Nadia was the kind of colleague who smiled to your face but couldn't wait to poison your name the moment you walked away. Her greatest skill wasn’t in spreadsheets or reports — it was in crafting rumours, planting seeds of doubt, and manipulating conversations to destroy people smarter and more competent than her.
To the boss, she was sweet, loyal, trustworthy. But to her teammates, she was a storm — a gossipy, arrogant presence who pretended to be “cool” with the men in the office, always trying to cover up her incompetence by stepping on others. She had no real skills, no real achievements — just a mouth that ran faster than her brain and an ego that outgrew her talent.
And it worked for a while.
The boss listened. Promotions passed by deserving staff and landed on her desk. People got cold shoulders after she whispered lies about them. She was untouchable — until the day she wasn’t.
One morning, an anonymous email was circulated across departments. A scandal. Accusations of an affair between Nadia and the very boss who trusted her. Screenshots. Speculations. Old photos from company events taken out of context. She tried to explain, but her history had already betrayed her.
Then came the real blow. Someone smashed the windows of her car. A group of staff whispered that the boss’s wife had hired someone to do it. Some claimed they saw the wife herself shouting at Nadia in front of the office lobby, red-faced, hysterical, with half the HR department watching.
It spread like wildfire. No one defended her — not because they believed the affair, but because she had burned every bridge she ever crossed.
Suddenly, the same mouths that feared her were now adding details to the story. Former interns recalled how she bullied them. A colleague from another floor swore she once bragged about being a “wild girl” back in university. Every misstep from her past was now glued to the new scandal, and she had no allies left to protect her.
She sat alone in the break room one afternoon, staring blankly at the floor.
It finally hit her.
She had spent years making others feel small, joking about their failures, laughing when they got into trouble — and now the office had returned the favour. Tenfold.
No one cared if she was guilty or not.
They just enjoyed watching her fall.
People were already tired of her. Especially the guys — they couldn’t stand the gossip culture she brought into the office like a disease. She’d walk past the pantry and everyone would quiet down, not out of respect, but because no one wanted to be her next victim. She'd twist stories, spin harmless mistakes into juicy scandals, and whisper behind people’s backs as if it were a full-time job.
But now? Oh, how the tables have turned.
You spent years tearing people down, Nadia — mocking the ones who worked harder than you, humiliating those who didn’t stroke your ego. You belittled the competent just to mask your own incompetence. You made others look small to make yourself feel big.
But here’s the thing — how perfect are you, really? Have you even looked in the mirror?
You dragged names through the dirt while acting like you were spotless. You thought you could play God — judge, jury, executioner — like people's lives were episodes in your soap opera.
You exposed others, yet God kept your own secrets hidden… until now.
Now you’re the headline.
An anonymous email spreads like wildfire — accusing you of having an affair with the boss. Your car windows get smashed, and everyone knows who sent the warning. The boss’s wife, no less, storms into the office and curses you in front of everyone. And did anyone defend you? Not one soul. Not after what you’ve done to so many. You built no friendships, only alliances of convenience — and even they are gone now.
Suddenly, everyone remembers the hurt you’ve caused. And the stories grow more detailed, more damning. Even things from your university days — rumors of being loose, reckless — they resurface, now given new life by your own past victims.
You wanted to be feared? Congratulations. You are. But not in the way you hoped.
Today, you’re drowning in the same poison you used to feed others. And that? That’s not just karma. That’s divine justice — served cold, poetic, and overdue.
Let this be a lesson, Nadia. You open people’s shame to the world, thinking you're safe from consequence. But when God decides to reveal your truth, He doesn't whisper. He roars.
