My Snobbish Boss Called Me a Doormat

During a team dinner, I casually mentioned I had to go home and cook dinner for my boyfriend. The female manager sitting across from me rolled her eyes on the spot. "What century are we living in? Why are you being such a doormat? Do your parents know you're this pathetic?" I explained I was just picking up groceries on my way home and whipping up a quick meal. No big deal. She threw her fork down. "You make eight thousand a month, you split the rent 50/50, and you're still cooking and buying groceries for him? Are you out of your mind?" "Look at my husband. He makes seven figures, we have a housekeeper, and I never set foot in the kitchen. A woman needs to respect herself. Don't live like a free maid." I just smiled and kept quiet. She had no idea that my boyfriend was the majority shareholder of this very company. And her husband, the one she bragged about every single day at the office, was just a project manager under my boyfriend—someone whose name he couldn't even remember. The table went quiet for a couple of seconds. Then, a few colleagues chimed in, letting out knowing, polite chuckles. Zoey, who was sitting next to me, nudged my elbow and whispered, "Don't take it to heart. Victoria is just like that." I took a sip of my lemon water and shook my head, letting her know I was fine. Victoria Miller—my direct supervisor and the Administration Manager. She was forty-two, with perfectly styled curls, always wearing the trendiest manicure, and a Cartier Ballon Bleu on her wrist. It was her go-to show-off piece, which she never failed to mention was an "anniversary gift from her husband." Seeing that I remained silent, she got even more excited. She swirled her wine glass and scanned the room. "Let me tell you girls, you can never go soft on men. Men need to be trained. The more you pamper them, the more they'll walk all over you." Brenda from accounting quickly chimed in, "Oh, absolutely! Your husband, Richard, adores you so much, Victoria. That Hermès Birkin he got you last time—he bought that all on his own initiative, right?" Victoria tilted her chin up, a smug smile spreading across her face. "Of course. If there's one thing about my husband, it's that he's incredibly generous. He always says women are meant to be spoiled. Spending money is our talent; making it is a man's job." She turned her gaze back to me, her tone dripping with the condescension of an elder dispensing unwanted wisdom. "Chloe, you're only twenty-six. Don't turn yourself into a desperate housewife. What's a boyfriend anyway?” “Before you sign those marriage papers, he's just a stranger. You're doing his laundry and cooking for him. In the end, he can just pack up and walk away. Who are you going to cry to then?" I set my glass down and said calmly, "Victoria, we have a great relationship. And I actually enjoy cooking." "Enjoy?" Victoria laughed out loud, her laughter laced with blatant contempt. "Oh, please. What woman naturally enjoys cooking? You're only doing it because your boyfriend is mediocre at best, and you're terrified of losing him." A few colleagues laughed along. Under the table, Zoey squeezed my hand. I looked down at my barely touched plate of rice, taking a deep breath. Honestly, it wasn't that I couldn't fight back. But whenever I ended up in situations like this, I always remembered what Aiden said. "Don't waste your energy on irrelevant people. They aren't worth it." Aiden Carter. My boyfriend. He was also the majority shareholder of Carter Holdings. The ceiling of this company—and three floors above that—belonged to him. But he never let me expose our relationship at work. When I first joined, he even made sure HR processed my application through the standard channels without any special treatment. "It's good for you to experience corporate life," he had said back then, leaning against the sofa, casually flipping channels with the remote as if we were discussing what to have for dinner. "But if you ever get bullied, you have to tell me." I told him I wasn't going to war. He turned off the TV, looked at me, and smiled. "That's because you haven't seen the real corporate world yet." Thinking back to those words now, I had to admit he had foresight. By the time the dinner ended, it was already nine. I said goodbye to everyone, grabbed my purse, and walked out of the restaurant. The March night breeze was chilly. I wrapped my coat tighter around myself and was about to call an Uber when my phone buzzed. Aiden had sent me a Snapchat: The ingredients are in the fridge. I've washed them all. You can just cook when you get back. Below was a photo. Inside the fridge, chopped broccoli, peeled shrimp, and minced garlic and herbs were neatly arranged in containers, perfectly sealed with plastic wrap. I couldn't help but smile, typing back: Since when did you learn how