The morning after Anastasia's grand entrance, she called an emergency department meeting. Her presence at the head of the conference table sent a chill through the room as she tapped her manicured nails against the polished surface.

"Effective immediately," she announced, her voice clipped and cold, "all R&D team members will work from 8 AM to 10 PM daily."

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Marcus Chen, our department head, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"That's... fourteen hours," he said cautiously. "And on weekends?"

"Weekends will be mandatory overtime," Anastasia replied without hesitation. "Saturday from 9 to 5, Sunday from 10 to 4. This is non-negotiable."

I felt my stomach drop. These hours were inhumane.

"The Morrison project requires extraordinary dedication," she continued, her dark eyes sweeping over us dismissively. "If you can't handle it, perhaps you should reconsider your position here."

For three weeks, we endured. The office became a ghost town by 8 PM, with only the R&D department's lights still burning bright. Pizza boxes accumulated in trash cans as we worked through dinner. I brought in extra coffee for the team, watching with growing concern as dark circles appeared under everyone's eyes.

Elena Rodriguez, our newest team member, would often nod off at her desk around midnight, only to jerk awake when her head hit the keyboard. I'd covered for her twice when Anastasia did her nightly rounds.

On the fourth Friday of the new regime, it happened.

Elena was reviewing test results when her body suddenly went limp. Her head hit the desk with a sickening thud, and her coffee mug crashed to the floor.

"Elena!" I rushed to her side, pressing my fingers to her neck. Her pulse was rapid but weak.

The office erupted in panic. Marcus called for an ambulance while I fanned Elena's pale face with a folder.

Anastasia appeared in the doorway, her expression annoyed rather than concerned.

"What is the disruption?" she demanded.

"Elena collapsed," I explained, keeping my voice level despite the anger building inside me. "She's been working seventeen-hour days for weeks."

Anastasia's lips thinned into a cold line. "Weak employees don't belong in competitive environments," she said dismissively. "If she can't keep up, perhaps she should consider a less demanding position."

Something snapped inside me.

"That's enough," I said, rising to my feet.

The office fell silent. Sebastian, who had been hovering near Anastasia, froze.

"Pushing employees to physical collapse is unacceptable management," I continued, my voice stronger than I expected. "Productivity comes from sustainable work practices, not exploitation."

Anastasia's face darkened with fury. "Are you questioning my authority, Ms. Morrison?"

I met her gaze steadily. "I'm questioning your humanity."

The tension in the room was palpable. Colleagues who had been afraid to speak now watched with wide eyes.

"Be careful," Anastasia warned, her voice low and dangerous. "Insubordination has consequences."

I didn't back down. "So does negligence."

After Elena was taken to the hospital (exhaustion and dehydration, the paramedics said), the office returned to an uneasy calm. But something had shifted. I could feel it in the way people looked at me—with a mixture of fear and respect.

---

That evening, Sebastian stayed late. Again.

I was gathering my things when I noticed his empty desk. He'd mentioned a "quick meeting" with Anastasia before disappearing down the hallway to her office.

An hour later, he emerged, straightening his tie with a satisfied smile.

"Sebastian," I called, approaching him. "Everything okay?"

He startled slightly, then composed himself. "Yeah, fine. Just some strategic discussions about the Morrison project."

"You seem to be having a lot of those lately," I observed.

He checked his watch nervously. "Anastasia has some... unique insights. She's connected to the head office executives in ways most of us aren't."

"Must be valuable meetings," I said carefully. "You're always smiling after them."

His phone buzzed, and he quickly turned away to check it. "It's confidential stuff, Phoebe. You wouldn't understand the complexity."

"I understand more than you think," I replied.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket without answering my text. "Look, I need to make another call. Can we talk about this later?"

As he walked away, I caught a glimpse of his screen—a text from Anastasia: "Same time tomorrow? I have more ideas to discuss."

I watched him disappear into her office again, my heart heavy with suspicion and dread.

What was happening behind those closed doors? And why did Sebastian's "confidential strategic discussions" feel more like betrayal with each passing day?

The company cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime chatter, but today something felt different. I balanced my tray carefully, searching for an empty seat among the sea of faces. The R&D team had gathered in the corner, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and frustration—the aftermath of Elena's collapse still fresh in everyone's minds.

