I placed Wesley’s phone back where it had been.
In the silence of the dark room, my mind wandered—Penelope, why did that name sound so familiar?
I clicked on her profile picture, confirming that I didn’t recognize her.
From the chat history, it seemed she worked at Wesley’s company.
Wesley’s company was a business he co-founded with his college roommate. There weren’t many employees, and I knew them all.
Last year, when I attended their annual meeting, I didn’t meet anyone new...
So, she must be one of the recent hires.
A newcomer?
Suddenly, it clicked.
After the New Year, Wesley had mentioned that a few interns had joined the company.
He’d told me the interns had been recommended by his university professor.
It was mostly a formality—just a signature for their internship certificates.
He said he had a good relationship with his former professor, so he couldn’t say no.
Not long after, I overheard him complaining.
He mentioned that one of the female interns wasn’t very cooperative.
She would leave right on time every evening, not a minute later.
Even if she had just about finished her tasks, she would leave without hesitation.
She said the best part of working was clocking out.
Not only did she refuse to stay late, but she also encouraged others not to work overtime.
She claimed overtime was just selling your life to help the capitalists make money.
Once, when the entire company was working over the weekend to meet a project deadline, only a few interns didn’t show up.
To speed things up, the project leader called each intern, asking them to help, and promised overtime pay.
Everyone agreed, except for that girl.
She flatly refused, saying she would only work if the overtime pay was five times the usual rate.
That left the project leader stunned.
Wesley had been pretty upset with her at the time—he wouldn’t have brought it up at home otherwise.
He didn’t like talking about work at home.
He always said the home should be a warm and happy place, and work should stay outside.
I remember him, angry and eating, saying, "That Penelope is ridiculous. She openly declared in the office that Gen Z is coming to fix the workplace."
It all came back to me now—yes, that girl was Penelope.
I remembered Wesley saying he had scolded Penelope harshly at the office.
It had made her cry.
I believed it.
Wesley had a short temper. When he got angry, he didn’t care who you were—he would yell at anyone, man or woman, equally.
But he didn’t fire her.
He said he kept the interns around because of the professor’s favor.
"If it were the old me, I would have kicked all of them out, no matter whose favor it was," he’d said.
"Looks like I’ve become a lot softer after entering the real world."
"Of course, it’s also thanks to you, my wife. Your good temper has rubbed off on me."
"Anyway, the internship only lasts three months. I’ll just put up with it for now."
That’s what he said.
I didn’t know how the annoying Penelope he had once complained about ended up working at his company.
Had she left after her internship and returned after graduation?
Or had she stayed the whole time, never leaving, working there until now?
But whatever the case, Wesley’s opinion of Penelope had clearly changed.
From someone he couldn’t stand to now calling her "cute."
On his Instagram, he even labeled Penelope as "Little Cutie."
The next morning, Wesley left for work.
Five minutes later, I quietly followed behind him.
I took a cab and stayed a little behind his car.
After getting my master’s degree, I first worked at a big company as a corporate drone for a few years. Once I built up my client base, I left and started freelancing.
Now, I’m a freelance illustrator.
I earn more than I did before, and best of all, my time is my own.