to meal prep? He replied instantly: I don't want you to work too hard. I stood on the sidewalk laughing for a while. The frustration Victoria had caused completely evaporated. When I got home, Aiden was sitting on the living room sofa looking at his tablet. He was wearing a grey lounge tee, and his hair was slightly messy. A cup of warm honey water sat on the coffee table, next to an open bag of mixed nuts. "Why so late?" He looked up, pushing the honey water toward me. "Just a team dinner. We chatted for a bit." I slipped into my house slippers, walked over, and sat down. The honey water was the perfect temperature. He stared at my face for two seconds before setting his tablet down on the coffee table. "Who upset you?" "No one." "Chloe, when you lie, your right eyebrow twitches." I touched my eyebrow, amused by his bizarrely precise observation skills. "It's just Victoria from my department. She said some... unpleasant things during dinner." "Like what?" "She said cooking for you makes me a free maid. She called me a doormat and said I was out of my mind." I tried to sound lighthearted, but my voice still trailed off with a bit of deflation. "I guess she thinks women shouldn't set foot in the kitchen." Aiden didn't answer immediately. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close to him. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke in a low voice. "Victoria Miller? From Administration?" "You know her?" "I don't," he paused. "But I know her husband. Richard Miller. He's a manager in the Phase II project group. During the project audit last year, his team messed up some data and almost got sued by the client." "That serious?" "Not too serious. They patched it up later. But he's sloppy and has only survived this long because of his seniority." He looked down at me. "Do you care about what she said?" "Not really." "Yes, you do." "...Okay, maybe a little," I mumbled, burying my face in his chest. "She said it in front of a dozen people. I couldn't exactly throw a tantrum there." His fingers gently brushed the stray hairs away from my forehead. His tone was incredibly calm. "So, how do you want to handle it?" "I don't. I'll just swallow it. It'll blow over." Aiden didn't say anything else, but I felt his arm tighten around me just a bit.Over the next week, things didn't blow over the way I hoped. In fact, they got worse. On Monday morning, as soon as I sat down at my desk, Victoria walked out of her office. She was holding a stack of files, her usual polished, sweet smile plastered on her face. "Chloe, come here for a second." I followed her and stood in front of her desk. She pushed the files toward me. "This is the proposal for next month's team-building retreat. Redo it today. The previous draft was too sloppy." I flipped through it, my brows furrowing. This proposal wasn't mine. It belonged to Lucy, another colleague in the admin department. And it had already been finalized and signed off by Victoria herself last Friday. "Victoria, this is Lucy's project—" "Lucy took a sick day today. You're filling in." She didn't even look up from her phone, her voice airy. "Don't keep trying to pass the buck. Young people should work more. It's good experience." I opened my mouth but ultimately said nothing, carrying the files back to my desk. Tuesday. "Chloe, audit all the expense reports for March. Hand them to me before noon." Wednesday. "Chloe, set up the client reception this afternoon. Coffee, mineral water, projector—make sure nothing is missing." Thursday. "Chloe, there's an issue with this month's attendance sheet. Recalculate it." By Friday, my desk was buried under a mountain of paperwork. Aside from my own administrative tasks, Lucy's work, slacker Marcus's tasks, and even some of the approval summaries that Victoria was supposed to do herself had all been dumped on me. And every single handoff started with the exact same line: "Chloe, handle this." I rubbed my temples in front of the computer screen. My coffee had already gone cold. Zoey poked her head over from the next cubicle, handing me a chocolate bar. Her expression was grim. "Have you noticed? Victoria is totally targeting you lately." "Yeah." "You didn't play along with her during the dinner, and she probably felt humiliated." Zoey lowered her voice. "She is incredibly petty. She targeted Lauren from marketing a while ago, making her life a living hell for three months until Lauren finally resigned." I unwrapped the chocolate and took a bite. The sweet taste melted in my mouth, but my mood didn't improve. "I'll just deal with it," I said. "You're dealing with way too much." Zoey looked at me, hesitating before turning back. At three in the afternoon, my email pinged. I opened it. It was a weekly wrap-up email Victoria had sent to the entire department. One paragraph read: Some team members have been showing