1 The company organized a charity badminton tournament with a hundredthousanddollar cash prize for the winner.

That was exactly what I needed to close the gap on the down payment for my first house. I played like a man possessed, clawing my way into the finals.

My last opponent was a new hire, a kid named Xander Reed. “Hey, Miles, you’re a powerhouse,” Xander said, flashing a boyish, disarming grin. “You wouldn’t mind if I swapped partners for the final, would you?

Just to even the scales?” My mind was already at the bank, signing the mortgage papers. I shrugged and agreed without a second thought.

The next second, Lauren Prescott stepped onto the court, racquet in hand. Lauren—the woman who had rejected my request to team up just an hour earlier.

She was a former Division I athlete, a statelevel competitor who usually played with a cold, lethal precision.

But in this casual office match, she spent the entire game "feeding" Xander—perfectly lofted shots that set him up for glory.

During the final set, Xander leaped for a brutal, highvelocity smash. The shuttlecock didn’t hit the floor. It hit my right eye. The world went white, then dark.

I lost all sensation except for a terrifying, hollow thud in my skull. “Oh man, I’m so sorry!” Xander stammered, his voice laced with a performative tremor. “I didn’t mean to...

I was just trying that smash technique Lauren taught me...” Lauren’s voice was flat, clinical. “Injuries are a part of the game, Miles.” She didn't move toward me. “Take a minute to clean up, then make sure you’re on time for Xander’s promotion dinner.

It’s a big night for the team.” Through the searing pain, I felt something warm and thick seeping through my fingers. Blood. I finally realized it then: the match was over.

I had lost. I set my racquet down on the court with a trembling hand. Suddenly, that house didn’t seem so important anymore.

While I was at the urgent care clinic getting my eye patched, my phone buzzed incessantly. The department group chat was blowing up. “Where are you, Miles?

We’re all at the bistro waiting for the guest of honor!” Xander followed up with a voice note, his tone sounding breathless and sweet. “Is Miles mad at me? I feel terrible...

I just got caught up in the heat of the moment. But Lauren says holding back is the ultimate sign of disrespect to an opponent.” Then, a private message from Lauren: “Where are you?

You’re Xander’s direct supervisor. If you don't show up, it looks like you’re bitter. Don’t make this awkward for him.” I typed three words: On my way.

Ten minutes later, I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the private dining room. Lauren, our Department Director, sat at the head of the table.

Xander was tucked right next to her, their heads bowed in a private whisper. The room went dead silent when I walked in.

Xander flinched, knocking over his glass of sparkling water. “Miles... your eye...” He looked like he was on the verge of tears. “It’s all my fault.

I’m so, so sorry.” Lauren looked up. Her gaze was distant, almost annoyed. “Is it serious?” I shook my head.

She tracked the movement, her brow furrowing slightly. “If it’s not serious, don’t be melodramatic. Xander is new; don’t put that kind of weight on his shoulders.

He’s already been beating himself up all afternoon.” The air in the room turned brittle. A colleague tried to break the tension. “Miles is probably just worried about infection.

It’s the eye, after all.

Xander has been a wreck since the game.” Lauren cut him off, her eyes fixed on Xander with a softness I hadn't seen in years. “Young talent is easily spooked in this industry.

Miles, watch your tone next time.

We don't want to stifle him.” I nodded and took the only seat left—the drafty spot right by the service entrance. “Miles, seriously, are you okay?” someone whispered.

I took a shaky breath. “It’s manageable.” It wasn't. I needed surgery to repair a torn retina. It was scheduled for three days from now. Xander sniffed, then suddenly stood up.

He walked all the way around the long table to stand over me. “Miles, please. Can I just see it? I need to know you’re okay so I can stop shaking.” “It’s fine, Xander.

Leave it.” But he was already reaching out. Before I could pull back, he peeled the edge of the gauze away. The table gasped.

My right eye was a swollen, dark mess of bruised purple and antibiotic ointment. Xander froze, then forced a shaky smile. “Oh, wow.

I mean, it looks scary, but it’s just a surface bruise, right? Thank God. I thought I’d really done damage.

I was so scared I’d lose my job.” He turned and ran out of the room, seemingly overwhelmed.

The table erupted in low snickers and murmurs. “Talk about an overreaction,” one guy chuckled. “Miles, you really went for the full mummy wrap for a scratch?

You nearly gave the kid a heart attack.” “Seriously, it looks like theatrical makeup.

You’re really leaning into the victim role, aren't you?” Lauren stood up, grabbing her coat to follow Xander.

The room started gossiping the moment the door swung shut. “Did you see how protective she is? The 'Ice Queen' actually has a heart.” “I’ve never seen her that gentle with anyone.

Especially not with Miles.” Bitterness surged in my throat, sharper than the pain in my eye. Lauren and I had been together for five years.

