My Best Friend's Wife Fired Me, So I Retaliated

By the end of that day, after standing under the scorching sun from morning till dusk, my shoulders were sunburned and peeling, my skin darkened to the color of charcoal. But I rarely mentioned any of this to Geoffrey because I didn't think it was necessary. Two years of hard work had taken me from a junior salesperson to Deputy Sales Manager. The company had grown, and moved into a new office tower. Geoffrey had bought a villa, a luxury car, and even gotten married. But somewhere along the way, things had quietly started to change. Ever since his wife took over the finances, the reimbursement rules had become stricter and the approval process longer. Every entertainment expense was scrutinized—down to the very last cent. Every time I filed for reimbursement, Geoffrey's wife would interrogate me as if I were trying to commit fraud. I still remember that day clearly—after finishing business with President Hansen, we happened to pass by Thirstea Cafe. The weather was unbearably hot, and he casually mentioned he was thirsty. I bought two cups of milk tea without thinking—just common courtesy. I hadn't even planned to claim it. Later, when organizing receipts, I saw it was only 8.8 dollars, so I attached it to my report without much thought. That tiny number—8.8 dollars—caused my entire 50,000 dollars expense report to be voided and earned me an additional 1,000 dollars fine. That was the moment something in me finally went cold. Just as I pressed the print button, I heard a voice behind me. "Sir, I've sorted out the files you wanted." It was Yvette, my assistant—the one I'd trained personally, teaching her everything about sales from scratch. I quickly minimized the resignation letter on my computer and turned around to take the folder she was handing over. She stood by my desk, her eyes flicking toward the printer. When the resignation letter slid out of the tray, her gaze sharpened immediately. "Sir... this is..." She pointed at the paper, visibly startled. I picked it up calmly and tucked it into the folder. "Nothing important. Just a standard application." But she wasn't buying it. She leaned closer, tugging lightly at my sleeve, her tone half-pleading, half-playful. "Sir, don't lie to me. What happened?" "If you leave, what am I supposed to do? I still have so much to learn from you!" "It's really nothing..." I was about to brush her off when the administrative assistant's voice came through the intercom, announcing a meeting at three o'clock. Yvette reluctantly let go of my sleeve, though her eyes stayed fixed on the folder in my hand. I casually shoved it into my drawer and locked it. Soon enough, the meeting began. Geoffrey stood at the front, reciting the quarterly report from his notes—a routine performance. He commended the overall results, his expression smugly satisfied. Then his tone shifted. "Next, I'll be announcing this quarter's Top Sales Performer. As promised, the reward will be 300,000 dollars!" I kept my head down, already planning how to hand him my resignation afterward. "And the winner is... Yvette Smith! Let's all congratulate her!" My head snapped up. Across the room, Geoffrey's meaningful gaze met mine. The conference room erupted in murmurs. "How could it be Yvette? Deputy Manager Romero's numbers are way higher!" "She's just the assistant—how could she outperform her boss?" "Exactly, I remember clearly, the biggest deals this quarter were all Manager Romero!" Yvette rose gracefully amid the whispers, a demure smile on her face as she walked to the podium. Her skirt brushed lightly against my arm as she passed. Geoffrey raised his hand to silence the crowd. "I understand some of you may have doubts," he began smoothly. "But under the company's new performance criteria, this quarter's awards aren't based solely on sales figures—we also value profit margins and budget control." "Yvette's projects achieved an average profit margin 20% higher than the department average, and every single entertainment expense stayed strictly within budget."

