The Passenger Seat He Saved for His Mistress

“You know how it is. The competition's fierce right now.”

He was threatening me, out in the open.

If I didn't sign, he'd choke off my project budget and turn three months of my work into nothing.

And I finally understood it completely. He hadn't just betrayed what we'd had.

He was treating my career as a stepping stone for his own rise, and as leverage to bend me.

I picked up the pen.

On both Victor's face and Marion's, a faint smile surfaced, almost too small to catch.

I didn't write my name on the signature line.

In the blank space, I pressed down hard and wrote five words:

“I will cooperate with the investigation.”

That night, I used collecting the last of my things as an excuse to go back to the apartment.

And while I was there, I took the spare dashcam memory card from his car.

Dana helped me find a professional data recovery specialist.

A few hours later, the recordings that hadn't yet been overwritten came through, clear as anything.

The first was Victor, talking to Marion:

“The passenger seat is yours, of course. Always. Putting her in the back makes it easier for me to keep it straight, who's an outsider and who's family.”

The second was Marion's voice, worried:

“But……what if something goes wrong with a client contract?”

Victor gave a soft laugh, certain of himself:

“Then she takes the fall.”

“She's the type who'll shoulder anything. And she's the easiest to smooth over.”

“Coax her a little, let her cry it out, and she'll own up to whatever you want.”

By the time I'd heard that, everything in me had gone quiet. I couldn't even cry.

My heart felt frozen over, then smashed apart all at once.

Dana looked at me and asked, low:

“Do you want to submit the evidence now, file for an internal investigation?”

I looked at the screen, at the company's posting.

The internal notice for Victor's promotion review meeting the next day. I shook my head.

That would let him off too easy.

I closed the recording and slipped that small memory card into my pocket.

Then I took out my phone and sent Victor a message.

“Tomorrow I'll come to your review meeting and apologize to Marion in person.”

He replied fast: “Good girl. Don't disappoint me.”

I stared at that weightless little “good girl” of his, and it felt like staring at the biggest joke in the world.

Slowly, I typed out one line and hit send.

“Don't worry. Tomorrow, I'll make sure you never forget it.”