Five years of secret latenight dinners and stolen weekends because she said we were "on the rise" and couldn't afford a HR scandal. I had played the loyal subordinate perfectly.

I wondered when, exactly, she had decided to take on a "pupil." We waited thirty minutes for her to return. She never did.

Instead, she posted a single message in the group chat: “Go ahead and eat without us. Xander is pretty shaken up.

I’m driving him home.” 2 After the dinner, I went back to the hospital. The night nurse frowned as she changed my dressing. “It’s worse.

Did you put pressure on this?” “It was... bumped,” I muttered. “Look, Miles,” she said, her voice dropping. “Badminton shuttlecocks are light, but at that speed?

This wasn't just an accident. This looks like someone was aiming for you. The eye is fragile.” I stayed silent. “Two days until the procedure. Do you have someone to take you home?

You’ll be under heavy sedation.” I shook my head. Lauren wouldn't be there. When I got home, the living room lights were on.

Lauren was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through her iPad.

She didn't look up with concern; she looked up with a sneer of "here we go again." “How long are you going to keep this up, Miles?” “Keep what up?” “The drama. You lost a game.

If you wanted the hundred grand that badly, I would have just given it to you. You don’t need to bully a kid who’s been here for two weeks.” My eyes stung.

I remembered the nurse’s warning: No crying. Pressure is the enemy. I tilted my head back and breathed through the urge.

She walked over, looming over me. “Take that bandage off before you come into the office tomorrow. You look like a war casualty.

People think he’s a monster because of your theatrics.

He’s just started his career—how is he supposed to survive that reputation?” “Lauren, my eye needs—” “Enough,” she snapped. “It’s sports. You’ve been playing for years.

Are you really going to act like a toddler until midnight?” The explanation died in my throat. “When did you start mentoring him?

You never mentioned it.” “A friend of a friend,” she said dismissively, turning back to her files. I recognized the documents.

It was the R&D project I’d spent the last three months pullng allnighters for.

My ticket to a VP title. “I’m giving this project to Xander,” she said. “What?” “He needs the win for his quarterly KPIs. And since your eye is 'so bad,' you should take it easy.

Focus on your recovery.” It took a moment to find my voice. “No. I designed the architecture. I wrote every line of that proposal.

You can’t just hand it over.” Lauren’s face darkened. “I’m the Director. I just did.” I turned toward the bedroom, grabbing a duffel bag and some pajamas.

When I came back out, Lauren was on the balcony, her voice a low, melodic coo into her phone. “He’s fine, Xander. Don't let it keep you up. Just get some sleep, okay?

See you in the morning.” She saw me with the pillow and blanket under my arm, and her eyes turned to ice. “Miles, you’re not a kid anymore.

We’re supposed to be moving to the next stage of our lives. Can you stop being so damn petty?” Last month, on her birthday, I’d cooked a fivecourse meal.

She’d gotten a little tipsy and asked me to marry her.

I had wept with relief, thinking our fiveyear marathon was finally reaching a beautiful finish line. “By the way,” she added, “the house you liked on the waterfront?

Someone else put in a cash offer. It’s gone. We’ll find something else.” I didn’t say a word. I just walked into the guest room and locked the door. “Miles!

What is wrong with you?” she yelled through the wood. The next morning at the standup meeting, Lauren bypassed me entirely.

She announced Xander as the lead on the new project. “If you have technical questions, feel free to consult Miles,” she added.

Xander smirked, his eyes darting past me to linger on Lauren. “Can I just come straight to you, Lauren? I don't want to bother Miles while he’s... healing.” The room went still.

No one spoke to Lauren Prescott like that in a formal meeting.

To everyone’s shock, Lauren smiled. “Of course you can.” Xander’s face flushed a triumphant red. 3 After the meeting, Xander tagged me in the public Slack channel. “@Miles, I’m not familiar with these legacy data sets.

Can you compile a summary and send them over by EOD?” “No,” I typed back. “If you’re the Lead, learn the architecture.

Ask questions when you’ve done the reading.” Xander sat at his desk, biting his lip, looking like a kicked puppy.

In the breakroom, the whispers were already starting. “Miles is being so cold. Xander is just a junior.” “He’s just bitter about the project.

Classic gatekeeping.” “I mean, look at that bandage. It’s a scratch. He’s using it to justify being a jerk.” I walked past them, my face a mask.

After lunch, Lauren returned from a meeting. Xander immediately scurried into her office with a stack of files.

Moments later, Lauren marched to my desk and dropped the files in front of me. “Validate these numbers.

I want them on my desk by noon tomorrow.” “Lauren, I told you, my eye—” “Minor trauma doesn't affect your ability to read a spreadsheet,” she cut me off. “If you can't do your job, we need to talk about your performance review.” It was a standard directive from a boss to a subordinate.

