The 58-Point Betrayal

3: 3

The break room was a low hum of voices when I got in the next morning.

The second I walked in with my cup, the noise dropped.

Someone cleared their throat. Someone else bent over their phone, pretending to read.

"Hey, did you hear? The special-approval pick crashed and burned."

"I always said she acted so high and mighty. Who knows how long she'd been buttering someone up behind everyone's back."

"Turns out Ada didn't pull any strings at all. She won fair and square, on her own merit."

"Maybe she's just getting old. Losing her touch in bed!"

I stood where I was, nails digging into my palms.

Ada came over holding a cup of coffee.

"Jean. You're here."

"About yesterday, I really do feel terrible. You're senior to me, and beating you like that makes me so uncomfortable..."

"This coffee's my apology. From now on, please, teach me anything I need to know about the work."

She held the cup out to me. Held it there for a good five seconds.

I reached to take it.

The instant my fingertips touched the side of the cup, her fingers went slack.

Scalding liquid poured down from my chest all the way to my waist.

I sucked in a sharp breath and, without thinking, stepped back.

Ada froze for a second, then looked down at her own hand.

"Jean... did you—did you not get a grip on it?"

"I know you're angry with me... but you didn't have to refuse it on purpose..."

Her eyes went red, her voice trembling.

"That coffee was just made, it was so hot I could barely hold it myself..."

Every pair of eyes around us swung toward me.

"Ada brings her coffee, nice as can be, and she won't take it, and lets the whole cup splash all over herself..."

"Loses the competition and pulls a stunt like this. So petty."

"What's going on here?"

Justin walked in.

His gaze skimmed over Ada's reddened eyes and landed on my coffee-soaked blouse.

His brow creased.

"I was bringing Jean a coffee, and she didn't get a grip on it..."

Ada's voice shook. "It was all an accident..."

"I didn't—"

"Did your hand get burned?"

Justin cut me off, glancing at Ada.

Ada looked down at her sleeve. There was a small coffee stain on the cuff.

"No, it just got a little on it..."

He looked at me again.

"You made this mess, you clean it up. Go buy her a clean shirt."

I looked down at the patch of scalded skin on my chest.

"I—"

"Don't stand around here disrupting people's work."

His voice was so flat there wasn't a trace of anything in it.

I looked into his eyes. Nothing there at all, like looking at a stranger.

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

Never mind.

Nothing I said would make him believe me anyway, right?

I nodded, didn't say another word, turned and walked out.

At the mall downstairs, I grabbed something off a rack and took it to the counter.

The cashier took the shirt, looked at it, then looked at me.

"Miss, this size won't fit you very well. Do you want to go up a size?"

"And that burn on you looks pretty bad. Do you want to take care of it first?"

I glanced down.

The dark-brown coffee stain ran from my collarbone to my belly, clinging to my skin.

The burned area was one raw red patch, already blistering in a few spots.

Even a cashier could see it clearly.

And Justin could only see that one little stain on Ada.

"No need."

I scanned to pay, picked up the bag, and walked back to the office.

Standing in the lobby of the building, the tears just fell.

No one would notice me.

And there would be no Justin crossing half the city to comfort me.

I brought Ada's shirt to her desk.

Justin was talking to her. "You've had a scare today. Take the day off and get some rest."

"Thank you, Mr. Gilbert."

Justin didn't look at me.

"Jean, her work for today, you finish it."

I kept my face blank and gave a small "mm."

Turned and walked back to my desk.

There was a tube of burn ointment sitting on it, still sealed, a sticky note pressed underneath.

【Remember to use it.】

I picked it up, glanced at it, and dropped it into the trash can by my feet.

I opened my laptop. A task list popped up on the screen, the schedule packed to the edges.

I stared at the items.

The back of my hand still had that red burn mark, and it pulled painfully every time I hit the keys.

At six that evening, I finished the last line.

I opened a blank document and typed four words as the title:

Letter of Resignation.