The HR Manual for Betrayal

At the company's celebration dinner, the new HR guy slapped a bill on the table—$860 for A/C and venue costs from our last all-nighter.

I shot a look at Sherry—my girlfriend, my boss—thinking she'd have my back.

Nope. She latched onto HR's arm and said, "Quentin, this isn't your daddy's company. Quit freeloading."

And just like that, nine years of busting my ass for this company, and turns out—I was the discount item on the menu.

A bill hit the table between Sherry Twain and me.

Daniel Jenkin—new HR guy with a Harvard ego—flashed a smug grin. "AC charges for sales' overtime. $860. Split it."

His voice was so oily I felt like I needed a shower. "Sherry says we're trimming fat. Gotta boost efficiency."

Silence. Like, dead silent.

Our sales crew had just landed a million-dollar deal, and now their smiles were stuck mid-celebration.

I shot Sherry a look sharp enough to slice steel.

She was the boss. My girlfriend for nine years.

Right now? Her hand was curled around Daniel's arm.

Didn't even look at me. Just threw shade at the whole team. "Quentin, this isn't your daddy's company. Quit freeloading."

Daniel, riding high on Sherry's approval, whipped out a tiny notebook.

"New rules," he announced. "One: to save water, bathroom breaks get timed. Five minutes a day, tops.

"Two: wanna use an A4 sheet? Cool—just write a 2,000-word essay explaining why.

"Three: break room water cap—500 milliliters per person. Go over? We dock your pay."

Each line landed like a slap. My team's faces darkened by the second.

Ronnie finally snapped. "Daniel Jenkin, what is this? Are we slaves now?"

Daniel barely blinked. "If you can't handle advanced management, you're replaceable."

Sherry jumped in like a reflex. "Ronnie! Show some respect! Don't like it? Leave."

I laughed, dead cold. "Come again, Sherry?"

Sherry's brows pinched, dripping with attitude. "Daniel's a Harvard star, elite HR. His word's policy. You're just sales. Stay in your lane."

"Harvard?" I laughed louder. "Did they teach him how to kill a celebration dinner mid-toast?"

Daniel's face went ghost-white.

Sherry slammed the table. "Quentin Quinn! How DARE you!"

I grabbed the champagne in front of me and strolled over to the tower.

Everyone froze.

Then—crash.

The champagne poured down like gold rain, flooding every glass.

Soaked Daniel head to toe.

He exploded. Literally screamed.

I tossed the glass and faced Sherry.

One word at a time: "This celebration? Canceled. Sales director? I quit."

Grabbed my bag. Walked.

Behind me, no hesitation.

"Quentin, wait up!"

"Screw this dump. Let 'em drown in their own mess!"

Chairs scraped back like thunder. All twelve of them followed me out of that suffocating room.

Sherry's voice shrieked behind us. "Quentin! You walk out that door, don't come back! We don't need you!"

I didn't even flinch.

Without us, Sherry, you're done.