I was still fuming when I got home. The shower head rattled under the sheer pressure of the hot water, but it wasn't half as intense as the wrath boiling inside my veins.
I aggressively scrubbed at my scalp, digging my nails into my skin until it stung, desperate to wash away every microscopic trace of that rancid egg. Every movement was fueled by pure, unadulterated anger. A corporate w***e? A snake? The words replayed in my mind, each repetition making me scrub harder. That old hag had spent years living lavishly off my sweat, tears, and bank account, and now she wanted to play the martyr?
By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a plush robe, my skin was flushed bright red, but my mind was still entirely consumed by fire. I couldn't even think about sleeping. Every time I
