Her Fake French My Real Revenge Chapter 2

Why? I couldn’t understand. Are job applicants just disposable? Meant to be summoned and dismissed at will, without even a shred of basic human respect? Or was it simpler than that? In their eyes, we weren’t even human.

When I refused to leave, demanding an explanation, Ryan’s face tightened with impatience. He stormed toward me and shoved me, hard, toward the edge of the stage.

I stumbled backward, losing my balance, and tumbled off the platform. Pain shot through my entire body as I hit the floor. I lay there, trembling.

"More theatrics," Ryan sneered from above. "Why don't you just admit you lied about your degree? Aren't you tired of playing the victim?"

I slowly, painfully, held up my hands. They were already starting to bruise from the fall. "Is this an act, too?" I asked, my voice shaking.

Ryan's expression faltered for a second before he hardened it again. "You did that to yourself!"

But it was too late. This was a live broadcast. Millions of people had just seen him physically assault a candidate.

Fearing a PR nightmare, the production team frantically cut the live feed.

After a commercial break and a hushed, intense discussion, the show returned. Ryan stood center stage, his face arranged into a mask of solemn sincerity, and declared that the show was absolutely, unequivocally fair to all candidates. As a testament to that fairness, he made a magnanimous announcement.

"Stella Morgan, it's your lucky day. The producers have agreed to invite a French guest to speak with you. You will be given a chance to prove yourself!"

He smiled benevolently. "Please believe me, here at The Boardroom, we never let true talent slip through our fingers!"

The twelve lights above me blinked back on.

Facing the camera, Ryan led the studio in a round of applause for me. Then, as the clapping subsided, he leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper in my ear. "You piece of trash. You're wasting my time."

He pulled back, smiling again for the cameras. "The team has decided to bring in a whole panel of French speakers to expose you. Let's see you talk your way out of that."

But the person who needed to worry was Victoria Davenport. On the judges' panel, her face was a sickly shade of pale.

During the extended break, she found me in the drab waiting room. "Stella, you should drop out now," she said, skipping any preamble.

"Even if you expose me, so what? I'll be embarrassed for a day. I'll pay a PR firm to scrub the articles, silence the online mob, and I'll still be a CEO."

She could afford to play this game, she told me.

I couldn't.

If I dared to humiliate her on national television, she would make sure I never worked in this country again.

The absurdity of it was suffocating. "And what if I just leave?" I asked. "If I walk away and let everyone believe I'm a liar? You think my life will be any better?"

No. The entire industry would blacklist me. What would I do then? Collect cans? Work sanitation? How would I support my family? How would I even survive?

Victoria was completely indifferent. "Don't be so picky. You should be grateful for any job you can get. So what if the pay is low and the work is hard? Young people today are just too soft."

I had only one thing to say to her.

"Get out."

Her face contorted in rage, and a stream of curses poured from her mouth. "You stupid bitch! You have no idea what real power is! You're a fucking nobody, and you think you can challenge me? You think we can't crush you with a single phone call?"

I pointed a trembling finger at the door. "Get. Out."

She slammed the door on her way out.

All I had to do was wait. Get back on that stage. Exposing Victoria now would be more effective than showing a thousand diplomas.

But when the show went live again, the promised French guest was nowhere to be seen.

Ryan Shaw grinned at me, a predator's smile. "Ms. Morgan, the producers have arranged an even more exciting segment for you!"

He exchanged a look with Victoria. A cold dread washed over me. I finally understood. A promise, a chance—they could take it away just as easily as they gave it.

The boss always gets the final say.

Ryan's voice boomed across the studio. "To bring this farce to a swift conclusion, and at the suggestion of Ms. Davenport, we've invited two very special guests to the stage."

As he spoke, two figures walked out from the wings. My parents.

My heart stopped. They stood blinking under the harsh lights, trembling as thousands of eyes fixed on them.

I lost control. "What have you done?" I shrieked at the producers. "Why are you dragging my parents into this? This is about me! Leave them out of it!"

The next thing I knew, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. My mother had slapped me.

"How dare you!" she hissed, her voice shaking. "You're the one who caused all this trouble! You're a liar! Apologize to Ms. Davenport right now!"