Too Late For Regret: The CEO You Fired

Too Late For Regret: The CEO You Fired

Lila

5.0
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I had dedicated three relentless years, sixty-hour weeks, and sacrificed countless lunches to single-handedly launch Project Titan, Momentum Corp' s most crucial software release. My life was on track, balanced with a career I built from the ground up and a future planned with my boyfriend, David, who worked in sales at the same company. Then, a seemingly ordinary Friday afternoon was ripped apart by an email landing in my inbox at 4:58 PM, starkly titled: "Team Restructuring." The harsh reality hit: my name was obliterated from the org chart, brazenly supplanted by Jessica Peterson, the unqualified daughter of Mr. Peterson, fresh out of college and totally clueless. My boss, with chilling dismissiveness, then flat-out told me to either wholeheartedly support his incompetent daughter or simply go find employment elsewhere, as "it's a family business." The betrayal spiraled as my boyfriend, David, became increasingly elusive, eventually exposed on Instagram, arm-in-arm with Jessica, brazenly labeled as a "power couple" at a rooftop bar he once deemed too expensive for us. A devastating email from him followed, abruptly ending our five-year relationship, confirming he' d abandoned me for the very person who usurped my career, leaving me with nothing but a churning knot of indignation. Everything - my hard-earned career, my loyal team, and my long-term relationship - was brutally stolen, leaving me standing in the ashes, reeling from an unfathomable injustice that screamed betrayal. But just as despair threatened to consume me, an unexpected call from my father, the head of Miller Real Estate, unveiled a shocking twist: he was gifting me the deed to the very office building Momentum Corp occupied. It was a moment of profound revelation, transforming me from a victim into a landlord with an unprecedented opportunity to reclaim what was mine, and teach those who wronged me an unforgettable, public lesson.

Introduction

I had dedicated three relentless years, sixty-hour weeks, and sacrificed countless lunches to single-handedly launch Project Titan, Momentum Corp' s most crucial software release.

My life was on track, balanced with a career I built from the ground up and a future planned with my boyfriend, David, who worked in sales at the same company.

Then, a seemingly ordinary Friday afternoon was ripped apart by an email landing in my inbox at 4:58 PM, starkly titled: "Team Restructuring."

The harsh reality hit: my name was obliterated from the org chart, brazenly supplanted by Jessica Peterson, the unqualified daughter of Mr. Peterson, fresh out of college and totally clueless.

My boss, with chilling dismissiveness, then flat-out told me to either wholeheartedly support his incompetent daughter or simply go find employment elsewhere, as "it's a family business."

The betrayal spiraled as my boyfriend, David, became increasingly elusive, eventually exposed on Instagram, arm-in-arm with Jessica, brazenly labeled as a "power couple" at a rooftop bar he once deemed too expensive for us.

A devastating email from him followed, abruptly ending our five-year relationship, confirming he' d abandoned me for the very person who usurped my career, leaving me with nothing but a churning knot of indignation.

Everything - my hard-earned career, my loyal team, and my long-term relationship - was brutally stolen, leaving me standing in the ashes, reeling from an unfathomable injustice that screamed betrayal.

But just as despair threatened to consume me, an unexpected call from my father, the head of Miller Real Estate, unveiled a shocking twist: he was gifting me the deed to the very office building Momentum Corp occupied.

It was a moment of profound revelation, transforming me from a victim into a landlord with an unprecedented opportunity to reclaim what was mine, and teach those who wronged me an unforgettable, public lesson.

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My five years of blood, sweat, and tears? Gone. My startup, NovaSpark, was dead. But the universe wasn't done with me. A text from my boyfriend, Ethan, read: "We're done." Just like that. Five years of supporting his music, funding his dreams, all for nothing. To add insult to injury, he was already parading a new girlfriend, Chloe, flaunting his sudden "Hamilton inheritance." I had a custom Cartier ring in my purse, getting ready to propose to him that night. Talk about timing. Then I found him, not an hour later, at a high-end lounge, publicly announcing my "tech dream went bust" and sneering, "Look who it is, my desperate stalker." This from the man whose stepfather's gambling debts I quietly managed, whose career I financed. The absolute gall. He thought because he' d stumbled into some inherited wealth, he could rewrite history and label me a gold-digger. How could he? The man I loved, the man I poured my soul into, standing there, dripping in new money, spitting venom and lies. My heart was a shattered mess, reeling from the sheer audacity of his betrayal. But then, as he launched into another tirade, an unexpected ally, Liam, one of my former investors, stepped between us. His quiet authority cut through Ethan's arrogance. And when he took my hand, then softly kissed me, leading me out of that suffocating lounge, I knew something had to change. My next words to him were clear: "Take me to my grandfather' s estate. Arthur Sterling." It was time to stop hiding.

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