CEO Cross

3

There’s a special kind of ache that comes with surviving corporate hell. The kind that isn’t physical; well, not entirely. The suits make their power plays, the CEO signs your sanity away, and you? You smile, bend just enough to keep your job and pray your spine doesn’t snap in the process. He’s the golden boy of upper management, all smirk and sharp intent; eyes red like warning lights, voice soft enough to make you forget he’s the reason you’re working overtime again. Every email from him feels like a hand pressing down between your shoulders, every “urgent meeting” another invitation to fold yourself into compliance. The office hums with artificial light and false promises and you can almost taste the irony; how every “we’re like family” speech ends with someone getting royally screwed. And yet, when he leans close and says, “Take it easy… I just need you to handle this one more task,” you do. You always do. Because in this place, rebellion doesn’t get you a raise. It just gets you replaced.