I fell in love with a man who tore me down at the office every single day—and I had no idea they were the same person.

I look at my bank account. $412. That’s it. Rent is due in three days, and my boss is looking at me like I’m an insect he wants to squash under his expensive Italian loafers. I’m gasping for breath. I’ve spent months building a life in this city, and now it’s all centered around a man who treats my existence like a clerical error.

The CEO treats me like I’m nothing. He doesn’t just criticize me — he systematically deconstructs my work in front of everyone, calm as a robot. I spend my lunch breaks taking a moment to compose myself, trying to regain my focus.

The only thing — the only damn thing — keeping me from quitting and losing my apartment is that 9 p.m. notification on my phone. An anonymous chat app. A stranger who actually sees me.

We talk for hours. He’s exposed. He’s afraid of his own power. He hates the “mask” he has to wear at work. I’ve told him things that make my skin crawl—my deepest failures, my financial panics, how much I hate my “dictator” boss. I’m falling in love with a man who doesn’t even have a face because he’s the only oxygen I have left in this toxic city.

And I thought my secret was safe and my job was the only thing at risk. Oh, how wrong I was. My “soulmate” turned out to be the one holding my career in his hands.

After I messed up one tiny slide of a work presentation, I wasn’t just an employee anymore—I was a target. Official warnings started arriving in my inbox before I even got back to my desk.

HR was “pushed.” That’s corporate language for starting to pack my bags. I have no savings. If I lose this paycheck, I’ll be back on my parents’ couch 500 miles away, a total failure. My stomach twisted..

Then my boss came up to me in the open space. “We need someone who can actually function,” he said. I felt the heat rising to my neck. Everyone was staring at their laptops and not looking up. I checked my phone under my desk. A message from my anonymous person: “My team thinks I’m a monster today. I hate that I don't know how to stop."

I almost burst into tears on the spot. He was my only salvation, and I had no idea he was the one holding the knife. At 4:30 PM, my boss called me in for a performance review meeting. I could feel every beat of my racing heart.

I was standing by his door when my phone vibrated in my pocket. A message from my anonymous soulmate. “I’m going to ruin someone’s life today. I’ve reached the point of no return. I feel like a monster.” I typed back with shaking thumbs, “You’re not a monster. You’re just doing your job.” And I walked into my office.

The boss didn’t even look up, he was staring at his phone. His voice was like jagged ice. He started talking about “leave” and “shifting.” I stared at his desk in silence. His phone screen lit up. [1 NEW MESSAGE]. I saw the username. It was MY name. And my message was the one I had sent ten seconds ago. “You’re not a monster.”

I couldn't breathe. It felt like I couldn’t catch my breath. А sudden chill. The man who broke me down every morning was the same man I emotionally "slept" with every night. I felt a wave of profound disbelief. He looked up, frowning, then saw the phone in my hand with an app open.

He just sat there, clutching the phone like it was a weapon. I felt exposed. All those nights I’d spent confessing my deepest fears—about my rent, my anxiety, my hatred of him—he had it all. Every message was a confirmation of my weakness. He knew exactly how much power he had over me.

“Is this some kind of game to you?” My voice was hoarse and erratic. “You knew,” he said, and his eyes hardened again. “You saw the signs and played me. You wanted to get close to the CEO, didn’t you?” “I didn’t even know your last name was on that app!” I screamed. I didn’t care who was listening.

“I’m sorry you misinterpreted our connection,” he said. An empty, disgusting apology. He was already rewriting history. He told me the firing was still pending because “professional boundaries had been crossed.” He blamed me for the fire he had started.

Human Resources was at the door in seconds—two women with tablets and fake smiles. They didn’t ask if I was okay. They started talking about “renewing my non-disclosure agreement” and “violating the code of conduct.”

They were his watchdogs, sent to get me out of the building before I could say a word. They whispered that if I made a scene, they would make sure my next background check showed me as “unfit for work.”

Total BETRAYAL. I looked at the man I thought I loved, and all I saw was a manipulator hiding behind a screen. My stomach turned. I thought I was going to vomit right on his expensive carpet. I was being erased from history, and they were making it look like it was my fault.

I leaned over his desk, my face inches from his. “Want to talk about standards?” I hissed. “I’d love to see those ‘exposed’ conversations. The ones where you call them ‘helpless vultures.’ The ones where you admit you’re too unstable to lead.”

Complete, real SHOCK. He realized I wasn’t just a victim. I was a threat. I had every dark confession he’d ever typed. For the first time, he, NOT me, was the one who couldn’t breathe.

“Call security,” he muttered, his face turning a sickly pale. “DO IT,” I roared. I didn’t care about the HR vultures at the door or the forty people watching through the glass walls. “Call them! Show everyone a CEO crying about his ‘loneliness’ to an intern he’s beating up for fun.”

I felt the a sudden rush of adrenaline took over. My heart was beating so fast I thought my chest would burst. HUMILIATED? Not anymore. For the first time, I had the upper hand. “You think you’re a monster because you’re strong?” I spat, leaning into his personal space until he flinched. “You’re just a coward who needs an app to feel human.”

I grabbed my laptop and sent the entire chat history to my personal email, sending a copy to his personal assistant. I saw his hand shake as he reached for the phone. Too late. The leverage was mine. I didn’t wait to be led out.

I walked through the bullpen, past the whispering colleagues. I felt a strange, ragged laugh bubble up in unease. I had no job and no rent. But I felt… relief?!

I'm back in my hometown, sleeping on a mattress on the floor of my old room. My career is dead, and for the past three weeks I've been eating ramen and ignoring calls from debt collectors. Every time my phone rings, I flinch. EXPOSED. That's how I feel.

Today I got a message on Messenger from my ex-boss. "I haven't slept since you left. I'm leaving the board. I need to talk to the only person who really knows me. Please." I hate him. I really do. But my fingers hover over the keyboard. Part of me—the lonely, broken part—still misses the man on the screen.

Is he really changing, or is this just another step to take back CONTROL? I look at the delete button, but I can't press it. If you found out that your "soulmate" was ruining your life, would you take a second chance or let her rot in the silence she created?