Groveling at Her Feet

On the company's designated monthly day off, Gigi Lott, Donald Hoover's secretary, posted an Instagram story.

The caption read, "So what if you're the boss of me when we're at work during the day? At night, I'm the one on top!"

In the photo, she was lying atop a water bed covered in rose petals, and the usually stern Donald was kneeling down to massage her feet for her. From his pocket hung a brand new golden necklace.

Just that morning, I bought several gold bars and gave them to Donald while beseeching him to make our relationship public.

He happily took the locket from me, but when I tried to take a photo of us with our phone, he smacked my phone out of my hands, smashing it into pieces.

With a look of pure derision, he declared, "Why don't you take a good look at yourself in the mirror first? You really are a motherless wretch who wasn't raised right. Look at the lengths you'd go to just to ruin me!"

Throughout the last five years, I had meekly gone along with his demand that we keep our relationship a secret, claiming it was because office romances were forbidden. But now, I was abruptly hit with the realization of how laughable it all was.

The next day, I sent my father a message. "I admit defeat. I'm willing to come home and inherit the family business."

Once I was certain the necklace in the photo had been made from the gold I gave him, I sent a message to our workplace group chat.

"Best wishes to Mr. Hoover and Ms. Lott. May you have pretty babies."

A few minutes later, Gigi explained they were merely fulfilling a bet they had made while playing a game. It had all been done at the behest of the winner.

Donald, who had seemingly vanished for a day, finally appeared as well.

"What is wrong with you? Why did you send something like that to the group chat? She's a fellow woman, isn't she? Why are you so jealous of her? Can you not live without a man or something?"

Before I could reply, Donald added with a sneer, "What else can you do apart from causing trouble for me? Piss off and go back to where you belong."

Although I was mentally prepared for this, it still pained me to hear him cussing me out.

It was too disgusting. I felt nauseated.

To think that just this morning, I had been urging him to marry me! I couldn't stop shaking at the thought of that.

"Just forget it, Donnie. It's my fault. I'll look for Jeanette and explain things to her!"

"Nope! You're not going anywhere!" Donald snapped. Even though he sounded furious, he couldn't hide the concern in his voice. "It's so late right now. How are you going to get a cab?"

Refocusing on me, he continued, "Listen up, Jeanette Swan. Even if you want to kick up a