BAIT🥹

THROWN OUT

Sophia stood frozen in front of the billboard, staring at the bold red word FIRED like it was a slap across her face. For a long moment, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even blink. It felt as if the air had been knocked out of her chest, leaving a burning hollow ache behind her ribs. People passed by her, voices echoing, footsteps blending together, but everything sounded far away—distant, muffled, unreal.

Her chest tightened as her vision blurred for a second. No. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t going to fall apart here, in front of them, in front of the same people who once depended on her, mocked her, envied her, ignored her. Her hands trembled, but she balled them into fists until her nails dug into her palm.

Before she even fully understood what her body was doing, she turned sharply toward the elevator.

She wasn’t walking away quietly.

She wasn’t giving anyone the satisfaction.

Not after everything she had done for this company.

Not after everything Hash made her feel—everything he stirred in her that she tried so hard to bury.

If he wanted her gone, if he truly wanted her dismissed like some disposable mistake, then he would say it to her face. She deserved at least that. She deserved answers. She deserved respect.

Her anger fueled her steps, making her walk faster, firmer, more determined. Her heels clicked against the floor like they were announcing her fury with every stride. She didn’t care who was watching. She didn’t care about the whispers. She didn’t care about the pitying or mocking eyes.

But she didn’t get far.

Just before she reached the hallway leading to Hash’s elevator, two uniformed security guards stepped directly in front of her, blocking her path. They were tall, serious, and unfriendly in a way she had never seen before—not toward her.

“Ma’am, you can’t go upstairs,” one of them said firmly, holding out a hand to stop her.

Sophia frowned, stepping forward. “What do you mean? I work here.”

The guard shook his head slowly, his expression stiff. “Your access has been deactivated. We’re under strict instructions not to let you through.”

Her stomach dropped.

“Instructions from who?” she demanded, her voice shaking despite her effort to control it.

“Management,” the second guard answered quietly, his eyes avoiding hers like he was ashamed for her.

Sophia clenched her jaw. Heat rose to her face—not from embarrassment, but from pure, sharp anger.

“I need to see Mr. Hash,” she said, her voice breaking into a mixture of desperation and fury. “I need answers. Let me go.”

“No,” the guard repeated, firmer this time. “Please step back.”

Sophia shook her head, her pulse pounding in her ears. “Please. I just want to talk to him. I need to understand why this is happening. I deserve that.”

She stepped forward again—barely a single step—and the guards immediately moved with her, closing the space.

“Ma’am,” one of them warned, “don’t make this harder. You’re no longer an employee here.”

The finality in his tone pierced her like a blade.

It was that sentence.

Those five words.

You’re no longer an employee here.

That finally cracked something inside her.

Around her, she heard murmurs—people whispering as they passed, phones being raised, screens glinting. They were recording her. Recording her humiliation. Recording her pain like she was some kind of spectacle.

She suddenly felt small. Exposed. Helpless.

Her breath started to shake as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “I just want to ask him why,” she whispered, tears forming despite her effort to stay strong. “I deserve that much. Please… just let me talk to him.”

“No,” the guard said again, sharper now, as if he needed to end the moment before she completely shattered. “Leave the premises.”

Before she could protest again, the guard gently but firmly took her arm—not harshly, but in a way that told her the decision was final. She jerked her arm, trying to pull away.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried, her voice trembling.

“Ma’am, please cooperate,” the other guard said, stepping beside her.

But she couldn’t fight anymore.

Her strength was gone. Her resistance fell apart.

Tears spilled freely, hot and blinding, blurring everything into shapes and colors.

The guards pushed open the glass doors and guided her outside the building. To the street. To the open air. Away from everything she had worked for. Away from the place she had hoped would give her a future.

The doors closed behind her with a cold, echoing thud.

The last thing she saw through the glass was the massive company logo—shiny, bold, proud. The same building she had walked into with hope. The same building she believed would change her life.

Now it was throwing her away.

As if she had meant nothing.

As if she had imagined everything.

Sophia stood on the sidewalk, trembling, her breath unsteady. She looked up at the towering structure, her heart splintering deeply inside her chest. She had given her effort, her time, her loyalty. She had given her heart—even though she didn’t want to admit it.

And what did she get back?

A dismissal.

A betrayal.

A silent punishment for a crime she didn’t even understand.

She wiped tears from her cheeks with shaking fingers and whispered bitterly, her voice barely more than a breath:

“Hash… how could you do this to me?”

Sophia wiped her face with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming, hot and unstoppable. She didn’t want anyone on the street to see her crying, but her body wasn’t listening to her anymore. She felt too weak. Too betrayed. Too empty.

A cold breeze brushed against her skin, making her shiver. She hugged herself tightly, staring down at the pavement as if it could somehow explain the chaos inside her chest.

How could everything collapse so quickly?

How could one person—one man—change her life so much and then leave her drowning without warning?

The street seemed louder than usual. Cars honked, people rushed by, conversations buzzed around her, but she heard none of it. All she heard was the pounding of her heart and the echo of one painful truth:

He didn't stop them.

Hash didn’t stop them from firing me.

Sophia lowered herself onto the nearest bench, her legs too shaky to hold her up anymore. Her breathing was uneven, every inhale trembling, every exhale breaking.

She stared at her hands.

The same hands that worked overtime.

The same hands that typed reports, carried files, handled pressure without complaints.

The same hands Hash would occasionally look at as if he admired her dedication.

Now they felt useless.

Her phone buzzed in her bag, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to talk to anyone—not even Adam. She was ashamed. Embarrassed. Heartbroken in a way she didn’t know how to explain.

A small sob escaped her lips before she could stop it.

She covered her mouth quickly, looking around, but nobody cared. Everyone walked past her like she was invisible.

Maybe that’s what she was to them—just another disposable employee. Someone they could push out when she became “inconvenient.”

Sophia closed her eyes tightly, letting the pain wash over her. She hated feeling weak, hated crying in public, hated how much this hurt. She hated how she still cared about Hash, even after everything.

She whispered to herself, voice trembling:

“I should have known better. I should have known there was no space for someone like me next to someone like him.”

But even as she said it, she didn’t believe it completely.

A part of her still felt the way he looked at her.

The way he defended her.

The way he made her feel seen.

Which made this moment even more painful.

Slowly, she took a deep breath and forced herself to stand. Her legs were still shaking, but she steadied herself.

She had been through worse.

She had survived worse.

And she would survive this too.

Sophia brushed the last of her tears away and whispered:

“I won’t let this be the end of my story.”