IN LOVE WITH MY EMPLOYER

I learned two things the moment I stepped into Brooklyn Group. First—everyone here was afraid. Second—fear didn’t belong to just one person. It moved through the office in hushed voices and stiff shoulders, in hurried footsteps and eyes that never lingered too long. Conversations died the moment certain people walked past. Laughter lowered itself into whispers. Screens were minimized too quickly. Some said it was because of the CEO others said it was because of Betty Lawson. I stopped just inside the revolving doors, the towering glass building stretching endlessly above me. Sunlight bounced off the polished floors, but it did nothing to warm the atmosphere. Everything felt cold. Controlled. Measured. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder, steadying my breath, reminding myself why I was here. This was my first real corporate job, Brooklyn Group. I had seen the name everywhere—business magazines, case studies, whispered admiration back at university—but standing here made my chest tighten in a way I hadn’t expected. The kind of pressure that told you this place didn’t forgive mistakes. “Intern.” The word came flatly. A man at the front desk handed me a temporary badge and a login slip without looking up. His fingers never brushed mine. No welcome. No smile. Just procedure.“Elevator to the left. Third floor, I nodded, murmured a thank you that went unanswered, and followed the directions I’d been given. The department I was assigned to buzzed softly with activity. Phones rang but were answered quickly. Keyboards clicked in steady, anxious rhythms. Everyone seemed busy, yet no one looked relaxed. I found myself seated at a small desk near the edge of the floor, clearly temporary, clearly replaceable. Around me, people worked quietly, efficiently—almost fearfully. “Don’t mess up,” a woman murmured to someone nearby, barely moving her lips, “Especially not today.“Especially not under Betty.” I pretended not to hear and logged into my computer, shoulders straight, chin lifted. I told myself this was normal. Corporate nerves. First-day tension. The kind of unease everyone felt before settling in. Still, the name echoed in my head ……Betty. I watched people glance toward a glass-walled office at the center of the floor, then look away just as quickly. I learned who Betty Lawson was before I ever met her. “Department manager,” someone whispered behind me. “She has the CEO’s ear, “Some say more than that. “Whatever it is, she’s protected.” Protected. The word sat heavy. I didn’t know what to believe. Gossip traveled fast in offices like this, especially where power lived. All I knew was that when Betty finally appeared, the room shifted. Not loudly. Not dramatically but undeniably. Betty Lawson walked in with calm confidence, her heels clicking softly against the floor like a metronome setting the pace for everyone else. She was beautiful in a sharp, controlled way—perfect posture, flawless expression, hair not a strand out of place. She didn’t rush. She didn’t need to People straightened immediately. Backs stiffened. Smiles disappeared. Her gaze swept across the room, slow and assessing, briefly landing on me. Just long enough, not curious. Not welcoming, measuring. Then she looked away I exhaled without realizing I’d been holding my breath. That was my manager Okay, Julie, I told myself. Just do your work. Keep your head down. I focused on my screen, reading onboarding documents, absorbing company policies, trying to ignore the strange heaviness pressing against my chest. But my thoughts drifted—uninvited—back to university. To a senior everyone admired. Nataliel Brooklyn.. the name surfaced quietly, like something I hadn’t meant to remember. I hadn’t spoken to him back then. I’d only watched from afar—until the day he’d stepped in when others hadn’t. When his voice had cut through the noise. “That’s enough.” The memory lingered, not because of him, but because of what it had taught me. Power changed everything. It silenced rooms. It stopped cruelty mid-sentence. It decided who mattered. I shook the thought away. This wasn’t university. This was work. A different world. Different rules. Barely an hour into the day, tension rippled through the department like a sudden draft.“That report is wrong. “But it’s already gone upstairs.” “Who worked on it?” Voices dropped. Eyes shifted. No one answered. I felt it then—that instinctive tightening in my stomach, the sense that something was about to land on someone unlucky. Betty looked up from her desk. “Where’s the intern?” My heart skipped. “Yes?” I answered quickly, standing before I realized I was moving she held out a thick file. “Take this to the executive floor.” I blinked. “Me?” “Yes,” she replied, polite but final. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re free, aren’t you?” The room went silent. No one spoke. No one offered to go instead. No one even looked at me I understood something then—not fully, but enough to make my stomach tighten.This wasn’t about trust It was about convenience and consequences.I took the file. “Okay. As I walked toward the elevator, I felt eyes on my back—pity, curiosity, relief. The kind of looks people give when they’re glad it isn’t them.Behind me, someone whispered, “That’s Betty’s way.” I didn’t know what that meant, “not yet.” The elevator doors closed, sealing me inside a mirrored box that reflected my own nervous expression back at me. I shifted the file in my arms, noticing how heavy it felt, as though it carried more than paper. The numbers above the door climbed steadily somewhere behind me, fear shifted its focus.As I stepped into the elevator, my heartbeat thundered in my ears. This is just work, Just a delivery. The elevator chimed. The doors slid open I stepped out onto the top floor—and froze. The hallway was quieter here. Wider. More polished. Power lived in the details—the art on the walls, the thick carpet, the guarded stillness. A sign gleamed at the end of the corridor CEO — Nataliel Brooklyn My breath caught, the name wasn’t just familiar …It was memory. It was recognition. It was a past I hadn’t expected to meet again. My fingers tightened around the file Slowly, I raised my hand… and knocked. The door opened and my past stepped out to meet me.