Beneath The Glass Tower

By the end of the week, the heroine understood one thing clearly. Someone wanted her gone.

It showed in the way instructions were altered at the last minute and in how coworkers avoided meeting her eyes. Small errors appeared in reports she had never touched. Tasks were reassigned without explanation, only to return to her desk when confusion followed.

Still, she remained calm.

She adapted quickly, keeping copies of everything she worked on and quietly noting patterns. She had survived worse than office politics. This was nothing new, only dressed in finer clothes.

The rich girl watched from afar, growing impatient. Subtle hints had not worked. Whispers had failed to push the heroine aside. It was time for something bolder.

That afternoon, a meeting was delayed because several documents were missing. Voices rose. Fingers pointed.

"These were placed on her desk," someone said hesitantly.

The room fell silent.

Alexander stepped in before the tension could grow. He examined the documents calmly, then glanced at the time stamps. "These files were moved after she logged out," he said. "Check the access records."

The truth surfaced quickly.

No apology followed, but the silence that settled afterward was heavy. The rich girl stood near the door, her expression unreadable.

Later, she approached the heroine directly for the first time. "You're persistent," she said softly. "But this place isn't meant for someone like you."

The heroine met her gaze without flinching. "Work decides that," she replied evenly. "Not background."

For a brief moment, the rich girl's composure cracked.

From that day on, the divide in the office became clear. Some employees continued to distance themselves, unwilling to take sides. Others began to respect the heroine quietly, impressed by her composure.

Alexander watched it all unfold. He no longer observed from a distance. He intervened when necessary and made it clear, without words, that sabotage would not be tolerated.

By the time the office lights dimmed that evening, the balance had shifted again.

This was no longer quiet manipulation.

It was open conflict.