The Girl Who Humiliated Me, Now Works for Me

Chapter 15

Clarissa stood before the restroom mirror, her reflection fractured by doubt.

"You can do this," she whispered to the woman staring back at her.

"You're ready."

At 1:50 PM, Clarissa positioned herself outside the boardroom doors on the fifteenth floor. Through the transparent glass, the space beyond resembled a gladiatorial arena—polished mahogany stretching like an altar, eight leather chairs occupied by directors in expensive suits, and three potential investors seated with skeptical expressions, ready to render judgment.

And David. Perched at the head of the table with perfect posture, cold eyes, and an aura that commanded the entire room, as if he were the gravitational center around which everything else orbited.

Clarissa drew a deep breath, turned the handle, and stepped inside.

"Good afternoon, board members." Her voice emerged smaller than she'd intended. "Today I'll be presenting our digital market expansion strategy—"

"Miss Clarissa." The CFO's bass voice cut through her opening. "Before we begin, we'd like to know—how much experience do you have in strategic planning?"

Clarissa's heart stuttered. A direct assault on her credibility. A knockout punch right from the opening bell.

"I... I don't have prior experience in that area, sir. But I've conducted extensive research over the past—"

"No experience?" The COO interrupted with a dismissive look.

"William, we're discussing a multi-billion rupiah expansion. Why are we listening to a presentation from an intern who hasn't even completed a month with us?"

Shame flooded Clarissa's cheeks. Every eye in the room fixed on her—evaluating, doubting, questioning, as if she were some elaborate joke. She glanced toward David, hoping for a sliver of support, a moment of mercy, but the man's face remained an expressionless mask.

"Continue, Miss Clarissa," David said in a flat tone. "Your time is running."

Clarissa activated the projector. The first slide materialized—her presentation title in elegant font, colorful graphics, a design she'd spent countless hours perfecting. A masterpiece that now felt fragile as spun glass.

"Based on my market research, we've identified three primary opportunities for digital expansion..."

She followed her memorized script, explaining each point with comprehensive detail. For several minutes, everything proceeded smoothly. A small flame of hope flickered to life.

Until the fourth slide.

"Our ROI projection for the first quarter is twenty-three percent," Clarissa continued, unaware that the slide displayed thirty-two percent. A fatal error.

"Excuse me," one of the investors raised his hand, voice sharp as a blade. "You said twenty-three percent, but the slide shows thirty-two. Which is correct?"

Clarissa stared at the slide in panic. She'd memorized every number, but now her mind went completely blank—a hard drive suddenly corrupted.

"Uh... I meant thirty-two percent," she corrected, her voice beginning to tremble. "But that's for... for conservative projections. The optimistic figure is twenty-three—"

"Wait," the CFO interrupted with mounting impatience. "The optimistic figure is lower than the conservative projection? That makes no sense."

Cold sweat began soaking Clarissa's back. She felt every gaze burning into her with a mixture of irritation and disappointment—a tangible judgment.

"I... I misspoke. I meant the opposite. Thirty-two percent is the optimistic projection, twenty-three percent is—"

"Miss Clarissa," David interjected. "Are you confident in the data you're presenting?"

The question landed like a physical blow. Clarissa met David's eyes, searching for compassion, for any c***k in his armor, but found only that cold stare analyzing every moment of her weakness, savoring her collapse.

"I'm confident, sir," she answered quietly.

"Good. Continue."

The fifth slide. Clarissa explained their market penetration strategy, but this time she misstated a competitor's name. Instead of "TechnoMart," she said "TechnoMax"—an entirely different company, completely outside their sector.

"TechnoMax?" The marketing director raised an eyebrow dismissively. "We've never considered them a primary competitor. They operate in a completely different sector."

"I... I meant TechnoMart," Clarissa corrected. "I misspoke."

"Second mistake," the COO commented with growing impatience. "This is a board presentation, not a practice session."

Clarissa felt her head spinning, pounding, her heart racing like a trapped bird.

