silence it, but my finger slid across the screen, accidentally hitting the speakerphone.

A polite, refined female voice filled the room: "Hello, Mr. Mercer. This is the VIP guest relations manager at The Zenith. I wanted to follow up on your inquiry from two weeks ago regarding the Horizon Suite, Room 808, for the Memorial Day holiday?"

I had forgotten. I had initiated this booking weeks ago. It was our eighth anniversary partnering with the Lancaster Group, which was why I had insisted on their most exclusive suite.

But now...

I smiled, looking directly at Valerie and Austin. "Actually, we've made other arrangements. We won't be needing the room."

The manager sounded surprised. "Are you sure, Mr. Mercer? This is the absolute last private suite available for the entire holiday weekend."

"I'm sure," I replied smoothly. "Thank you for your time."

I ended the call.

Austin let out a loud, mocking laugh. "The last suite? Please. When I used PocketPal, it said there were plenty of rooms left."

"Wyatt, do you really think staging a fake phone call is going to make Valerie hand this project back to you?"

He smirked, opening his AI app again. Speaking into the microphone, he said, "PocketPal, upgrade my reservation at The Zenith to Suite 999. The largest one."

The app chimed instantly, displaying a text bubble: [Of course! I have upgraded your booking to the Zenith Luxury Suite 999 for tomorrow night at 7:00 PM. Rest easy! Just give them my name, PocketPal, when you arrive!]

I remained silent.

The Zenith's highest tier of luxury ended at Suite 808. There was no Suite 999. The AI was hallucinating, feeding him the empty reassurances it was programmed to generate.

But Valeries eyes lit up. "See? This is what real efficiency looks like! Austin, you're a miracle worker."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure Gordon hears all about this at the dinner. That team lead position is yours."

She turned to the onlookers, waving her hand dismissively. "What are you waiting for? Pack Wyatt's things. Move him to the cubicle under the stairs."

"And if he won't move, drag him."

A few colleagues chuckled, their eyes dripping with malice.

Before they could lay a finger on me, I grabbed my mother's photo, snatched my laptop and a few essential files, and walked out without looking back.

They could have the office. They'd be begging me to take it back soon enough.

For the next few days, Valerie and Austin locked themselves in my old office, ostensibly coordinating the Lancaster dinner. The rest of the team spent their time buying Austin coffees and singing his praises.

I ignored the noise, quietly focusing on my own tasks and preparing for the storm.

On the evening of the dinner, our team arrived early at the grand entrance of The Zenith.

Our CEO, Gordon Croft, spotted me and immediately asked, "Wyatt, is everything in order?"

Before I could answer, Valerie pushed Austin forward, beaming. "Gordon! Wyatt didn't handle the arrangements this yearAustin did!"

"He secured the most exclusive suite in the house. Mrs. Lancaster is going to be thrilled."

"We even brought the new hundred-million-dollar contract. If the dinner goes as planned, shell sign it tonight! It was all Austin's idea. The boy is a genius."

Gordon blinked, a brief shadow of doubt crossing his face, but he didn't say anything.

Just then, the Lancaster Group's town car pulled up.

Gordon rushed forward to open the door, leaving Valerie and Austin behind.

Austin leaned in close to me, whispering, "Wyatt, I heard it took you two years of grunt work just to get invited to a dinner with the Lancaster Group."

He sighed with mock pity. "Man, that's tragic."

I looked at him, my expression deadpan. "Austin, I'd start thinking about how you're going to survive the next ten minutes if I were you."

"What?" He snapped, his voice rising. "Wyatt, do you honestly think your ten years of tenure mean anything? Valerie promised me your job is mine. Just wait. With her backing me, you're history."

He hurried after Gordon.

Helena Lancaster stepped out of the vehicle. She spotted me immediately and smiled warmly. "Wyatt. Reliable as always. I assume the arrangements tonight are up to your usual impeccable standards?"

Before I could reply, Valerie and Austin shoved their way into the space. "Mrs. Lancaster, hello!"

"Actually, the booking tonight was handled by our brilliant new associate, Austin! Wyatt had nothing to do with it."

Valerie threw a patronizing glance in my direction. "You'll have to forgive Wyatt, Mrs. Lancaster. He's been getting a bit forgetful lately. Thankfully, Austin stepped up so we didn't miss a beat."

Helenas smile vanished instantly. "I value Wyatt's strategic capabilities. Reservation logistics are administrative details, are she not?"

Austin's face flushed crimson. "No, Mrs. Lancaster, I..."

Gordon, sensing the sudden chill, quickly gestured toward the lobby. "Mrs. Lancaster, let's head inside and discuss over dinner."

Austin eagerly nodded, jogging ahead to lead the party. "Right this way! Mrs. Lancaster, you are our guest of honor. The Zenith promised me they would pull out all the stops. We'll head straight to"

Suddenly, three hosts in pristine suits stepped forward, politely blocking the entrance.