Groveling at Her Feet

On the company's designated monthly day off, Gigi Lott, Donald Hoover's secretary, posted an Instagram story.

The caption read, "So what if you're the boss of me when we're at work during the day? At night, I'm the one on top!"

In the photo, she was lying atop a water bed covered in rose petals, and the usually stern Donald was kneeling down to massage her feet for her. From his pocket hung a brand new golden necklace.

Just that morning, I bought several gold bars and gave them to Donald while beseeching him to make our relationship public.

He happily took the locket from me, but when I tried to take a photo of us with our phone, he smacked my phone out of my hands, smashing it into pieces.

With a look of pure derision, he declared, "Why don't you take a good look at yourself in the mirror first? You really are a motherless wretch who wasn't raised right. Look at the lengths you'd go to just to ruin me!"

Throughout the last five years, I had meekly gone along with his demand that we keep our relationship a secret, claiming it was because office romances were forbidden. But now, I was abruptly hit with the realization of how laughable it all was.

The next day, I sent my father a message. "I admit defeat. I'm willing to come home and inherit the family business."

Once I was certain the necklace in the photo had been made from the gold I gave him, I sent a message to our workplace group chat.

"Best wishes to Mr. Hoover and Ms. Lott. May you have pretty babies."

A few minutes later, Gigi explained they were merely fulfilling a bet they had made while playing a game. It had all been done at the behest of the winner.

Donald, who had seemingly vanished for a day, finally appeared as well.

"What is wrong with you? Why did you send something like that to the group chat? She's a fellow woman, isn't she? Why are you so jealous of her? Can you not live without a man or something?"

Before I could reply, Donald added with a sneer, "What else can you do apart from causing trouble for me? Piss off and go back to where you belong."

Although I was mentally prepared for this, it still pained me to hear him cussing me out.

It was too disgusting. I felt nauseated.

To think that just this morning, I had been urging him to marry me! I couldn't stop shaking at the thought of that.

"Just forget it, Donnie. It's my fault. I'll look for Jeanette and explain things to her!"

"Nope! You're not going anywhere!" Donald snapped. Even though he sounded furious, he couldn't hide the concern in his voice. "It's so late right now. How are you going to get a cab?"

Refocusing on me, he continued, "Listen up, Jeanette Swan. Even if you want to kick up a fuss, you should know your limits! Do you think I can't keep you in check?"

I hadn't even managed to get a word in edgewise, but I could hear sobbing coming from the other end of the call.

"Even if I have to swim, Donnie, I'm going over there right now. Don't even try to stop me. I won't let anyone stir up rumors about you!" Gigi declared.

"Why do you care about what that woman does? I'll fire her right this instant!" Donald replied. "Just stay here and enjoy your break, Gigi. As long as I'm the director, no one can bully you."

Once he finished speaking, he ended the call with me without a second thought.

Even though I sent him a message saying I wanted to break up with him less than five seconds after the call was over, he didn't bother responding.

Well, it wasn't surprising. If he didn't need anything from me, he would turn off all notifications of any calls or messages coming from me.

A little over two hours passed. By now, I had packed up all my things.

I had personally designed everything in the house, from the most insignificant teapot to the large feature wall in the living room.

I had prepared a surprise for Donald too—I bought the house and was going to transfer ownership to him.

Now, I was glad I never told him about it.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

"Don't worry, Jeanette. Donnie and I aren't involved in any way. I've always thought of him as a brother or even as a fatherly figure. I've never had any designs on him."

As if afraid I wouldn't believe her, Gigi even sent me two videos. The first showed Donald scrubbing her back for her, while the second showed him coaxing her to sleep.

Previously, I never dared to respond to such taunting provocations. After all, no matter what happened, I was the one who would end up relenting and trying to get back into Donald's good graces.

Five years was enough time to exhaust me of the fervent, youthful passion that enabled me to pursue love with reckless abandon.

From the looks of it, bearing such things in silence served no purpose either.

"Is your butt itchy? Did you send me those things so that I would lash out at you? Did you want me to spam you with messages so that you could stick your vibrating phone up your butt?"

Immediately, I saw the notification that Gigi was typing a message.

"Oh, look. You must be jumping off the walls again."

Once I sent that message, I swiftly deleted Gigi from my contacts list.

That night, I didn't get even a wink of sleep. I stayed up until morning before I sent Dad a message.

"I admit defeat. I'm willing to come home and inherit the family business."

Dad responded with a happy emoji before calling me up to ask, "Are you sure? You're not lying to me, right?"

"No, I'm not lying to you," I responded with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Laughing gleefully, Dad said, "Well, looks like I won the five-million-dollar bet I placed with my friend Eric!"

I felt a sob catching in my throat.

Dad continued, "You should've come back to inherit the company sooner! Everything would've been fine that way. You can have any guy you want! I never understood why you had your heart set on him. I'll buy over the company where you're employed at for you. You can do whatever you want with it. Only a blind fool would mistreat my daughter!"