a sloppy work ethic this week. Multiple tasks were delayed, affecting the department's overall efficiency. I hope everyone corrects their attitude. Do not bring your personal relationship drama into the office. Work is work, and dating is dating. People who can't prioritize don't belong in the Administration Department. Though she didn't name me, everyone in the department knew exactly who she was talking about. The reference to "dating" was too obvious. Within ten minutes of the email being sent, the WhatsApp group chat came alive. "Victoria is absolutely right. Work should always come first." "Totally agree." "Well said, Victoria." Zoey sent me a Snapchat: Ignore them. A bunch of brown-nosers. I stared at the echoing replies on the screen. My hand gripped the mouse so hard my knuckles turned white. It wasn't out of hurt. It was because of how absurd it was. This entire week, I had stayed until eight or nine every night, delivering every single task she threw at me on time. And my reward was a passive-aggressive public call-out. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Aiden: Come home early today. I bought those organic cherries you love. I stared at the message for a long time, suddenly feeling a burning sensation in my eyes. I replied with two words: Will do.The real boiling point came the following Wednesday. At ten in the morning, the company suddenly called an all-hands meeting. About thirty or forty people sat in the conference room. All the department managers were present. The projector screen displayed a slide: "Q2 Strategic Adjustment and Layoff Plan." I sat in the back corner, flipping through the meeting materials. The speaker was Vice President Harrison Vance, a middle-aged man wearing gold-rimmed glasses who spoke in a slow, deliberate cadence. "...To align with the group's overall cost-cutting directives, we will implement stack ranking across all departments in Q2.” “The specific list of low-performing employees will be evaluated and submitted by each department manager to HR by next Friday." Whispers broke out across the conference room. Stack ranking. Everyone in the corporate world knew how lethal those words were. My heart sank. I instinctively looked at Victoria, who was sitting in the front row. She was looking down, taking notes, her expression unreadable. After the meeting ended, people walked out in small groups. Just as I stood up, I heard Victoria call my name from the front. "Chloe, stay behind for a second." The room gradually emptied until only the two of us were left. She sat in her chair without moving, crossing her legs, spinning a pen in her hand. "Sit." I pulled out a chair and sat down. "You heard what was said in the meeting." She spoke slowly, but every word carried an unyielding weight. "Our department of four has to submit one name for the layoff list." My stomach dropped. "Victoria, my performance recently—" "I've seen your work," she interrupted, tapping the pen lightly against the table. "But Chloe, performance isn't just about how much grunt work you do. Attitude, cooperation, and team integration are all part of the evaluation." She paused, her eyes sweeping over my face, a slight smirk playing on her lips. "I'm not targeting you over the dinner incident, but your reaction back then really made everyone feel... you're not a team player." My fingers clenched against my knees. "Not a team player." The ultimate corporate weapon. Throw that label on someone, and it justifies anything. "Victoria, I—" "Don't bother defending yourself." She stood up, smoothing her hair, looking down at me. "I'll give you a chance.” “Before next Friday, I want you to redo the entire Q1 Comprehensive Administrative Report. If the quality is up to standard, I might reconsider the list." The Q1 Comprehensive Administrative Report. That was a summary analysis of the entire department's quarterly operations, covering procurement, logistics, HR coordination, and budget execution. Normally, Victoria was supposed to write this report herself. She was dumping her own workload onto me and packaging it as a "chance." If I did it, she got to relax and take all the credit. If I didn't, my name would be on the layoff list. I sat in the empty conference room, watching her walk out. The hem of her beige trench coat fluttered at the door before she disappeared. In the silent room, only the low hum of the projector fan remained. I closed my eyes and took three deep breaths. Her condescending smirk echoed in my mind, as if she were looking at someone who was already packing her bags. My phone lit up. Aiden: Lunch? The sushi place downstairs just launched a new sashimi combo. I held the phone, hesitating for a long time. In the end, I decided not to tell him. I replied: A bit busy at noon. Grab lunch without me. He quickly replied: Okay. Go home early tonight. I've got some