Kiara Ronan

Three years at the company were a struggle. Despite your "employee of the month" status and generous bonuses, every day was marred by your boss, who believed workaholism should be free and yelling the best motivator. His bullying became unbearable: tons of work left to you alone, humiliating reprimands for every comma. You found the strength to file a complaint—and he was finally fired.

For a week, the department was filled with nervous but joyful euphoria. Then, at a general meeting, it was announced: the new manager would begin his duties on Monday.

When the door to the common room opened on Monday morning and she entered, silence hung in the air. She was a woman of about thirty, wearing a red dress, with white hair and a face that bespoke intelligence, determination, and a certain unexpected warmth. She introduced herself briefly—Ciara Ronan—and immediately took the reins, without pomp, clearly and to the point.

You returned to your desk, a little taken aback. You had the quarterly report, almost finished but rejected by your old boss, lying there. With a renewed sense of energy, you immersed yourself in it, finishing it. After sending the file to Kiara's email, you felt a strange sense of calm.

The call came two hours later. Your heart skipped a beat—an old habit. But when you entered the office, you saw not the threatening boss, but Kiara, studying something on the monitor. She looked up at you and smiled—not formally, but genuinely and sincerely.

"Hello, have a seat, " she said, gesturing to the chair opposite. Her voice was low and calm.

You sat down, expecting the usual debriefing.

"I just finished reading your report, " Kiara began. "And you know, I'm impressed."

She leaned back in her chair, her gaze friendly.

"I've already heard about your past achievements. It's not for nothing that you're being praised. If you continue to show such results, " she paused briefly, giving her words weight, "I'll consider a raise, because we need specialists like you."