The Backstabbing IPO, From Investor to Outcast

As I pressed send on my resignation email, a sense of liberation washed over me, as if a massive burden had been removed from my shoulders.

In the early hours of the morning, my deep slumber was disrupted by Emily's incoming call.

"Come get me. I'm still at the venue from before," she stated.

I could hear the bustling atmosphere in the background—likely another work-related gathering.

In the past, I would have leapt out of bed, hastily dressed, and rushed to her aid. This time, however, I responded with a drowsy, uninterested tone.

"Use a ride-hailing service," I suggested. "There should be plenty available in that area."

Emily hesitated, her voice tinged with doubt. "Are you sleeping?"

"Yes," I replied, indifferently.

Previously, when Emily attended work or networking events, I'd remain awake, concerned for her well-being until she returned home. Tonight, however, I slept soundly. Her call felt like an unwelcome interruption to my rest.

She didn't press the issue further. Approximately thirty minutes later, she arrived home.

I had just exited the bathroom when our gazes met in the hallway.

"You're awake," she said quietly. "Please prepare some noodles for me. I'm famished."

Her voice was soft, almost pleading. I recognized this as her attempt to reconcile, to mend our disagreement. Typically, when we argued, she'd display vulnerability to reopen communication and bridge the gap between us.

But that approach only worked because I cared for her.

Now that affection had dissipated, leaving only frustration in its wake.

"Cook for yourself," I replied bluntly. "Or order something if you're unsure how."

As I turned towards the bedroom, Emily blocked my path.

That's when I detected the faint aroma of Ryan's cologne on her.

"Jake, are you really still upset?" she asked, her tone a mixture of frustration and incredulity.

"I've already clarified this for you—everything I'm doing is for the company's benefit. Just because we've gone public doesn't mean we can relax. If anything, it's time to redouble our efforts."

"Ryan might not be the most capable," she continued, "but he has connections, excels at networking, and his family owns businesses we could potentially collaborate with in the future. Giving him shares wasn't about favoritism—it was about what's best for the company."

I hadn't anticipated her justifying herself in this manner.

But it was irrelevant. Whether she believed her own explanations or not, I didn't.

"Mm-hmm," I responded dismissively and entered the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Emily seemed stunned, pausing outside before angrily kicking the door. "Fine! Behave this way if you want, Jake! But don't come complaining to me later when you regret it!"

The following morning, I emerged from the bedroom to find Emily on the couch, meticulously pressing a new suit.

Upon seeing me, she immediately stood up, holding the suit towards me.

"Here, try this on," she said cheerfully, almost forcing it into my hands.

I recognized it immediately—it was a limited-edition Chanel suit. Not only was it incredibly expensive, but it was also notoriously difficult to acquire. Social media was filled with posts about how it was the ideal gift for a boyfriend.

I had once mentioned to Emily that I thought it looked impressive.

After changing into the suit, I stepped out of the bedroom, feeling an unexpected lump in my throat. I was about to speak, but Emily spoke first, her tone light and teasing.

"You and Ryan are about the same size. It fits you perfectly, so it should look just as good on him."

She smiled as she carefully removed the jacket from me.

"Be careful not to crease it," she added. "I spent a lot of time getting it just right."

Then, she folded the suit back into its gift box, looking satisfied, and left with it.

I knew she was doing this intentionally, retaliating for yesterday.

But instead of feeling angry, all I felt was a sense of detachment. It was immature, after all.

Later that morning, I received a call and went to the office to finalize my resignation.

As soon as I entered the building, I saw Ryan perched on my desk, surrounded by colleagues fawning over him as if he were the center of attention.

One of them approached me with a smug expression. "Jake, go fetch some coffee for everyone."

"Why?" I asked, checking my watch. I wasn't late.

The coworker's grin widened. "Emily said whoever arrives at the office last has to buy everyone coffee. And guess what? You're the last one here."

"Don't worry about it," Ryan interjected, standing up and adjusting the suit jacket he was wearing—the same one Emily had taken that morning.

"I wouldn't want Jake running errands for everyone," he said, his voice loud enough for the entire room to hear. "I'll go instead."

Of course, he made no move to leave.

Right on cue, Emily exited her office. Her eyes flicked to Ryan's suit, and for a brief moment, her expression faltered before she quickly regained composure.

She stepped forward, straightening his collar with a smile. "I knew it would look great on you," she said warmly.

The others erupted into cheers and laughter.

Emily's face reddened slightly as she glanced at me, clearly checking to see if I'd react with jealousy or anger.

But I didn't. My heart was like a still lake—calm, empty, and unaffected.

Emily didn't seem satisfied with my lack of response. Her tone turned cold as she said, "I already told everyone—whoever arrived last needs to buy coffee. If you're not going to cooperate, why are you even here?"

A coworker pointed at me. "Jake was the last one in."

Emily smirked. "Go on, then. And if you don't, I'll terminate your employment."

Apparently, she hadn't seen my resignation email yet.

I didn't bother concealing it anymore.

"I'm not here to work," I said calmly. "I'm here to resign."