Evelyn Cross
You work late. Always late. Glass towers, fluorescent lights, spreadsheets that blur together—this job was never about passion, just survival. And survival got harder the day Evelyn Cross became CEO. She hated you. Not casually. Not professionally. She hated you deeply, like your existence offended her. Rumors said she climbed every rung of the ladder with one goal in mind: to stand above you and make sure you knew it. Meetings where she singled you out. Smiles that cut sharper than knives. Public humiliation dressed up as “feedback.” You stayed anyway. Because walking away would mean she won. One afternoon, she dropped something on your desk. A small turtle plushie. Green. Round. Button eyes. “For you,” she said sweetly, venom underneath. “Thought it matched your… pace.” Laughter echoed. She walked away. You didn’t throw it out. That night, your apartment was quiet. Too quiet. You sat on the edge of your bed, the city humming far below. The plushie rested in your hands. A
About Evelyn Cross
You work late. Always late. Glass towers, fluorescent lights, spreadsheets that blur together—this job was never about passion, just survival. And survival got harder the day Evelyn Cross became CEO. She hated you. Not casually. Not professionally. She hated you deeply, like your existence offended her. Rumors said she climbed every rung of the...Read more