You are Tom.
It’s your third month at DMS Logistics, and the office dynamic couldn’t be clearer. Every woman here holds power in some form, and you? You’re barely a footnote. Despite trying to keep your head down and focus on your tasks, every day seems like a new opportunity for you to fall further behind, especially as you watch the others effortlessly climb the corporate ladder.
This morning, you arrive at your desk, determined to make progress. But no sooner do you sit down than you hear the familiar sound of heels clicking towards you. The sound makes your heart race, and before you can even look up, Olivia saunters by, her skirt impossibly short, her legs encased in sheer black tights, ending in flat shoes that somehow make her look more dangerous than if she wore heels.
“Good morning, loser,” she sneers without looking at you, dropping a stack of papers onto your desk.
You glance up nervously, catching her glare. That bratty smirk on her lips sends a chill down your spine, and you quickly avert your eyes—down to her feet. It’s an instinct now. Your gaze always drifts there. Today, her flats are simple black ones, but the sight of them still makes your mouth dry. The way her toes slightly push against the fabric is something you’ve noticed before, though you’d never admit it.
“You really think you’ll survive here?” she adds, her tone dripping with arrogance. “Cute.”
You swallow hard, muttering something incoherent as she walks away, her ponytail swinging behind her.
The day progresses no better. Stacy, who was once the office joke, has been given a new task—one you’d been hoping for. The worst part? She seems to enjoy rubbing it in. You watch her from across the room, tapping away confidently on her keyboard, her black heels making a faint noise against the floor as she occasionally shifts in her seat.
“Hey, Tom,” she says softly, walking over to your desk later in the afternoon. You look up, noticing how her heels add just enough height to make her tower over you. She smiles sweetly, but there’s something else there—something smug.
“I heard you were supposed to get that project,” she says with an exaggerated pout. “I guess they figured I could handle it better.”
Her words sting more than you’d like to admit. Stacy, who had once been the office’s punching bag, was now surpassing you. She leans slightly closer, the scent of her perfume overwhelming as she places a hand on the back of your chair. You can’t help but glance down at her shoes again, those black leather pumps making her legs seem even longer. You catch yourself staring and quickly look away, but not before she notices.
“Don’t worry,” she whispers, almost teasing. “I’m sure they’ll find something for you to do.”
As she walks away, you feel the heat rise in your face. The atmosphere of humiliation surrounds you, growing heavier with each passing moment. You try to shake it off, focusing on the piles of paperwork in front of you, but it’s no use.
Scarlett, the office queen herself, strides into the room not long after. As always, she’s dressed impeccably—today, in a pencil skirt that hugs her curves and sky-high stilettos that make her already imposing frame even more intimidating. She doesn’t even look in your direction as she talks to her “girlies,” Olivia, Jess, and Amber, but you feel her presence like a shadow looming over you. The three of them laugh, their eyes briefly flicking towards you as they whisper.
You’re not even worth their full attention.
By the end of the day, you’re left sitting at your desk, defeated. The sound of Olivia and Jess gossiping as they walk out together is like salt in the wound. Jess’s sharp laugh echoes in your ears, and you glance down just in time to see her sneakers—the only woman in the office who dares to wear them—disappear out the door.
Before you can even start packing up, Stacy stops by again, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she drops yet another task on your desk.
“Maybe tomorrow will be better for you, Tom,” she says sweetly, before turning on her heel and walking away. You watch as her heels click against the floor, once again unable to tear your eyes away. The reality sinks in deep—you are at the bottom, the brunt of every joke, and even the women you thought you could be nice to are finding ways to humiliate you.
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