Chapter 3: Rivalry and Dark Temptation

Even after I got to the office, I was still shaken by what happened. That's when I ran into Chris Evans, just back from a business trip.

The elevator doors slid open, and there he was—freshly tanned, hair perfectly styled, rolling his suitcase behind him like he’d just stepped off a magazine cover. Chris grinned at me, flashing those straight white teeth that always made him look like he belonged on a billboard instead of in a cubicle.

"Hey, Nate, you've lost a ton of weight—got some serious dark circles too."

He clapped me on the back, his cologne hitting me like a wall. “Rough night? Or did you finally start hitting the gym?” His voice was light, but there was an edge underneath.

He looked me up and down, his tone barely hiding his smugness.

He lingered on my rumpled shirt, the bags under my eyes. I could feel the judgment in his gaze. “You all right, man? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

"That Chicago project must've been rough, huh?"

He leaned in, lowering his voice like we were sharing a secret. “Heard you pulled some late nights. Hope you didn’t burn out.”

Mr. Anderson was praising you yesterday—said the project went well, that you really came through for the company.

He paused, smirking.

“Not bad for a guy who’s usually flying under the radar, huh?” He winked, but it felt more like a jab than a compliment.

"Considering your background, Nate, it's pretty impressive you pulled it off."

He drew out the word ‘background,’ letting it hang in the air. I knew what he meant—state school, foster kid, not one of the golden boys. He didn’t have to say it out loud. I felt my fists clench at my sides.

Chris was my coworker, a classic trust fund kid who always looked down on me. The kind who never had to worry about rent.

He’d grown up in the kind of world I’d only seen on TV—country clubs, private schools, ski trips to Aspen. Everything about him screamed privilege, from the way he talked to the way he never seemed to worry about anything.

We were both gunning for the same product manager position. He loved to needle me, trying to trip me up whenever he could.

Every day was a competition, even when it didn’t have to be. He’d drop little digs in meetings, make jokes at my expense, all with that same fake-friendly smile. The rest of the team pretended not to notice, but I knew they saw it.

I forced a grin, nodded, and made a beeline for my cubicle. I focused on my computer screen, fingers flying across the keyboard, trying to drown out his voice and the memory of the morning’s events.

Of course he did. At the team meeting, Chris didn't let up. He started picking at my work in front of the bosses:

He sat across from me, arms folded, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Nate did a solid job on the Chicago wrap-up, but the client mentioned it could’ve used a little more… pizzazz.”

He shot me a sideways glance, lips twitching like he was barely holding back a laugh. “Nothing wrong with playing it safe, though.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I mean, not everyone’s got the same flair for innovation, right?”

"But getting this far is already good. After all, Nate's from a regular state school—his ideas are a little old-fashioned."

He shrugged, as if he were just stating a fact. “Some of us had more… international exposure, you know? It helps.”

He looked at the boss, as if expecting a pat on the back. “Just saying, a broader perspective never hurts.”

The boss nodded, not meeting my eyes. “Chris is right, Nate. Maybe you could shadow him for a bit—pick up some new approaches.”

Chris casually patted my shoulder, beaming:

He leaned in, voice syrupy sweet. “Let’s learn from each other, Nate. No rush. I believe in you—take your time.”

He leaned in, voice low. “Hope you’re not getting too comfortable, man…”

"Work hard, Nate. I know money's tight for you lately. But taking it slow might not cut it."

He grinned, teeth gleaming. “Not all of us have a safety net. Just saying.”

"You're older than me, but we're fighting for the same job. If you lose, won't that sting?"

His words hit harder than I expected. I felt the old shame creep in—the reminder that I was always a step behind, always scrambling just to stay in the game.

I was already wiped from the project, and Chris's constant taunting was pushing me over the edge.

My head throbbed, my shoulders tense. I could feel the exhaustion dragging at my bones, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. I wanted to scream, to hit something, to make it all stop.

Suddenly, my ears buzzed, and a rush of blood shot to my head—

Everything went white. The office noise faded out. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart, the rush of blood in my ears. My vision blurred at the edges.

"Kill him."

The thought flashed through my mind like lightning, so fast it scared me.

It was just a whisper, but it felt real—dangerous. I recoiled from it, horrified. I’d never thought like that before. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to breathe.

I suddenly remembered the stray dog from that morning, and its pained, dying howl behind me.

The memory hit me like a punch. I saw the dog’s eyes, heard its scream, felt the weight of what I’d done. My hand shook as I reached for my phone, but I stopped myself.

Taking a deep breath, I shoved the thought down, shouldered past him, and walked back to my desk.

I kept my eyes on the floor, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. I could feel Chris watching me, but I didn’t look back. I sat down, hands trembling, and tried to focus on my work. But the thought lingered, dark and heavy.