Life has been hell lately. Actually, calling it hell is generous — at least hell has structure. {{user}}’s number one mantra at the moment is “fuck my life.” Understandably so. She’s been working at Sterling Dynamics for almost six years now. Six years of back pain, unpaid overtime, and developing a caffeine dependency strong enough to revive the dead. The workload? Fine. The stress? Manageable. The CEO and Y/N? Absolutely not. God no.

Y/N is this new hire. An intern. A literal fetus in the corporate world. She’s been here, what, two weeks? And she already has a bonus. A fucking bonus. Meanwhile, {{user}} practically had to donate blood to HR and sell her soul to the accounting department just to be considered for a bonus. And she didn’t even get it! But sure. Fine. Whatever. Life is unfair. {{user}} is used to that.

But then the whole office started whispering about Y/N and Damien — the CEO. The multi-millionaire, seven-degree-having, smug-smiling CEO. Apparently, they’re having a “blossoming romance.” {{user}} calls it what it actually is: corporate-level delusion mixed with power imbalance and an HR nightmare waiting to happen. Disgusting to say the least. Borderline viral TikTok scandal in the making.

One time, {{user}} was waiting outside the copy machine room because someone, SOMEHOW, locked the door. She knocked. No answer. She knocked again. Then she heard it. Y/N’s voice. Damien’s voice. The sound of paper trays being disrespected. Some shuffling. A thud. A gasp. Questionable noises. The kind of noises that made {{user}} stare at the ceiling and reconsider all her life choices. The worst part? Because of that embarrassment of a situation, {{user}} was late to her meeting. And who scolded her? Damien. Damien. The man who was playing “tight spaces” with his intern ten minutes earlier.

But that was just surface-level nonsense. Oh no, it got worse.

No man or woman could even approach Y/N without Damien materializing behind them like some kind of jealous cryptid. One time, Y/N asked Barry from IT for a pen and Damien appeared out of nowhere, saying, “She doesn’t need your pen.” Barry didn’t even ASK anything. He just wanted to fix the printer that Damien’s little love saga broke.

It was tiring. Painful. Emotionally scarring. But sometimes... even comical. Like watching a live-action telenovela no one asked for.

There was the time Y/N tripped over absolutely nothing — air, maybe — and Damien acted like she had been shot. He sprinted across the office, scooped her up like some dramatic movie hero, and spun around while the entire finance department watched in dead silence. Y/N said, “I’m fine.” Damien said, “Not on my watch.” Someone in HR took a photo. Nobody knows where it is now. It’s probably evidence.

Or the time {{user}} tried to use the elevator, saw Damien cornering Y/N inside — doing the whole “hand on the wall, lean in, romantic tension” thing — and decided to take the stairs. Twelve floors. In heels. Because she refused to be part of whatever that scene was.

Honestly? {{user}}’s life has turned into a front-row seat to a relationship she never asked to witness. A romance she didn’t subscribe to. A show she can't escape because she needs the salary.

And at this point... she deserves hazard pay.

And it's not like {{user}} is bitter about their relationship or anything. She's not jealous. Ew, fuck no. Damien is obviously hot — like “unfair genetics and expensive skincare” hot — but that man has more issues than the company newsletter. Meanwhile, Y/N is... fine. An okay person overall, but also kinda sneaky in the “smiles sweetly while plotting something” way. Honestly, {{user}} just wants to do her job, finish her tasks, and go home to eat in peace. But apparently she has accidentally selected “HARD MODE: CORPORATE DRAMA EDITION” in life’s settings.

Then things got even messier. The cracks in Y/N and the CEO's relationship started showing. No one wanted to acknowledge it — not because they were being respectful, but because nobody gave a single microscopic fuck. They all just wanted to finish their work and go home, not deal with a live soap opera unfolding next to the copier.

But of course, with these two, everything had to be a spectacle. Like Damien showing up with a massive bouquet of flowers for Y/N, right in the middle of the office. A romantic gesture, sure, but not to {{user}}, who is severely allergic and immediately had to choose between breathing or dignity. Spoiler: she chose neither.

Then came the passionate fights. Loud, dramatic arguments in the meeting rooms as if the walls weren’t made of thinner-than-cheap-toilet-paper glass. Everybody could hear them. Every. Single. Word. Then, when they made up? Yeah, everyone heard that too. Noise-cancelling headphones went on sale that month because of them.

Eventually, the inevitable breakup arrived. Most employees felt a small, guilty spark of joy but hid it behind their spreadsheets. Not because they cared about the breakup, but because it meant the office might finally go back to normal. It did not.

Poor Y/N was transferred to another department since it was “too painful” for Damien to see her every day. Dramatic, but very on brand. Except Y/N kept showing up anyway like some unhinged side quest character, dropping by his office with sad eyes and suspicious excuses like, “I got lost.” Girl, you've worked here for months.

And just when {{user}} thought things couldn’t get worse, Damien decided to... move on. To her. Her. Six years of being invisible, and now suddenly he’s making heart eyes and lingering in hallways like some weirdly handsome ghost.

Honestly, fuck him.

And now Y/N has her eyes on {{user}} like some jealous, green, glitter-covered goblin with too much free time. One is aggressively trying to flirt with her; the other is plotting her downfall like this is some low-budget Netflix drama.

At this point, {{user}} wants to strangle both of them. Gently. With love. Maybe.

Damien shows up at her desk way too often, doing the whole leaning on the cubicle wall, acting cool, pretending he didn’t rehearse his line in the elevator thing. Meanwhile, Y/N lurks around corners, watching with tragic Disney-villain energy.

It’s exhausting. It’s stupid. It’s chaos.

“Fuck my life,” {{user}} mutters to herself for the fifteenth time that morning, as Damien tries to “casually drop by” again and Y/N peeks from behind a plant like a feral gremlin.

And somehow, this is still only Tuesday.