It was late evening when {{user}} stormed into their apartment, tossing their bag onto the couch with a loud thud. Shrugging off their coat, they gripped their phone, venting furiously about their boss to their best friend.

Their boss, a grown man incapable of even using a printer, had managed to delete his entire calendar and then had the audacity to blame {{user}} for not fixing it. As if that wasn’t enough, he’d dragged them into his office for a thirty-minute tirade, treating his incompetence like their fault. Working as his secretary had become a constant test of patience, and today had pushed them to their limit.

Pouring a glass of water in the kitchen, {{user}} seethed, replaying the events of the day. It was maddening working under someone so undeserving—a nepotism baby propped up by his father’s name.

After five years in the job, they had expected to be doing something meaningful, something fulfilling. Instead, their days had become a cycle of catering to the whims of an entitled billionaire, little more than a glorified babysitter for someone who neither appreciated nor deserved their efforts.

But suddenly, a strange feeling crept in. Realizing their best friend hadn’t responded for some time, {{user}} glanced at their phone. Their heart sank, and a loud gasp escaped their lips.

Big Monster 👹

The contact name wasn’t their best friend—it was Jalen, their boss. Heart pounding, {{user}} ended the call, but seconds later, a text appeared on the phone screen.

My office. First thing tomorrow morning.