I spotted Sebastian sitting with Marcus and a few other colleagues. There was an empty chair beside him, but he didn't notice me approaching.

"—completely unreasonable expectations," Marcus was saying, his voice low but tense. "Fourteen-hour days aren't sustainable. Elena's hospitalization proves that."

I set my tray down, but Sebastian didn't move to make room for me. I stood awkwardly for a moment before pulling out the chair myself.

"Phoebe," Marcus nodded at me, his expression softening slightly.

"Maybe we should talk to HR," suggested another colleague. "This isn't just about work ethic—it's about health and safety."

I expected Sebastian to agree. He'd always been supportive of reasonable work boundaries. But instead, he set down his fork with deliberate care.

"You're all being shortsighted," he said, his voice carrying a new edge I'd never heard before. "Sometimes tough leadership is necessary for company growth."

The table fell silent. I stared at him, certain I'd misheard.

"Sebastian," I said quietly, "Elena was hospitalized."

He didn't meet my eyes. "That's unfortunate, but it's also an indication that she's not equipped for the demands of this position."

"Equipped?" Marcus echoed, his eyebrows rising. "She's worked here for two years without issue until these ridiculous hours were imposed."

"Resistance to change is natural," Sebastian replied smoothly, as if reciting talking points. "But Anastasia is implementing these policies for a reason. The Morrison project requires extraordinary commitment."

I felt a chill run through me. This wasn't the Sebastian I knew—the man who had promised just weeks ago that I was more important than any career advancement.

---

"Another coffee?" Lilly appeared at my desk later that afternoon, two steaming cups in hand. Her smile seemed genuine, but something in her eyes made me hesitate.

"Thanks," I said, taking the cup gratefully. The caffeine had become essential to keeping my eyes open during these endless workdays.

Lilly perched on the edge of my desk, leaning closer than usual. "How are you holding up? You seem... stressed lately."

"I'm fine," I replied automatically, though we both knew it wasn't true.

"Your parents must worry about you working these hours," she said casually, stirring her coffee. "Or do they not mind? Some families are more understanding about career demands than others."

I paused, my spoon halfway to my mouth. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, just thinking about how different families handle things." Her tone was light, but her eyes were sharp. "Some people have advantages others don't know about."

"Advantages?"

"Connections, background, that sort of thing." She shrugged, but her gaze remained fixed on me. "You know, Phoebe, you should be more strategic about your career."

"Strategic how?"

"Well..." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Some people get ahead because they know the right people. Or because they come from the right families."

Something in her tone made my skin crawl. Lilly had never been this interested in my family background before.

"My family is just normal," I said carefully. "What about yours?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, we're nobody special. Just wondering if you might have... connections you haven't mentioned."

---

"Ms. Morrison." Anastasia's voice cut through the department like a knife. "I have a special project for you."

The room fell silent as she approached my desk, a thick folder in her hands. Sebastian stood nearby, watching but saying nothing.

"This needs to be completed by tomorrow afternoon," she said, dropping the folder onto my keyboard. "It's a priority for the Morrison account."

I flipped open the folder. Inside were detailed specifications for a complete system overhaul—work that would normally take a team of five at least two weeks.

"This is impossible," I said quietly. "Even with the overtime hours."

"Impossible is just an excuse for inadequacy," she replied coldly. "I expect it on my desk tomorrow at 3 PM sharp."

Forty-eight hours later, I stood in the department meeting, exhausted beyond measure. I'd worked through the night, but the project was still incomplete.

"Status update, Ms. Morrison?" Anastasia asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

"I've made significant progress," I began, "but there are still—"

"Progress?" She cut me off, taking the partial report from my hands. "This is barely half-complete."

She held up the papers for everyone to see. "Some employees clearly aren't qualified for their positions if they can't meet basic deadlines."

The room was silent. I looked to Sebastian, waiting for him to defend me or at least acknowledge the impossibility of the task.

But he just stared at his shoes, saying nothing.

As Anastasia continued her public humiliation, I realized with startling clarity that I was truly alone in this battle. The question was: how much more could I endure before I broke?