— "It’s astonishing how you even made it into this position with such credentials," said Maria Viktorovna, her tone dripping with disdain as she handed me back the stack of papers. "I wonder how some people manage to rise without any real experience."

A chill crawled down my spine, but I kept my expression impassive. This was the fifth reprimand of the day, and each one seemed harsher than the last.

My name is Elena Alexandrovna Ivanova. I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’ve been an analyst at a prestigious corporation for two years.

The company is led by my father, Viktor Mikhailovich Petrov. But no one knows this. Not even my husband, Alexei, is aware that his father-in-law is the influential CEO everyone speaks of.

When I was hired, I adopted my mother’s surname. It was a condition my father set: no special treatment, no nepotism. "At this company, you are an employee first. No one will know about our relationship until you’ve earned it," he had told me then.

I did it. I proved myself. I earned my position through hard work and dedication. No handouts, no shortcuts. People respected me for my skills and ideas—until Maria Viktorovna arrived.

My mother-in-law. Six months ago, she transferred from a competing firm. Our wedding with Alexei was modest—my father couldn’t attend due to a business trip.

We kept our family ties under wraps at work. Maria Viktorovna acted as though she had no idea who I was, occasionally throwing sly, critical remarks my way.

"Do you even know what a financial report looks like, Elena Alexandrovna?" she had said, mocking my attempt at an innovative approach.

"Such confidence in such a young woman," she would mutter loud enough for me to hear, assuming I couldn’t.

At first, I told myself it was just the adjustment period. Maybe she was simply asserting herself in a new company. Maybe this was how she treated everyone, especially younger employees.

But after a family dinner three weeks ago, I realized the truth. She thought I was unworthy of her son.

"Alexei could have done better," she had whispered to her husband, unaware I was just around the corner. "She’s too ordinary. No connections. No ambition."

If only she knew...

The pressure at work grew unbearable. Maria Viktorovna became bolder, interrupting me in meetings, critiquing my reports, setting impossible deadlines.

I stayed silent and worked even harder. I knew this was a battle I would win not through family connections, but through professionalism.

Alexei began to notice my increasing tension.

"Are you okay?" he asked one evening, his gaze concerned.

"It’s just work stress," I replied. I didn’t want to bring him into the conflict.

I had known that one day the truth would come out, but I hadn’t anticipated that it would be so soon or in such a public manner.

That fateful Monday, everything changed. We were gathered in the conference room with the entire department and several division heads.

I was presenting a new customer analysis system that I had worked on for a month. This system was designed to track consumer behavior in real-time, allowing for faster strategic adjustments.

I finished my presentation. Colleagues nodded in agreement—everyone could see the innovation behind the idea.

Then Maria Viktorovna stood up.

"Perhaps you should learn how to prepare reports without mistakes," she said, her voice icy, arms crossed over her chest. "And stop embarrassing us with these ridiculous proposals."

The room seemed to freeze. I stood, gripping the laser pointer, unable to believe what I was hearing.

Had she really just switched to the informal "you" in front of the entire department?

"Maria Viktorovna," the head of IT tried to interject, "Elena’s proposal is actually supported by data, and it could benefit us..."

"Or perhaps it’s just a load of nonsense?" she cut him off, her gaze never leaving me.

The tension in the room thickened. The awkward coughs, the wide-eyed stares—Maria Viktorovna had crossed a line.

My cheeks flushed. My temples pounded. I had always been composed, professional, but now a rush of anger swelled inside me. It was one thing to be humiliated privately, but to have my credibility destroyed in front of the entire department? That was another matter entirely.

"Thank you for your feedback," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "But if we look at the data, you’ll see that the system has already shown promising results in our test phase."

Maria Viktorovna’s anger only seemed to grow.

"Fine," she said coldly, rising from her seat. "I’ve made my opinion clear. Continue."

The meeting ended in an atmosphere of discomfort. As colleagues filed out, many threw me sympathetic glances, while others whispered among themselves. I was gathering my things when I heard her voice again, loud enough for everyone to hear:

"Is this the quality they hire now? No experience, no competence. Just flashy appearances and empty heads."

I didn’t look back. I simply walked out, my papers in hand, trying to maintain my composure.

In the restroom, I washed my hands in icy water. Deep breaths. In and out. Ten breaths to calm the storm building inside me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

"You’ll make it through this," I whispered to myself. "You always do."

But something inside me cracked. The line I had so carefully drawn between my personal and professional lives had been shattered.

Maria Viktorovna was actively trying to ruin me, and I couldn’t pretend it didn’t affect my home life anymore.

I knew what had to be done.

My father’s office was on the top floor. I rarely visited—it was part of our agreement. No preferential treatment. But today was different.

Elena Viktorovna, my father’s secretary, looked up with surprise when I entered.

"Elena Alexandrovna? How may I assist you?"

"I need to speak with Viktor Mikhailovich. It’s urgent," I said, my voice low and serious.

