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Câu chuyện MidReal
Office Shadows: A Power Struggle Unveiled
Bối cảnh:In a 1:1 meeting, a man dominates a female colleague thoroughly and brutally.
Tạo phiên bản của tôi cho câu chuyện này
Emily Carter
victim and survivor, relationships with colleagues are strained, petite with sharp features, resilient and introspective
Mark Thompson
antagonist and dominant figure, superior to Emily in the company hierarchy, tall with imposing presence, manipulative and authoritative
Sarah Jennings
supportive coworker and confidante to Emily, friends with Emily, medium height with warm eyes, empathetic and cautious
I’m not sure how I got here.
How did I go from being a high school valedictorian, a college graduate with honors, and a successful businesswoman to this?
I’m sitting in my office, the door closed, trying to make myself as small as possible behind my desk.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
I’m scared.
I don’t know what to do or who to turn to.
I can’t tell anyone what’s happening.
No one will believe me anyway.
The man who’s been tormenting me is the most powerful person in the company.
He’s the heir apparent to the CEO position, and he’s made it clear that he has no problem destroying me if I don’t do what he wants.
The worst part?
The worst part? I hear the door creak open without a knock.
Mark strides in, his presence suffocating the air in the room.
"Emily," he says, his voice smooth but laced with menace.
I try to steady my breathing, but it’s no use.
He circles my desk like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Mark," I manage to say, though my voice trembles. "What do you want?"
He stops behind me, and I can feel his cold eyes boring into the back of my head.
"You know exactly what I want," he whispers, leaning in close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne. "Compliance."
My stomach churns. "Compliance with what?"
He chuckles softly, a sound that sends chills down my spine. "The new project."
I swallow hard. "But... it goes against everything we stand for. It’s unethical."
Mark's hand grips my shoulder suddenly, squeezing painfully. "Do you think I care about ethics, Emily?"
Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them back. "Please, Mark. There has to be another way."
"There isn’t," he says flatly. "You will do as you're told, or your career and reputation will be nothing but ashes."
I glance at the door, hoping for an escape or a savior, but none comes.
His grip tightens, and I wince. "Do you understand me?"
I nod reluctantly, feeling defeated and powerless against his dominance.
"Good," he says, releasing my shoulder and stepping back. "I knew you’d see reason."
I take a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "When do you need this done by?"
"Yesterday," he replies with a smirk. And he suddenly let out a big, smelly fart.
As he turns to leave, I muster the last bit of courage I have left. "This isn’t over, Mark."
He pauses at the door and looks back at me with a sinister smile. "Oh, Emily. It’s only just begun."
With that, he walks out, leaving me alone in my office with nothing but the sound of my own ragged breathing.
I slump back in my chair, feeling utterly defeated.
How did it come to this?
I stare at the stack of papers on my desk—the blueprint for the unethical project Mark is forcing on me.
My mind races through possible solutions, but every path seems blocked by his looming shadow.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes on the desk.
A text message from an unknown number: "Need help? Meet me at the coffee shop across the street in 10 minutes."
My heart skips a beat.
Could this be the lifeline I desperately need?
Without thinking twice, I grab my coat and rush out of the office.
As I step into the elevator, my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and fears.
Who could it be?
Can they really help me?
The elevator doors open with a ding, and I hurry across the lobby and out into the cold evening air.
The coffee shop is just across the street; its warm lights beckon invitingly.
I push open the door and scan the room for anyone who might be waiting for me.
A figure in a corner booth raises a hand slightly—a signal meant only for me.
I approach cautiously, my heart pounding once again.