Taking Down the Impostor: A Story of Vindication

The moment I stepped into my father's Rolls-Royce, whispers slithered through my colleagues-snide conjectures about me being some wealthy patron's kept woman.

One colleague in particular made me her constant target. She'd flaunt her so-called connections-how the company president was her boyfriend, the CEO of the other company was her brother-asking me to behave myself.

Suddenly, I became the center of attention.

At the party, the very men she'd boasted about-her "boyfriend" the company president and "brother" the CEO of another enterprise-stood by my side.

"Once you've had enough fun, you need to come back."

"No way, she will come to mine."

1.

Upon graduation, my father Erick Cox-intent on tempering my skills-deliberately barred me from entering the family enterprise.

Reluctantly, I joined my boyfriend Shane Curtis's company.

On Monday, I brought cookies made by my housekeeper to share with my colleagues.

A sweet voice chimed in, "These new recruits have mastered the art of ingratiation far beyond our humble capabilities."

I paused slightly in my cookie distribution.

Turning around, I saw a woman dressed impeccably, glancing at what I held with a flash of disdain in her eyes.

I vaguely remembered her name was Cora Yates.

"Spare your offerings. My partner insists on exclusively imported delicacies-I'd hate to risk my palate with these... unverified snacks."

She looked me up and down, covering her mouth with a light laugh, "No offense. Just ignore me."

After speaking, she sat down with an air of superiority at the seat next to mine.

The others froze, their hands hovering over the plainly wrapped cookies-suddenly uncertain.

I didn't continue handing out cookies, just remarked in surprise, "I'm quite envious of you, having survived this long without getting into trouble. Does the dishes you cooked have verification? Then why do you have it?"

Cora's expression froze.

She pulled out several bags of snacks with foreign labels from her cabinet.

The brands looked familiar; I remembered our family had bought several boxes of the same brand before.

"These are what my boyfriend brought back from abroad. Everyone, indulge yourself."

The other colleagues were pleasantly surprised and accepted them without hesitation.

When it was my turn, she said sarcastically, "Poverty is no excuse for self-neglect, darling. Those unregulated products could shave years off one's lifespan-best stick to proper luxuries."

I glanced at the snacks bag in her hand and smiled at her, "Sorry, but I have a strict policy against consuming counterfeit products-your generosity is better directed elsewhere."

Feigning innocence, I added, "No offense. Just ignore me."

2.

The room fell silent.

Everyone stopped chewing their snacks.

Cora's face turned a shade darker, forcing a twisted smile at me, "Even if you can't afford it, there's no need to call my stuff counterfeit."

"This logo is missing a letter. It's obviously counterfeit goods." I pointed at the packaging.

The colleagues gave her odd looks.

She maintained her smile, playfully blaming, "Well, I suppose I must blame my boyfriend who is so devoted to spoiling me with luxuries, he failed to discern their... questionable authenticity."

And that was the end of it.

After work, Shane messaged me, offering to drive me home.

Considering the sensitive nature of our relationship, I firmly declined.

The next morning, two luxury cars were parked at the villa's entrance.

The window of a Ferrari rolled down, revealing my brother Alfred Cox wearing sunglasses, "Get in, I'll drive you to work."

The rear window of a Maybach rolled down, and Shane asked with a stern face, "My car is more comfortable."

Yawning, I rode my bicycle past them. "I want neither."

Just as I reached the company, a car sped towards me.

Before I could dodge, water splashed all over me, leaving me covered in mud and water stains.

The car stopped, and Cora stepped out in high heels, swaying gracefully.

She slid off her sunglasses, letting them dangle from one finger as her gaze swept over me. "Well, well," she purred, the edge of mockery slicing through each syllable. "Oh, isn't it Kyla? Why are you coming to work in dirty clothes?"

Suppressing my anger, I asked, "Do you even know how to drive?"

She arrogantly replied, "It was you that blocked my way with your cheap bike. I just drove normally."

I almost laughed at her words.

She was quite adept at playing the victim.

It was the first time I'd heard someone call a bike worth hundreds of thousands a "cheap bike."

3.

Before I could retort, a Maybach sped towards us.

Recognizing the familiar license plate, I instinctively stepped back.

It was Shane.

The next second, Cora screamed.

As the car passed, Shane and I exchanged a glance from the backseat.

"What the hell? Can't he see I am standing right here?"

Her elegant demeanor vanished, her meticulously made-up face splattered with dirty water.

She unleashed a torrent of curses at the car, every vulgarity imaginable dripping from her lips.

But upon seeing the Maybach logo, she fell silent.

Watching her flip moods like a broken traffic light, I couldn't suppress the sound of disdain.

Unexpectedly, Cora turned her fiery gaze on me, snapping, "It's all because of you! You jinx!"

Still fuming, she violently pushed my bicycle to the ground.

With a loud crash, the pedal and handlebar broke.

"Seriously? Riding that piece of junk but acting all high and mighty. Look at yourself."

I raised an eyebrow, smiling, "Junk? Do you know how much this bike costs?"

She wiped her face with a tissue, scoffing, "Pfft, that junk's worth what, a couple hundred? Here, keep the change." She pulled out several hundred-dollar bills from her wallet and tossed them at me. "Ugh, look at you. You're so pathetic that it's killing my appetite."

Since her shouting, a small crowd had gathered.

Someone, eyes glued to their phone, glanced at my bike and exclaimed, "880 grand for this bike? You're joking, right?"

"Isn't it the one in the picture? Exactly the same. It's really that expensive, my goodness."

Hearing this, Cora frowned.

"880K for that piece of junk? Come on, at least try to make your scam convincing!"

She laughed mockingly.

I opened my phone's purchase record and shoved it in her face.

"The pedal is 100, 000, each handlebar 50, 000, two broken ones make 100, 000. Pay up."

4.

Her mocking expression froze instantly.

She clung to my phone screen, staring at it in disbelief.

From her perspective, I could never afford such a luxurious thing.

Her face went ghost-white. "Hah! Who'd you sweet-talk into buying this for you? Some sugar daddy?"

I remained unfazed, coldly demanding, "Cut your crap. 200, 000, not a penny less."

The onlookers watched her with amusement.

Cora, clearly unused to such humiliation, flushed beet-red then went pale-her glare so venomous it could've dissolved me on the spot.

In the end, she insisted most of her money was tied up in long-term deposits-"completely inaccessible"-and would have to pay me back in twelve monthly chunks.

I hadn't intended to make her pay for the bike worth over 800, 000, but her bitingly sarcastic attitude was unbearable.

Near noon, Shane messaged me to come to his office.

I took the executive elevator to the top floor.

"What happened this morning?"

As he saw me, his stern demeanor melted away.

He naturally wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me onto his lap.

I vented about Cora to Shane, ending with a compliment, "You avenged me today, well done!"

His brows furrowed at the end.

Handing me a glass, he said, "I'll contact HR to fire her. Want some water?"

I shook my head repeatedly. "The whole department knows about our conflict. If she leaves as soon as I arrive, everyone will start chattering away again. Let her jump around for a few more days."

After having lunch with Shane in his office, I returned to my department, hearing everyone gossiping, "An entire hour in the boss's office? Please. They weren't discussing the quarterly reports."

"These fresh graduates trade their dignity straight out of college-a designer bag here, a luxury watch there. That 880K bike? Probably just payment for exceptional services rendered."

Then Cora's sarcastic voice chimed in, "At this rate, if she has a few more executive sleepovers, she'll have a downtown condo in her name."