"He has a meeting in fifteen minutes, but…" she began, but I interrupted.

"It’s important. Please."

Her expression shifted, sensing the gravity of the situation. She pressed the button on her intercom.

"Viktor Mikhailovich, Elena Alexandrovna is here. She says it’s urgent."

"Let her in," my father’s calm voice responded.

As the door clicked shut behind me, I allowed the mask of professionalism to fall.

"Dad," I said, my voice trembling. It was rare for me to be this vulnerable in front of him. I had always been the strong one, the one he could rely on. But now, I felt small.

"What happened?" he asked, standing up from behind his desk and walking toward me, his gaze searching mine.

"It’s time," I said. "You told me to stay quiet. I’ve kept my promise. But now… either she goes, or I do."

"Maria Viktorovna?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

I nodded and recounted everything. The constant undermining, the pressure, the public humiliation earlier that day. How everything had become unbearable at both work and at home. He had known about the tension with my mother-in-law, but not about the extent of it.

He listened intently, his face neutral, but I knew him well enough to recognize the change in his demeanor. When my father was angry, the consequences were always severe.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked quietly.

I didn’t hesitate.

"Yes. I’ve proven I can stand on my own. I’m not afraid of being seen as ‘daddy’s girl’ anymore."

My father sat down, his fingers drumming lightly on his desk, deep in thought.

"Alright," he said, his voice resolute. "Tomorrow at ten a.m. in the conference room. I want the entire department there. And, of course, Maria Viktorovna."

I nodded, feeling a strange mixture of relief and anxiety.

"Thank you," I said.

"Don’t thank me yet," he replied, the CEO back in full control. "Go now, I have another meeting."

The next morning, the conference room buzzed with confusion. A meeting called by the CEO himself? Something significant was happening.

I took a seat in the corner, trying to remain unseen.

Maria Viktorovna entered last, her posture stiff, her expression smug. Clearly, she hadn’t expected this.

Exactly at ten o’clock, the door swung open. My father entered, his presence commanding attention. Silence fell immediately.

"Good morning," he began, his voice steady and authoritative. "I’ve called this meeting for a very specific reason."

He paused, his gaze briefly resting on me before continuing.

"Yesterday, I received reports of unacceptable behavior by one of our employees. Behavior that not only violates company ethics but basic decency."

A murmur rippled through the room. Maria Viktorovna’s shoulders tensed.

"Maria Viktorovna," my father said calmly, "please join us here."

She rose, her confidence visibly shaken. She hadn’t expected this.

"Elena Alexandrovna," my father continued, his tone measured. "Please come forward as well."

I stood, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes on me.

"My daughter," he said, addressing the room. "Elena Alexandrovna is not just an employee. She’s my daughter. And she has worked here without any special treatment, under her mother’s surname, just as she has proved herself to be a capable and respected analyst."

The silence in the room was deafening. Then, one by one, realizations dawned on the colleagues around us.

Maria Viktorovna’s face went pale.

"This is... impossible," she stammered.

"As for you, Maria Viktorovna," my father continued, "I was informed about your behavior yesterday. Not only did you humiliate a colleague, but you also violated the very ethics this company is built on. For that, you are fired."

The HR department will complete the necessary paperwork by the end of the day.

Her face twisted in anger and disbelief.

"This is unfair!" she cried. "Just because she’s your daughter!"

"It’s because you violated company policy," my father shot back. "If she weren’t my daughter, I would have done the same thing."

The meeting was dismissed, and as colleagues left, many offered their support. Maria Viktorovna stormed out without a word.

My father approached me after the room emptied.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Yes," I sighed, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. "It’s as if the burden has been removed."

"Remember," he said, his hand resting gently on my shoulder, "now everyone will be watching you more closely. You’ve set a new standard—maintain it."

"I will," I smiled.

That evening, I came home later than usual. Alexei was sitting in the living room, looking serious.

"Mom called," he said, his tone flat. "She told her side of the story."

I sank into the chair opposite him, unsure of what was to come.

"Andrei from IT talked to me," Alexei continued. "He told me what really happened. And now I know the truth."

I braced myself.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Alexei asked softly.

"I didn’t want you to love me for who my father is," I answered, my voice steady. "I wanted you to love me for who I am."

Alexei knelt in front of me, taking my hands in his.

"You’re right," he said, his voice tender. "Mom crossed every line. But you didn’t lower yourself to her level. Thank you for that."

A month later, I sat in my new office, now head of the analytics department. The promotion was well-earned. The numbers didn’t lie.

My colleagues now looked at me with a mix of respect and caution. But I was still Elena. And everyone knew who I really was.

On my desk, there was a photograph of me, Alexei, and my father at a family dinner. A real family, no secrets, no masks.

I had earned my recognition—not through my surname, but through my professionalism, integrity, and the courage to stand by who I truly was.