"I apologize," she said while trying to regulate her breathing, pressing her chest. "I'll be more careful."

But the damage was already done. Her credibility lay in ruins, and the confidence she'd built over three days crumbled in minutes, scattered like broken glass.

The sixth slide. Clarissa began explaining budget allocation, but this time she completely forgot the figures she'd calculated. Her mind went utterly blank—like a computer screen suddenly going dark.

"For the marketing campaign, we've allocated..." she paused, staring at the slide with empty, desperate eyes. "We've allocated..."

An excruciating silence filled the room, stretching endlessly. Eight directors and three investors watched her with a mixture of pity and irritation—the look of executioners.

"How much, Miss Clarissa?" David asked. In his eyes, barely concealed satisfaction glittered.

"I... I forgot," Clarissa admitted. "Could I check my notes for a moment?"

"No," the CFO said firmly, without compromise. "You should know your own figures by heart."

Clarissa felt tears beginning to pool in her eyes, blurring her vision. This wasn't just about a failed presentation—this was about dignity crumbling before the people who held her future in their hands.

"Perhaps we should continue this meeting another time," one of the investors said while glancing at his watch with visible irritation. "With a more... prepared presenter."

"No," Clarissa said with desperate urgency, a last stand. "I can continue. I'm ready."

But she wasn't ready. The next slide was an even greater disaster. She misidentified the target market, incorrectly analyzed competitor positioning, and most fatally—miscalculated the break-even point by a staggering margin. Complete chaos.

"Enough," the CFO said with finality. "This is a waste of time."

"Agreed," the COO added. "This presentation doesn't meet our expected standards."

Clarissa stood before the projector with her body trembling. She looked at every face in the room—disappointment, irritation, pity—and then her eyes met David's.

He sat with relaxed posture, calm expression, and cold eyes. No surprise, no disappointment—only a satisfied smirk barely visible at the corner of his mouth. He'd known. He'd known this presentation would fail. He'd orchestrated this defeat.

"Thank you for your time," Clarissa said with a quavering voice, trying to preserve what remained of her dignity. "I... I'll revise this presentation and—"

"Unnecessary," David said with professional detachment.

"This meeting is concluded. Please return to your desk."

Clarissa gathered her laptop and notes with shaking hands. She walked toward the door with unsteady steps, feeling judgmental stares piercing her back like arrows.

As she neared the exit, she heard one director whisper: "Why did William allow such an amateur to present at a board meeting? It's embarrassing."

That sentence was her final blow. Clarissa left the room with eyes already glazed with tears, face flushed with shame, and a heart shattered beyond repair.

She didn't return to her desk. She couldn't face her colleagues' stares. She ran to the elevator, pressed the rooftop button, and prayed no one would see her in this condition—in her complete destruction.

The office building's rooftop was deserted—just a few AC units and Jakarta's glittering cityscape stretching beneath the afternoon sun. Clarissa walked to the farthest corner, leaned against the safety barrier, and finally allowed the tears she'd been holding back to flow freely, without restraint.

Her weeping wasn't just about the failed presentation. These were tears for all the frustration she'd endured over the past weeks.

Tears for the dignity she'd sold for this job.

David, whom she'd hurt before, was now repaying her with equal cruelty—perhaps even greater cruelty.

"Why does it have to be like this?"

She felt her phone vibrate. A message appeared.

David William: "Meet me in my office. Now."

Clarissa stared at the message through swollen eyes, her vision blurred by tears. She knew what would happen. She'd be fired. She'd be humiliated once more. She'd be discarded like worthless trash.

Yet a small part of her heart still harbored hope. Hope stretched thin as wire. Maybe David would offer a second chance. Maybe he'd explain why he'd done all this. Maybe they could speak as human beings, not as boss and employee locked in bitter vendetta.

Clarissa wiped away her tears, smoothed her hair, and tried to gather what remained of her dignity, as if it were her last protective armor. She descended from the rooftop with heavy steps, feeling each second like a countdown to execution—an inevitable end.