My Privacy, Your Prison

The air from the top-floor conference room's air conditioning was uncomfortably chilly. I gripped my pen tightly, eyes locked on the meeting minutes before me, while the department heads' reports filled the room. This management meeting was about the strategic plan for the next quarter; everyone was on edge. My husband, and the company's Co-founder, Miguel Leonard, sat right beside me. His assistant, Yolanda Scott, stood by the projector, ready to display the PPT Miguel Leonard was about to present. I glanced at her—she had been here less than six months, usually shy, but often a bit clumsy in her tasks. "Next, I will present the Marketing Department's..." Miguel Leonard's voice had just started. Suddenly, the large screen at the front of the conference room lit up. But instead of the expected PPT cover, a photo appeared. The photo showed the bathroom in my master bedroom. Steam hung in the air; I was turned away from the camera, fresh out of the shower, reaching for a towel. The air instantly became heavy and still. The once humming air conditioner suddenly sounded especially harsh. I was frozen in my seat, blood rushing to my head then freezing in the next moment. "Whoosh—" After a brief deathly silence, a chorus of sharp gasps filled the conference room. Some instinctively turned their faces away, while others couldn't help but glance at the big screen, their eyes filled with shock and an unspeakable curiosity. "Yolanda! What are you doing!" Miguel's voice sharply rose, laced with anger. Yolanda Scott looked completely drained, and the USB drive in her hand dropped to the floor with a sharp "clack." Her face went pale, her lips trembling as she struggled to form a complete sentence: "No... that's not it, Mr. Leonard, Mrs. Salk, I... I made a mistake, it wasn't intentional..." My fingertips clenched into my palm so tightly it hurt, the pain barely keeping me lucid. Those weren't simple landscape shots, nor were they work-related photos. They were my intimate bathroom photos—how on earth did they end up on Yolanda Scott's USB drive? I spoke up, my voice trembling with intense anger, "Yolanda, tell me, why is my photo on your USB drive?" Tears streamed down Yolanda Scott's face, her shoulders hunched defensively, looking both wronged and scared. "I... I was trying to take a photo of Mr. Leonard..." The moment those words were spoken, the conference room erupted once again. I stared at Miguel Leonard in disbelief. His brows were tightly furrowed, and his face darkened. "Yolanda, what nonsense are you talking about?" "I'm not talking nonsense!" Yolanda suddenly lifted her head, tears streaming down her face, yet her eyes held a stubborn resolve. "I like Mr. Leonard. I just wanted to take a photo of him showering as a keepsake. I knew he sometimes showered in the company lounge, so I secretly set up a camera. Who could have imagined... who could have imagined it was Mrs. Salk who walked in that day? I took the wrong photo..." This reason is so absurd that it makes me laugh. No matter who she intended to photograph, surreptitious photography of intimate photos is a serious violation of others' privacy. What's worse, she even projected that photo onto the big screen during the company's management team meeting, making me the laughingstock in front of everyone. Rage surged through my chest like molten lava, impossible to hold back any longer. I grabbed the freshly brewed coffee on the table, stood up, and strode quickly over to Yolanda Scott. In her terrified eyes, I poured the entire cup of scalding coffee over her face. "Ah!" Yolanda Scott let out a sharp scream, clutching her face and crouching down in pain. "Cynthia! Are you out of your mind?" The anticipated accusations arrived right on cue. But I never expected it would be Miguel Leonard who said those words.