The hospital discharged Tina with a bag of medication, a referral for neurology, and a pamphlet about “end-of-life planning” folded discreetly into the bottom of her file.

She clutched it tightly the entire cab ride home but never opened it.

The moment she stepped into her apartment, the familiar scent of vanilla candles and Sophie’s favorite hairspray wrapped around her like a worn blanket. A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding finally escaped her lips.

“I’m home,” Tina whispered to no one.

“In here!” Sophie called from the living room.

Tina dropped her keys and turned the corner—and nearly fainted again.

Sophie was in the middle of the room, wearing an electric green leotard, a purple feather boa, and dramatic rhinestone makeup. Her arms were mid-flourish, her face serious as she rehearsed lines from a children’s theater audition.

Tina blinked. “Are you… supposed to be a magical avocado?”

“Fairy lettuce,” Sophie corrected, spinning with a wand made of glitter glue and doom. “For a TV commercial. Don’t ask.”

Tina burst into unexpected laughter, weak and broken and perfect.

Sophie caught the tremor behind the smile. “Wait. You look pale. Are you okay?”

Tina sat slowly on the couch, pressing a hand to her temple.

“I collapsed at work,” she said quietly. “In the restroom.”

Sophie’s expression shifted instantly. The wand dropped. “What?”

“I’ve been having headaches. Nosebleeds. I thought it was stress.”

“And?”

Tina hesitated, then pulled the hospital wristband from her purse and laid it on the coffee table like a funeral card.

“They ran a scan. I have a tumor.”

Sophie sank into the chair across from her. “Tina…”

“It’s terminal,” Tina added, voice hollow. “Three months. Maybe four.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Sophie’s expression shattered—into fury.

“I’m going to kill him!”

Tina blinked. “What?”

“Luke. Lucifer. That corporate robot. He worked you into this. He’s going to answer for this.”

“You can’t—”

Sophie was already on her feet, ripping the feather boa off like it offended her soul. “Oh, I can. You don’t get to treat people like this and walk away untouched.”

Tina tried to smile, but it fell flat. “Sophie, it’s not his fault—”

“It is exactly his fault,” Sophie snapped. “He’s been emotionally torturing you for months. No breaks. No boundaries. All so he could build his little empire.”

“Sophie…”

“No,” she said, voice shaking. “He knew you weren’t okay. Everyone did. But he kept pushing. And now this?”

She grabbed Tina’s phone from the couch and opened the blog—Surviving the Corporate Jungle.

“Lucifer doesn’t just run a business. He runs his staff into the ground.

One girl collapsed yesterday. Nosebleed. Hospital.

She still showed up. Still performed. Still got scolded.

How many more lives do we let him ruin before we speak up?”

Tina read the post once.

Then she added a line of her own:

“That girl… was – yours truly.”

She clicked Post.

And the floodgates opened.

Within minutes, the comment section lit up like wildfire.

“He needs to be fired.”

“Expose him!”

“Who does he think he is?!”

“Kill Lucifer!”

“Name and shame the business!”

Sophie was already pacing the apartment, muttering about starting a hashtag war and printing posters. “Maybe we should make t-shirts. Or glitter bombs. Something with flair.”

Tina didn’t respond. She just stared at the screen.

Each comment felt like a drop of fuel.

Rage stirred in her chest—slow at first, then boiling.

She had been loyal. She had been diligent. She had bent herself backward until her spine cracked just to keep that place afloat. She had chased deadlines and swallowed humiliation like water. And what did it get her?

Three months to live.

Alone.

Overlooked.

Used.

And Luke Lawson didn’t even blink.

Sophie glanced at the clock. “Crap, I have to go. Audition’s at six.”

She dropped a kiss on Tina’s forehead and squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone. That’s my job.”

And then she was out the door, purple glitter trailing behind her.

Tina sat motionless, the glow of her laptop screen flickering in the darkened room.

She scrolled through the flood of comments, each one louder than the last.

“He deserves a taste of his own cruelty.”

“Burn that empire to the ground.”

“Lucifer won’t survive this blog.”

A strange clarity washed over her.

She wasn’t just angry.

She was done.

All this time, she had thought survival was enough.

But now?

She wanted justice.

No—not justice.

Retribution.

Tina stood slowly, the ache in her body a reminder of what little time she had left—but her eyes burned with a new kind of fire.

She walked to the mirror and looked at herself—not the assistant, not the victim, not the tired girl in the corner cubicle.

Someone else stared back.

Someone who had nothing left to lose.

Her glare was sharp and certain.

“You took everything from me,” she whispered.

“I won’t take it sitting down.”

Hatred sparked in her eyes.

And for the first time in weeks…

She felt alive.

Tina rose from the couch like a woman reborn, stripped of fear, armored in fury. Her body ached, her head still pulsed with pressure—but none of it mattered anymore.

She marched to the bathroom and turned the faucet on full blast. The water hit her skin like reality, sharp and bracing. She scrubbed away the hospital’s scent, the exhaustion, the helplessness.

By the time she stepped out, her mind was clear. Focused.

She pulled open her wardrobe with new purpose.

No more pencil skirts. No more blazers or heels meant to impress people who would never see her.

She chose black pants. A simple fitted polo. She tied her hair back into a sharp ponytail, every strand secured like a statement.

Gone was the meek girl buried under deadlines and painkillers.

This version of Tina Matthews didn’t wait for permission.

Tina grabbed her phone and car keys, slid it into her pocket, and left her apartment without another word.

As she approached her car, only one thought came to her mind:

"He’s going to pay.”