On paper, she was within her rights. I had no choice. As the office emptied out that evening, Xander stopped by my cubicle. “Rough night, Miles? Make sure those numbers are perfect.

My mentor doesn't like mistakes.” By 10 PM, the office was a tomb. Only the lights above my desk remained on.

My left eye was straining, and my right eye felt like it was being poked with hot needles. I don't know how much time passed before the sharp, stabbing pain returned.

I pressed my hand against the gauze. It came away hot and wet. Blood was streaming down my cheek, spotting my white dress shirt. Lauren stepped out of her office, coat in hand.

She saw my face and gasped. “Miles—” “Oh my God!” Xander was standing at the door, two cups of coffee hitting the floor and splattering. “Miles, why are you bleeding again?

Please, stop doing this to me! I said I was sorry!” Lauren’s step toward me faltered. She looked at Xander’s panicked face, then back at me. “It’s fine.

Xander, go home,” she said. “Lauren, the hallway is so dark... can you walk me to the garage?” Xander pleaded, his voice trembling. Lauren didn't hesitate.

She took his arm and led him out. As they turned the corner, Xander tripped on the spilled coffee, and Lauren caught him, her hands steady on his waist.

I turned back to my monitor, the red droplets blurring on the screen. When Lauren finally came back, I had cleaned myself up.

She stood over me, watching me pack my bag. “What happened?” “The stitches popped,” I said. She stared at me for a few beats, her expression unreadable. “Fine. Just go home.

We’ll finish this later.” She reached for my hand.

But Xander appeared in the doorway again. “Lauren, I forgot to give you your latenight snack...” I pulled my hand away before she could touch me.

I grabbed my bag and walked past her without a word. In the elevator, I caught my reflection in the stainless steel. White gauze, a swollen face, bloodstains on my collar.

I looked pathetic. A ghost of the man I used to be. Looking at that tired, broken reflection, my good eye finally filled with tears. I was done. I had given up on the house.

Now, I was giving up on Lauren. 4 The next morning, I woke up with a fever of 102. My eye was throbbing in time with my pulse.

After filing for a medical leave of absence, I stepped out into the living room. Lauren was gone. The house felt like a tomb.

I ate some stale cereal, swallowed a fever reducer with cold water, and fell back into a restless sleep. I was awoken by my phone vibrating violently.

The project group chat was a war zone. 99+ messages. “Our competitor just published their new R&D roadmap on LinkedIn.

It’s an exact mirror of the project Miles was working on.” “The data sets are identical. Even the trend charts—I recognize the formatting.

Miles did those.” I sat up, the room spinning. “Everyone stay calm,” I typed. “Check the server logs.

Someone needs to pull the raw data from the lab computers.” The chat went silent. Then, Xander tagged me. “Miles, how could you?

You leaked our work to the competition just to spite me? That is pathetic.

You’re sabotaging all of our hard work because you're jealous.” My blood ran cold. “Xander, if you have proof, call HR.

Otherwise, that’s defamation.” “You’re the only one with the encryption keys, Miles. And you were 'working late' alone last night right before this happened.

How convenient.” I didn't wait. I threw on a hoodie and drove to the office. My computer was already taped off.

Lauren was in her office, her face a mask of fury behind a cloud of cigarette smoke—a habit she only indulged when she was truly livid. “Miles.

What did they offer you?” She didn't ask if I did it. She didn't ask for my side.

She just wanted to know my price. “It wasn't me, Lauren.” She stood up, leaning over her desk. “You’ve been a manager for two years. You wanted a promotion?

You could have just asked. Instead, you sold us out?” “Lauren, look at me. I was sick. I’ve been in agony. I didn't—” “You’re suspended,” she snapped. “Pending a full investigation.

By the end of the year, you’ll be lucky to have a job as a junior technician. Xander is more capable than you’ll ever be.

From now on, you report to him.” I took a long, slow breath. The cord had finally snapped. I reached down, unclipped my security badge, and placed it on her desk.

As I walked out, the entire office stared.

Xander was standing by the water cooler, a smirk playing on his lips. “Losing with dignity is an art, Miles,” he whispered as I passed. “A man who loses his career and his character... well, he doesn't deserve to stand next to someone like Lauren.” He didn't knock.

He just walked right into her office—a place I’d had to earn the right to enter over half a decade.

I went to my desk and took only one thing: a small ceramic doll I’d kept in the corner.

I had bought it for Lauren years ago, but she’d left it on my desk, saying it didn't fit her "aesthetic." I went home and called a moving company.

By sunset, everything I owned was packed and headed to my parents' place in another state. I turned off the light I had kept burning for her for five years, and I didn't look back.