Five months earlier, Ash was summoned into an absurdly large office in London. 

Jean-Marc de la Tour was the president of the board of Helios, Ash’s company. The man in his mid-fifties had been the most prominent advocate for her nomination as Chief Executive Officer the year before. She considered him one of her mentors and a person of trust who had consistently supported her throughout the years. 

The day she was promoted had been the peak moment of her career. The long hours, the relocations, the sacrifices, the putting up with the toxic bro culture, it had all finally paid off. 

But today, the Swiss businessman’s usual laid-back attitude wasn’t showing. He sheepishly greeted her before wiping the sweat off his tanned face with a silk handkerchief. Something was up. Ash narrowed her almond-shaped brown eyes as she sat on the edge of the designer leather chair. 

The man in an expensive suit danced around the topic for a few minutes before finally dropping the bomb. “Ash, we’ve decided to discharge you from your role as CEO.” 

What the heck? She blinked several times, fighting the urge to jump from her chair.

Jean-Marc paused dramatically. He looked at her from across his ridiculously wide desk with a pouty expression that conveyed guilt and—worst of all—pity disguised as empathy. 

“The company’s reached the hyper-growth stage thanks to your invaluable contribution,” he went on. “However, moving forward, we need someone more… seasoned to take Helios to the next level.”

She clenched her jaw. This expression had always made her cringe. 

He continued his well-rehearsed polished speech, “We’re so grateful for what you’ve brought to the company. There’s no denying your long list of stellar achievements, especially when it comes to generating revenue. That’s why we’re excited to offer you the role of Chief Sales Officer. We’re convinced you’ll shine all the more in that position.”

Is he seriously trying to make this demotion sound like it’s what’s best for me? 

She was no longer listening at this point. 

She thought about François le Guerrec. The newly-appointed Chief Financial Officer had never been subtle about his ambitions since he transferred from another company that was also in Jean-Marc’s portfolio. 

Ash had learned that François coveted her job when she accidentally overheard one of his phone conversations. Too bad for him that his office was next to hers and that the door was ajar. 

“I don’t understand why they picked her for the job. She’s way too young and she bats for the other team. I know we have all this diversity fluff going on but come on. What kind of message does this send to our investors and clients? The company needs someone more experienced and less… controversial in that seat,” the forty-something man said with his thick French accent. 

Ash had imagined him looking at the picture of his wife and his three kids as he spoke. The one where they were on a sailing boat, all wearing pastel-colored polos with white knitted pullovers tied around their shoulders and matching boat shoes. 

She mentally rolled her eyes. Urgh…

She was used to dealing with that kind of people. She had encountered naysayers like him throughout her life. 

It had started as early as in primary school, when those older boys would persistently make Kung Fu moves and shrill sounds, stretching the corner of their eyes each time she would pass by, convinced they were geniuses for pointing out the fact that she was Asian. Until they got tired of her lack of response and spit in her face to get a reaction. 

And react, she did. With an improvised low spinning sweep kick that sent the tallest of them tumbling ungracefully on his bum. Watching that big boy go cry to the teacher because of her had made her well-earned detention all the more satisfying. 

As she grew up, she quickly realized that letting her fists talk wasn’t a sustainable solution. It did feel great, but one, she would encounter schmucks who were much stronger than her, and two, she had ended up at the hospital a couple of times due to her stubborn refusal to let insults slide, whether they were about her heritage, her sexual orientation, or for just being a woman. 

When she entered the corporate world, she understood that things weren’t that different from school, except that the jerks were now wearing suits and ties. To move up the corporate ladder, she had done a great deal of work on herself and reluctantly learned to let things go. 

So, when she heard what François thought of her, she did what she would usually do to preserve her sanity. She shrugged it off and moved on. But she didn't suspect this would happen. 

I’ve underestimated that slimy little prick, she thought. 

She cut the president mid-sentence. “Let me guess. You’re appointing François as the new CEO?”

The investor fretted on his chair like a chided schoolboy. He nervously raked his fingers through his silver hair and stammered, “W-We’re doing this because you’re truly gifted in sales and we need a strong individual in that seat. This is where you could truly have the biggest impact.” He stretched the corner of his mouth, flashing his overly whitened teeth. 

Ash felt a muscle in her temple twitch. She hadn't worked so hard to go back to her previous role without any valid explanation. Her patience was wearing thin. She had heard enough. 

“I appreciate your generous offer, Jean-Marc. I genuinely do,” she said, not bothering to conceal the sarcasm in her tone. “I’m going to make things easier for you. I quit,” she said coldly. She got up and left the room, ignoring the man’s feeble plea. 

She seethed with anger on the way back to her office. 

Her personal assistant, Zoey, asked if everything was okay. They got along really well and had grown to be an efficient tandem over the past year. The redhead’s jaw dropped when she learned that her boss had just quit. Ash thanked her warmly and wished her luck. Noam and Jenya, in her right and left arms, had a similar reaction when she told them. She was going to miss them too. 

She packed up and went to the elevator. As she stepped in and turned around to press the button, she saw François sitting at his desk, staring at her with a smug face. She gritted her teeth and locked eyes with the man until the doors finally closed.