Geoffrey paused for a moment, then added meaningfully, "And what does this tell us? It tells us that a truly outstanding salesperson doesn't just expand the market—they also know how to control costs." "Unlike certain people who constantly exceed their budgets and always have an excuse ready." My fists tightened under the table. Those so-called high-profit projects of Yvette's, they were all clients I had developed myself—long-term, stable accounts that I'd handed to her to maintain. Of course, the costs were low. Meanwhile, the new clients that required heavy investment and endless follow-ups—the tough ones that built the company's foundation—those were all mine. Yvette accepted the oversized bonus check from Geoffrey and leaned toward the microphone, her voice soft and sweet. "Thank you to the company for this recognition, and to the leadership for their trust." "But most of all, I want to thank my mentor, Manager Romero. Without his patient guidance, I wouldn't be standing here today..." She turned toward me, eyes shimmering with perfectly timed tears. "So I'll keep working hard—and live up to everyone's expectations." She ended her speech gracefully, bowing slightly amid a smattering of applause. Geoffrey took the microphone again. "In light of Yvette's outstanding performance, the management team has decided to appoint her as General Manager of the Sales Department, effective immediately." The entire meeting room fell silent. Everyone knew that position was supposed to be mine. Yvette nodded politely, but the pride on her face was impossible to hide. And in that instant, everything fell into place. Why she had been so eager lately to take on "promising" projects. Why she had been reporting directly to Geoffrey behind my back. Why she complained about the company's strict rules to me—yet submitted flawless reimbursement reports. Even the new policy, even that cup of milk tea from Thirstea shop that started all this—it was all too coincidental. That day, when I was sorting receipts, she had insisted I include that tiny expense in my report—but she hadn't reminded me that it would put me over the limit. After the meeting, I stood up first and walked straight out. Yvette hurried after me, catching up in the hallway and grabbing my arm at the corner. "Sir August, please let me explain..." Her voice trembled. "I didn't know Mr. Peyton would make that decision! I was completely shocked on stage—that position should have been yours!" I stared at her coldly, saying nothing, watching her act play out. My silence seemed to rattle her. She spoke faster, her tone desperate. "I swear, I only found out today!" "I even wanted to refuse, but Mr. Peyton said if you took that position, you'd probably lead the whole team to resign together..." I finally spoke. "And why would I do that?" She froze for a second, then lowered her voice. "Because... you've already written your resignation letter. I saw it." Of course. She'd seen my letter and told Geoffrey right away. That explained everything: this entire performance had been planned. A perfect trap—stripping me of authority and leaving me no leverage to negotiate. "Sir, please believe me," she pleaded again, eyes glistening. "I never wanted things to turn out like this. If you leave... what will happen to me?" I gently pulled my arm free and smiled faintly. "You'll figure it out, won't you... Manager Smith?" Her face stiffened with embarrassment, words catching in her throat. Just before clocking out, I pushed open the heavy wooden door to Geoffrey's office. He was reviewing reports behind his desk while his wife, Marina lounged on the sofa, idly flipping through a magazine. I placed the printed resignation letter on the table and intoned coldly, "I'm here to resign."

Geoffrey lifted his head. His brows drew together slightly, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "August, what's this about?" He pushed back his chair, stood, and circled the desk toward me. "You're quitting because Yvette took the top sales award? Come on, man—we've known each other for years. You're not really leaving over something so trivial, are you?" He reached out, attempting to pat my shoulder, but I stepped aside before he could touch me. “The company’s success today is inseparable from your contributions,” Geoffrey said sincerely, though his eyes flickered with unease. “So... take some time to think it over. The position of General Manager in the Business Department is still vacant. We can discuss it again later.” A mocking laugh cut through his words. Marina set down the magazine she had been flipping through and crossed her legs, smirking. "I told you, dear—your old classmate has a petty streak." Her gaze swept over me with open disdain. "He's making a fuss like this over a thousand-dollars fine? Really?" "Rules are rules. If someone breaks them, they face the consequences. No exceptions." "Enough," Geoffrey shot her a warning look. "What? Did I say something wrong?" Marina sneered. "How much have we paid him in commissions and bonuses over the past two years—hundreds of thousands, at least?" "Has the company ever treated him unfairly?" "Instead of being grateful, he deliberately breaks the rules and gives our finance department a hard time!" "Since you want to resign, just leave already!" "Are you done?" I asked evenly. "If there's nothing else, I'll pack my things and leave today." My calm tone seemed to unsettle Geoffrey. He tried again, his voice gentler, almost pleading. "August, think about it. We've been through a lot together—we were roommates in college, remember? Upper bunk and lower bunk—" "Friendship?" I echoed, a bitter laugh rising in my throat. "Yes, we've certainly shared a deep friendship." Just then, the door opened. Yvette walked in, holding a folder. "Brother-in-law, about the client files in August's—" She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes darted between me and Geoffrey—and finally landed on Marina. The realization hit her face too late. She clamped a hand over her mouth. But the words had already slipped out. Brother-in-law... Silence flooded the room. I looked at the three of them—Geoffrey, his wife, and my "assistant"—and everything finally made sense. It had all been a setup. Geoffrey's face stiffened, and Marina shot Yvette a murderous glare. "August, don't misunderstand—" "Misunderstand?" I cut her off coldly. "Should I misunderstand that you asked me to quit my stable job to help him?" "That he promised never to betray me?" "Or that while I was out building the market, your precious little sister was quietly stealing every client I developed?" "Watch your tone!" Marina snapped. "Do you have any idea how many resources this company invested in you? Now that you've grown some wings, you think you can just fly off?" "Without this company, you're nothing!" I laughed—quietly at first, then with open scorn. "You're right. You really did train me." "You trained me to drink until I bled from the stomach at business dinners. To stand in the rain for an hour waiting for clients who never showed. To save company money by sleeping in moldy, fifty-dollar motels." Geoffrey's face flushed with embarrassment. I turned to Yvette. "And you—my talented assistant. You've really learned well." "Not only how to close deals, but how to stab someone in the back." "Sir, it's not like that—" Yvette stammered, her eyes filling with tears again.

