From Outcast Contract Worker to Chairman

In my first year at the company, they organized a team-building trip to Merdive Island—five days and four nights at a seven-star hotel.

The day the news was announced, the office erupted in excitement.

Kevin had called me into his office and said, "Alexia, you know our department has limited spots. Only core team members can go. You're outsourced, so you won't be taking up one of those spots.

"Here's what we'll do—you hold down the fort at the office for a few days. If anything comes up, handle it promptly. It's a good opportunity for you to grow, don't you agree?"

I nodded and said yes.

For those five days, their social feeds were filled with beaches, diving, and seafood. And I stayed behind alone in an empty office, handling all the work they had left behind.

My lunch was food from the convenience store downstairs. Dinner was instant noodles.

In the past two years, in the name of employee care, the company had purchased ergonomic chairs worth five hundred dollars for every full-time staff member.

Each person could customize the color and material on the official website.

Bianca chose a soft, pastel pink.

The day her chair arrived, she spun around in it several times. Then she stopped in front of me, looking down at my battered chair—its paint peeling, the cushion collapsed—and smiled.

"This chair is so comfortable. Too bad. Outsourced staff don't get one. You'll just have to make do with your junk."

After years of overtime, I had already developed a herniated disc in my lower back. On rainy days, the dull ache would creep in again.

A month ago, the administrative department arranged afternoon tea from a trendy coffee shop downstairs. Everyone could order a drink.

Bianca waved a cup of Orchid Latte in front of me and said loudly on purpose, "Sorry, we didn't include you in the headcount. Outsourced staff aren't part of the benefits program. Why are you gulping? Feeling tempted? Go buy one yourself."

Over the past seven years, there had been countless moments like this—moments where I was deliberately excluded with precision. None of their benefits, none of their joy, none of their sense of belonging had anything to do with me.

I was just a tool. A tool they could order around at will, discard when finished, and not even bother remembering by name.

I didn't look at the stack of documents.

Instead, I opened a document I had been secretly maintaining for seven years and typed a new entry.

[February 16, 2026, 4:15 p.m.]

[Incident: Kevin Davis, citing "contract worker status," denied employee Alexia Turner access to the annual gala and holiday benefits.]

[Involved: All full-time staff of the Marketing Department.]

[Additional: Forced assignment of personal work; required overtime on New Year's Eve.]

Expressionless, I finished typing and saved the file.

Then I picked up my phone and sent a message to a number.

[Frances, set things in motion.]