Dare Mess With Me? I Roast Brutally

Chapter 3

The next day, Ivy was summoned to the director's office. When she came out, her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Claire chased after her, asking, "What did Ryan say? Will it affect your performance rating?" Ivy just shook her head, saying nothing, and stared blankly at her computer screen. I kept my headphones on and typed away, pretending not to hear a thing.

Viola later told me that the director had warned all three of them during the meeting and CC'd the HR department on the records. "Next time," Viola whispered, repeating what the director said, "the performance rating will be marked as unsatisfactory." Furthermore, the director replaced Ivy with me as the lead for this project.

After that, the atmosphere in the office actually felt a bit more "normal." Ivy stopped taking passive-aggressive jabs at me in person and switched to posting on i********:, visible only to colleagues. When Claire disagreed with someone in meetings, she'd make sure to add, "Not targeting you, Tessa." Viola stayed the same—quiet, but she’d occasionally reply to me with an emoji in the project group. I thought this was fine. No need to play sisters, no need for backstabbing. Let’s just stay out of each other’s way until the year-end bonus hits.

But I forgot one thing: while we could keep to ourselves, the annual strategic initiative was unavoidable. Leadership assigned us to this massive project, breaking us into different teams and requiring each team to submit a proposal for evaluation. Bonuses would be distributed based on the project's rating. Naturally, due to our previous collaboration history, I was stuck on the same team as the three of them.

The first week, I sent a message to the group.

Tessa: Are you free? Let’s touch base on the technical architecture.

Ivy: I'm in a meeting with a client, sorry.

Claire: I'm working on another project, can't step away.

Viola: I'm finishing up another requirement.

Tessa: Fine, I'll review the proposal myself first.

Later, whenever I asked, they always dodged with excuses about being too busy.

The second week, I finalized the draft of the technical architecture and posted it to the group.

Tesssa: What do you think of this direction? If it's okay, I'll split up the work.

Ivy: You decide, I'm easy.

Claire: Whatever works.

Viola: Agreed.

The third week, I sent out the task distribution list: core modules, API documentation, front-end integration, and test cases. Every task was assigned to a specific person with a clear deadline.

For three whole days, no one replied. I messaged them individually to ask if they were having trouble. Ivy replied "Received," Claire said "Okay," and Viola sent an "OK." And that was the end of it.

The fourth week, I reminded them in the group.

Tessa: The first review is next week, please hurry up with your parts.

Ivy: Got it!

The fifth week, three days before the review, I opened the shared document. My parts—architecture design, core algorithms, data models, and API documentation—totaled thirteen thousand words. Their sections? Completely empty. Not a single word written.

I sat at my computer, staring at those three blank pages, my blood boiling. If you don't know when to quit, don't blame me for embarrassing you in public...

I opened Slack and took screenshots: the chat history, the task list, the private messages, and the edit history of the shared document. Every page was captured clearly and sorted by time.

Then I closed my laptop and started working. I wasn't going to write their parts; I was going to make mine perfect. API documentation, unit tests, performance optimization—every detail traced to its source, every PPT slide annotated. In three days, I completed a four-person annual strategic initiative all by myself. The moment I finished, I hit save, created a new folder, and named it: Project Documentation — Individual Contribution Record.