They Mocked The Wrong Man

Marcus dragged the heavy furniture bundle up the stairs, sweat soaking through his shirt and dripping down his beard. The delivery guy had literally thrown it at him from the doorway without a word.

He pulled out his phone and opened his banking app. The screen glared back at him—four dollars and twelve cents in bright red. He refreshed his phone but the same amount displayed on his screen.

"Problem, Marcus?"

He didn't need to look up. That voice meant trouble. Derek, a junior executive, in the finance department, and his professional tormentor.

The suit Derek wore cost more than Marcus's entire month's salary.

"My deposit's late," Marcus said, keeping his voice level.

"Oh, I know." Derek's grin widened. "I personally told accounting to hold it. I wanted to see your face when you checked your account. Worth every second."

Heat flooded Marcus's face. "Why? I've got bills, Derek. My wife's pregnant."

"Did you hear that?" Derek turned to a cluster of interns loitering nearby, his voice dripping with mock concern. "The errand boy thinks his bills matter!"

They erupted in laughter.

"Someone give him a tissue," one intern called out.

"Wait, he probably can't afford tissues," another added.

"He should use his sleeves in that case," a third one chimed in, pointing. "Look at that shirt. When's the last time that I saw a washing machine?"

Marcus's jaw clenched.

"Marcus, Marcus, Marcus." Derek stepped closer, invading his space. "Maybe if you cleaned the toilets better, we'd pay you on time. But right now? You're lucky we let you breathe the same air as us."

"Those shoes though," an intern with gelled hair snickered. "Did you fish those out of a dumpster? Seriously, there's a sole flapping off."

"Goodwill rejected those," another one said.

"Even the homeless wouldn't take them," a girl in designer heels added, wrinkling her nose.

Derek held up a black folder, savoring the moment. "Anyway, you're not going home yet."

"I can't today." Marcus's voice strained knowing already what this meant.

"It's Vanessa's party and also my unborn baby's gender reveal. Everyone's waiting..."

"Mr. Langford needs this." Derek waved the folder. "In his office. Now."

"Derek, I cannot.."

"I don't care about your little party, Marcus." Derek's eyes went cold. "Mr. Langford wants this delivered to his hand. His exact words? 'Tell that pathetic messenger if he's not in my office in five minutes, he's fired.'"

"But the 9 PM rule," Marcus protested. "Mr. Langford said he'd fire anyone who bothered him after 8:30."

"Today's an exception, dummy." Derek rolled his eyes dramatically. "You think I'd waste my breath talking to you if it wasn't?"

"There has to be someone else."

"You hesitate, you're gone, fired and blacklisted. Good luck feeding that pregnant wife on zero income." Derek patted Marcus's cheek like a dog. "Now run along. Don't keep the king waiting."

Marcus swallowed hard. He couldn't lose this job. Not now. Not with the baby coming.

"Fine."

"Good boy." Derek's smile was poison.

Marcus walked toward the executive floor, each step heavier than the last. If Langford was in a meeting, he'd leave the folder and bolt. He'd still make it to Vanessa's party. He had to.

___________________

The executive floor was silent. Too silent. Marcus moved through the dim hallway, his footsteps barely audible.

He approached Langford's office door and stopped.

A sound slithered through the cracks in the door.

Muffled at first. Then clearer, a gasp, then a moan.

Marcus's hand froze on the folder.

He knew that voice, no, it had to be impossible. Without a sound, Marcus stepped closer.

Another moan, too clear to be mistaken.

His heart hammered against his ribs. His knees weakened.

It couldn't be. Vanessa barely visited him at work anymore because of the stares, the judgment. She was pregnant with their child. Her business was doing well. Why would she? 

He had to be wrong.

His hand found the doorknob. He needed to confirm this wasn't her. It couldn't be her.

Marcus pushed the door open.

Time stopped.

Victor Langford was bent over his desk. Beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, was Vanessa.

His wife stood before, eyes all white out and moaning like a p**n star.

They both jerked at the interruption. Vanessa's eyes found Marcus in the doorway. There wasn't the slightest hint of shame nor guilt, just irritation. 

"Are you serious right now?" she snapped, breathless.

Marcus couldn't speak. His throat closed. His world collapsing. 

"You can't stop now, baby," Vanessa whined, pulling Victor back down. "I was so close. So fucking close."

"Vanessa—" Marcus's voice cracked.

"Shut up, Marcus." She didn't even look at him. Her focus was entirely on Victor. "Please don't stop, baby. Please. I need this."

Victor smirked, not bothering to cover himself. "Should've knocked, messenger boy."

Vanessa almost died out of desperation, she couldn't hold herself any longer. And quickly, she slid Victor's hard c**k back into her with a moan and rode him dangerously. 

Marcus's heart tore right apart.