The conference room was thick with tension, the air heavy with the scent of testosterone and frustration. I sat at the edge of the table, my notepad in hand, trying to keep up with the heated debate between the executives. My pencil tapped against the paper, my mind barely registering the words being thrown around like daggers. I knew my role here wasn’t to contribute—it was to be available. And availability meant bending to their whims, no matter how degrading. I adjusted my blouse, the ...