Stacy's face crumpled into wounded innocence:

"Sissy won't even take my little cakey... Does sissy hate Stacy...?"

I opened my mouth to fire back, but Arnold didn't even glance my way. Instead, he handed Stacy a tissue and cooed at her:

"Don't cry. I'll buy you some boba."

Stacy's tears vanished instantly. She latched onto his arm, all smiles:

"Arnold is the best~ Not like some people, always so mean. No wonder she doesn't have a boyfriend."

My nails dug into my palms.

Arnold James. My secret boyfriend of two years.

He just let her cling to him. Didn't pull away.

From that day on, Stacy's "accidents" multiplied.

She accidentally put wasabi in my coffee. Accidentally lost my delivery package.

And then she accidentally posted a photo of me working late to the department group chat, with the caption:

"Anita is soooo hardworking~ Still at the office this late... Could she be waiting for a certain executive? "

The angle was deliberate—it caught me adjusting my collar, making it look like I was... putting myself together after something.

The group chat exploded.

"Acts all high and mighty, but turns out she plays THAT game?"

"I heard she's always going up to the executive floor. You don't think..."

"Tsk tsk. So THAT'S how she became team lead. And here I thought it was merit~"

I tried to explain, but Stacy had already deleted the message. She followed up with a crying emoji:

"Sorry sorry, Stacy sent that by mistake~ Don't jump to conclusions, everyone! Although... Stacy doesn't really know why Anita is always going to the CEO's floor either..."

The more she "clarified," the worse it looked.

But what truly chilled me was Arnold.

He dragged me into the stairwell without bothering to hear my side:

"Anita, are those rumors true? You have been going to the executive floor a lot lately. And your bags, your clothes—they don't look like things a regular employee could afford!"

I stared at him, feeling like I was looking at a stranger.

"Arnold, we've been together for two years. You don't know what kind of person I am?"

He looked away, guilt flickering across his face:

"I thought I did. But people change. Stacy's right—you're too secretive. You never tell me anything. If you're really innocent, why won't you just explain?"

I laughed. My eyes stung.

Three months ago, my father—the chairman of Fox Group—had sent us both to a subsidiary to test Arnold.