Leaving Was the Best Promotion I Got

Eliza's POV

After failing to get promoted to management for the fifth time, my mom called again, urging me to come home for another blind date. Normally, I would’ve refused without hesitation. But this time, I answered calmly.

Maybe it was because I’d lost yet another promotion to my long-time rival, so frustrated and unwilling to accept it, I decided to confront my boyfriend, who also happened to be my boss, and ask why.

But before I could knock on his door, I overheard him talking to someone inside.

“Eliza practically grew up under your guidance. Why do you keep voting for someone else every time there’s a promotion?” the other person asked.

Sean Thompson let out a short, amused laugh. “I give her the affection she wants and give Mr. Bellamy’s daughter the position she wants to keep both of them around. Everyone gains something. Isn’t maximizing benefits the smartest move?”

The other person sounded shocked. “You’re ruthless. You string her along with the lowest-cost version of ‘love.’ Aren’t you afraid she’ll get disappointed and walk away?”

But his tone was casual, confident as he replied, “We’re just sleeping together. It’s mutual. If she leaves, it’s no real loss.”

Then he added, almost lazily, “But she stopped using protection last month. I doubt she’s actually willing to go.”

In that moment, he tore apart the last shred of dignity I had, and with it was the five years of love I had so carefully convinced myself to be real.

I ripped up the appeal form in my hand and bought the earliest ticket home. Maybe it was time to let go of the job I couldn’t earn in seven years and the love I couldn’t keep.

——

Before I could toss the shredded pieces away, Yvette Bellamy snatched them from me.

“An appeal form? You’re really planning to file again?” She let out a mocking laugh. “Eliza, people should know their limits. Failing once or twice can be chalked up to bad luck. But five times? You still think it’s bad luck?”

She flicked the shreds of paper into my face. “If your character doesn’t match the position, no amount of appeals will help.”

I suddenly remembered the four neatly stacked rejection slips tucked in the bottom of my drawer—each one stamped with “insufficient capability,” each one written by Sean. For the first time, I found it all strangely funny.

Every time he coaxed me, saying he couldn’t make it look like favoritism, it was like forcing me to swallow something unbearably bitter, with no way to spit it out.

I’d closed six multimillion-dollar deals in seven years, ranked first in quarterly performance thirteen times, ended up in the hospital twice to fix the messes my colleagues left behind, and not a single client who worked with me ever doubted my ability.

In the past, I would’ve argued with Yvette, fought to prove I wasn’t incompetent. But now, I was tired.

Because every argument would just end with me standing in front of Sean, listening to him say something like: “Past achievements don’t matter. If your overall capability isn’t enough, accept it.”

And then, manipulated again, I’d throw myself back into work, trying to prove myself and helping him reach his “low-cost, high-return” goals.

But in the end, I finally realized the truth that the person who had never been treated fairly was me.

Sean, you really knew how to plan for your own benefit.

Tears splashed onto my phone screen, then a sharp ding sounded as the screen lit up.

[Come to my office.]

My numb heart jumped twice, still foolishly holding onto a trace of hope.

But as I approached his office, I heard Yvette crying inside.

“All right, stop crying,” he said gently. “If I say you’re qualified, then you’re qualified. I’ll handle her.”

Sean's soft, patient voice stabbed my chest like a dull knife, twisting, scraping open wounds that never had the chance to heal.

Six months ago, when Yvette spread rumors that I had slept with a client to close a deal, and the client’s wife beat me so badly I could only drink liquid food for two days, I had stood in front of him just like this, begging him to clear my name.

But all he said was: “Don’t be so dramatic and naïve. In the workplace, innocence speaks for itself.”

Bitterness spread through my wounds.

But I had to admit, he never gave me much love to begin with.