Chapter 6: Viral Again

But Sneha’s daily update that night surprised me. Her Instagram feed was back—drama level: full. Her face filled my phone, voice syrupy with self-pity. She claimed she was being targeted after her confession failed: “Friends, today was a disaster. Everyone’s after me. I tried to be brave, but what can I do? This place is toxic!”

Her logic was something else: “Our boss has only one idea now: he wants to force me to sleep with him and be his mistress. He’s already in his thirties, definitely has perverted hobbies, and he’s always moody with me. I definitely won’t lose out, so let me, a Gen Z, clean up the office.”

She’d say anything for clicks. Her followers showered her with likes and supportive comments—some even offered legal advice. The video’s views climbed by the second. Her account was growing fast—already over 100,000 followers. By morning, every meme page from Mumbai to Kolkata had reposted her video, complete with spicy captions and GIFs. A WhatsApp group screenshot from my housing society even showed my face with a snarky “office ka villain” sticker. The HR aunties near the water cooler whispered in hushed tones, glancing at me whenever I passed.

After double-tapping a 111 for good luck, I saw her reply to me in the comments: “Babes, office mein toh full drama, but don’t worry, I’ll give you all the tea—literally and figuratively. If you follow now, you’re my OG fans. Tomorrow I’ll pick some lucky babes from the comments to send gifts.”

Ridiculous. She probably wouldn’t have time tomorrow. I made sure of it—I called in favours, reported her posts, and got our legal team involved. Her account vanished overnight. An account with over 100,000 followers—gone, just like that.

The next day, even her smile looked forced. Her eyes darted nervously, lips pressed tight, fingers fidgeting with her phone but the screen stayed blank. When I called her in, she looked utterly defeated, shuffling in with her head down, voice barely above a whisper.

“I had your account banned. If this blows up and I file a police complaint, you’ll end up in jail.”

Sneha’s face went pale as a ghost. She clutched the table, nearly fainting. “Sir, that account was just for fun. I never said anything bad about the company. If it’s gone, it’s gone. I won’t post anymore. Thank you, Sir, for not pressing charges. It was all fake, just for clicks.”

Her voice trembled, hands shaking. For the first time, I sensed real fear—her dreams of easy money, her influencer hustle, crushed in a second.

I smiled. “I won’t fire you. As for your colleagues, I’ve already scolded them. Go back to work.”

A slap and a laddoo—my father’s way. “Laathi bhi aur laddoo bhi, beta.”

Sneha thanked me and left quickly. With over 100,000 followers, she’d made a tidy sum from ads. Now it was all gone. With her vengeful, self-proclaimed office-cleaner personality, how could she let this go?

But as Sneha left, her eyes lingered on me a moment too long—like someone planning their next move. This game was far from over.