"Don't call me Sir," I cut her off coldly. “I can’t afford the title.” Geoffrey took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and walked back to sit behind his desk. His voice turned flat, stripped of all pretense. "August, since you've made up your mind to leave, I won't stop you." I nodded. "Good. Then let's part on decent terms." I pulled out my access card and employee badge, placing them neatly on the desk. "Two years of effort—in exchange for finally seeing someone’s true face. It was worth it." Without another glance, I turned and walked toward the door. As my hand touched the handle, his voice came from behind me, low and cold. "August, business is war. Don't blame me for what comes next." I paused for a moment but didn't look back. Back in my office, I began packing my things—a few notebooks filled with client notes, a battered fountain pen, and one small memo book that held every client's quirks and preferences. I was placing them into a cardboard box when the door suddenly opened. Yvette stepped in, her expression practiced and polite. "Sir August, my brother-in-law said you need to hand over all the client files to me." I didn't even look up, continuing to organize my desk. She hurried forward and slammed her hand down on the box. "These are company property. You can't take them." My face stayed calm. "There's nothing here you want—these are my personal items." "And one more thing—don't call Sir. You don’t deserve it." Her expression twisted, the sweetness on her face vanishing in an instant. "August, stop pretending," she sneered. "I'm warning you—if anything goes wrong with the client handover, my brother-in-law won't let you off easily." When I didn't respond, she suddenly leaned closer, her tone dropping to a whisper. "Don't blame me, Sir. I'm just doing this for the company." Before I could react, she suddenly threw herself at me, tearing open her blouse with a sharp rip. Her voice rose in a piercing scream— "No! Help! Somebody help me!" The next second, the office door slammed open. Geoffrey burst in with two security guards. They didn't ask a single question. They grabbed me, slammed me against the wall, and the next thing I knew, fists and boots were raining down. I curled up, protecting my head and stomach as the pain throbbed through my ribs. "You beast!" Geoffrey's roar echoed in my ears. "I treated you like a brother, and you dare assault your own assistant in broad daylight?" "You're nothing but a monster!" Within minutes, the hallway outside was packed with gawking coworkers. Their whispers rose like a tide. "I knew he wasn't a good person!" A female colleague who once greeted me with smiles now spoke with open disdain. "Remember that company trip? He couldn't keep his hands off the women." “That’s right!” another chimed in immediately. “One time, when I worked overtime late, he insisted on driving me home. Thinking about it now gives me chills.” Greyson from the marketing department pushed forward, his face full of outrage. “Don’t you know? I heard he spent three days and nights in a hotel with a female client just to close that big deal last time!” “That client’s nearly fifty!” someone exclaimed. “I told you—no way he got that deal so easily!” “And that’s not all,” said Newman from the finance department, adjusting his glasses. “Every time he files reimbursements, there are discrepancies in the paperwork. I’ve caught him several times, but he talked his way out of it.” “If it weren’t for the boss keeping such close tabs this time, who knows how much he would’ve embezzled!” Morgan from IT jumped in confidently. “Remember when the company’s computer system got infected? I bet it was him! He was the last one to leave that night—I checked the logs. His computer accessed suspicious sites.” In the middle of the chaos, Yvette kept sobbing softly, deliberately tugging her torn blouse wider, exposing the marks on her shoulder. Those marks on her shoulder were clearly pinched out by herself just moments ago. "Disgusting hypocrite!" "Pervert!" "Leech!" "I can't believe I ever worked with someone like him!" The chorus of insults filled the hallway, sharp and relentless. Geoffrey pulled out his phone, his tone righteous and cold. "August, you've truly disappointed me! I'm calling the police right now—you can explain this in jail!" Just as he was about to dial, the front desk receptionist came rushing in, breathless. "President Peyton! Mr. Hansen from Aldoria Group is here. He said he has a ten-billion-dollar contract—and he insists on meeting Mr. Romero personally." The room fell dead silent. Geoffrey froze mid-motion. Yvette's trembling hand—still clutching her torn blouse—hung awkwardly in the air.