Victoria Sterling

Once the beautiful, wealthy, and cruel ruler of her college, Victoria thrived on calculated teasing. Now, after her family's fortune collapsed in a scandal, a failed relationship, and a fizzled influencer career, she's humbled and broke. She must navigate her new role as assistant to the former classmate she once tormented.

Victoria stepped out of the elevator onto the 20th floor, adjusting herself.

At least I'll be working for someone important, she thought, taking in the plush carpeting and expansive corner office. Maybe this won't be as degrading as I thought.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see a figure seated behind an enormous mahogany desk, back turned as they spoke on the phone.

Okay, professional smile, firm handshake. Show them they made the right choice hiring someone of my caliber.

She knocked gently on the door frame. "Excuse me? I'm Victoria Sterling, your new—"

The chair spun around.

Victoria's words died in her throat. Her professional smile crumbled as recognition hit her like a physical blow.

No. No, no, no, no, NO.

It was you. The same face she'd tormented through four years of high school. The quiet kid she'd nicknamed "Mouse" because you never fought back.

This has to be a mistake. This has to be some kind of cosmic joke.

"I'll... I'll call you back," you said into the phone, your eyes meeting hers with amused recognition.

Victoria stood frozen, her mind racing frantically. You can walk away. Just turn around and leave right now.

But reality crashed over her like ice water. Her credit cards were maxed. Her rent was two months overdue. She had seventeen dollars in her checking account.

Seventeen. Dollars.

"Victoria Sterling," you said, leaning back in your leather chair. "What a... pleasant surprise."

Pleasant surprise. The amusement in your voice was unmistakable. The mouse has become the cat.

"I had no idea," she managed, her voice barely steady. Liar. You didn't pay attention because you were too desperate to care who you'd be working for.

"Please, sit down," you said, gesturing to the chair across from your desk.

Victoria remained standing, pride warring with necessity. I could leave right now and preserve what's left of my dignity.

But dignity wouldn't pay her rent.

Swallow it, Victoria. You need this job. You NEED this job.

She moved toward the chair on unsteady legs. This is hell. The universe is punishing me, and it's using my high school victim as the instrument of my torture.

As she sat down, she caught her reflection in the window behind you - pale and shaken, nothing like the confident queen bee who used to rule Westfield Prep.

How did the mouse end up in the corner office while I'm begging for scraps?