leftover beef stew in the fridge. I'll heat it up and wait for you. I flipped my phone face down on the table, staring up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. Don't cry. She isn't worth it.Over the next few days, I poured every ounce of my energy into that report. During the day, I handled my daily tasks. At night, after dinner, I sat in front of my computer sorting through data. Q1 administrative expenses, logistical requests from various departments, procurement contract ledgers... Some data could be pulled directly from the system, while others required cross-referencing with finance and HR. Aiden walked to the study door twice to check on me. He didn't say anything, turning back to the living room. A few minutes later, a glass of warm milk or a small plate of sliced fruit would appear on my desk. He didn't ask what was keeping me busy. But he knew I was unhappy. By Thursday night, I finally finished the draft. Forty-eight pages, complete with charts, data, and thorough analysis. As I filled in the final color on the pie chart, I glanced at the clock—1:14 AM. The living room lights were still on. I walked out of the study and saw Aiden asleep on the sofa. His tablet had slipped to his side, and the TV was on mute. A bowl of warm chicken soup sat on the coffee table, covered with a small plate to keep the heat in. I knelt down and gently touched his cheek. He woke up almost instantly, grabbing my hand, his voice thick with sleep. "All done?" "Yeah." "What time is it?" "Past one." He frowned, sitting up, and pushed the soup toward me. "Eat first." I picked up the spoon and took a sip. The chicken soup was perfect, the broth rich and comforting. "It's delicious," I said. He rubbed his eyes, looking at the dark circles under my eyes, and suddenly asked, "Chloe, is someone at work bullying you?" The spoon froze in my hand. "No—" "For the past week, you've been working late every night. You're talking less, and you're barely smiling." His gaze was direct, not sharp with accusation, but steady and serious. "You don't have to tell me, but please don't carry this all on your own." I looked down at the soup, the steam blurring my vision. "It's just... some trouble at work." "Victoria?" "Yeah." He didn't pry further. He simply reached out, pulled me to sit beside him, and wrapped a blanket around me. "Do you want to handle it yourself, or do you want me to step in?" "Myself," I answered almost instinctively. He was quiet for a few seconds, then nodded. "Okay." That night, he held me on the sofa for a long time. The TV screen flickered silently, but neither of us watched. Leaning against his chest, I suddenly thought of Victoria's words. "Doormat," "simp," "free maid," "out of your mind." If she could see this right now—the "mediocre" boyfriend she talked about, waiting up for me in the living room at 1:00 AM, having made me a bowl of hot soup... What would she think? She'd probably still say, "What century are we living in? It's just a bowl of soup."On Friday morning, I laid the printed report on Victoria's desk. She took it and flipped through it, her expression unchanged. "Leave it here. I'll take a look." I turned to leave. Just as I reached the door, she called out, "Chloe." "Yes?" "Your data analysis is quite detailed, but the formatting and layout need adjustments. Also, the conclusion is too brief. Rewrite it." She handed the report back, her eyes scanning my face with intense scrutiny. "Send the final version to my email by 4:00 PM." I took the report and flipped to the last few pages. The formatting followed the company's standard template perfectly. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the layout. As for the conclusion, it spanned two and a half pages of detailed analysis and recommendations. She was just making me redo it. Pure, baseless busywork. "Okay, Victoria," I heard myself say. My voice was eerily calm. Back at my desk, I opened the document and mechanically adjusted the line spacing and font sizes. Zoey whispered from the side, "She's doing this on purpose." "I know." "Then why are you—" "To keep her happy," I said without looking up. "It's only a couple of hours anyway." Zoey opened her mouth but sighed, saying nothing. At 3:50 PM, I sent the revised report to Victoria's inbox. At 3:55 PM, she replied with a single line. Received. Thanks. I stared at the word "Thanks." It felt laughable. However, what truly broke me wasn't this report. On Monday morning, four days before the layoff list was due, Victoria sent a message to the department WhatsApp group. @All, regarding the Q2 performance optimization, after careful evaluation, the Admin Department's recommended layoff name is: Chloe Sterling. If there are any objections, please submit them to the department manager by Wednesday. I stared at my name on the screen. The air around me seemed to freeze.