Because of Sexism, I Earn Half

Harper's words sank into my chest like a knife.

Before I could even process how absurd that sounded, I instinctively asked, "In that case, what about you? You're five years my senior, and your second child is already in kindergarten. How much do you make a month?"

Harper curled her lip and responded casually, "Eight grand, but Mr. Hawthorne is my cousin."

That one sentence knocked the wind out of my sails.

All of a sudden, I recalled the countless all-nighters I'd pulled over the last three years, the countless slices of cold office pizza I had shoveled down at my desk just to meet deadlines, and the professional training courses I'd paid for out of my own pocket just to upskill.

I had busted my ass for so long and put up with so much bullshit, and in the end, none of it mattered because, according to my boss, I was a woman.

Because I was a woman, my staggering contributions meant less than a male intern who didn't know how to do a damn thing. Because I had no connections, I was deemed unworthy of a fair wage, even though this place would literally fall apart without me. It all boiled down to the fact that I was born female.

I let out a derisive chuckle. "Right." I rose to my feet. "I see how it is."

Harper froze. "What?"

Ignoring her, I threw open the door and walked out. It hit me that this dumpster fire of a company should've burned to the ground six years ago.

I yanked open my desk drawer. My eyes landed on the voice recorder I'd recently bought. It was originally meant for meeting minutes, but now, it was the only weapon I had to fight back.

I tucked the voice recorder securely into my breast pocket.

Right then, a cup of coffee was placed in front of me. It was from Mason Brooks, my boyfriend of three years, who was technically my superior. "Harper told me you're throwing in the towel?"

Without looking up, I responded, "Yep."

"Is it because of your salary?"

I froze and looked up at him. "You knew about it?"

He went silent for a moment. "I did."

"How much do you make a month?"

Since we weren't married yet, I had never asked about his salary. However, right now, I was dying to know.

Mason avoided my gaze when he heard that. "30,000 dollars. But I'm a project manager, and you're just the coordinator. We're on different rungs of the ladder, so obviously it's not apples to apples."

Looking him in the eye, I rebutted, "You were promoted to project manager at the start of the year, but you've been pulling that same salary for the last two. I started handling the coordination for the company's major projects the year before last, and my pathetic 5% raise didn't even put me at a third of your salary.

"It's been six years. I know every single project in this company inside out, and every single department takes its cues from me. Without me, this company would collapse before lunch, and we wouldn't be able to ship a single product. Mason, in this company, I'm more important than you!"

His brows knitted. "So what if you are? Talent doesn't automatically mean a bigger paycheck. Mr. Hawthorne calls the shots on salaries. If you've got a problem, take it up with him."

I rose from my seat. "You're right. That's exactly what I'm going to do."

I was going to demand what I was owed for the last six years. With that, I marched straight toward the elevators.

Mason was caught off guard. He chased after me and tried to stop me. "Don't do anything rash, Soph!"

Paying him no mind, I slammed my finger onto the elevator button. As I traveled from the bullpen to the fifth floor, memories of my years here flooded my mind.

Back in 2022, I was a fresh graduate at a fall job fair when I met Vincent Hawthorne, who was only 37 years old at the time. At the time, his startup was in its infancy. He had no capital, just pure, unadulterated drive.

He told me, "Don't judge a book by its cover, Sophia. We might only have a handful of people right now, but we've got vision, and we're willing to break our backs for it. If you join us, I promise you won't regret it!"