There’s always that one person.

You know the type. They make networking look like a blood sport and wear ambition like it’s designer. They never technically lie, but somehow you’re always left cleaning up after their mess while they’re out celebrating the promotion they swore they weren’t gunning for.

Let me introduce you to “Tara.” (Not her real name, obviously. Let’s not get sued.)

Tara was everything the company thought it wanted in a rising star. Sharp suits, sharper comebacks, and LinkedIn posts that read like TED Talk scripts. On paper, a dream. In practice, a Machiavellian masterpiece. She knew the game, and she played it like it owed her rent.

At first, she was subtle. Warm smiles, coffee runs, and the occasional “You’re so good at this” dropped like sugar cubes into every meeting. Classic ingratiation. But slowly, things started to shift. If someone made a mistake, Tara was always nearby with a sympathetic shrug and a “Just trying to help” email that mysteriously included the department head.

It wasn’t long before she began rewriting narratives. “Team effort” became “my idea.” Project wins? Somehow always traced back to her, even when she wasn’t on the initial brief. She mastered coalition tactics, charming key players while quietly sowing doubt about anyone who could rival her.

One colleague — let’s call him Rafiq — noticed that every time he brought something to Tara “off the record,” it somehow made its way into strategy meetings with her name on it. She’d listen intently, ask thoughtful questions, and then… boom. The next week, she’d pitch the idea as if it had been whispered to her by the ghost of Steve Jobs.

The kicker? She never technically broke any rules. That’s what made her so dangerous. Like a modern-day Medici courtier, she understood that the best way to rise wasn’t through brute force. It was through subtle manipulation, charm-laced sabotage, and carefully controlled optics.

It was textbook Machiavellianism. Deception, strategic alliances, emotional detachment. She wasn’t the office mean girl. She was the office mirage. One moment she was your ally, the next you were wondering how she ended up chairing your project while you were bumped to “supporting tasks.”

We all watched it unfold like a slow-motion train wreck. Equal parts horrified and impressed. She got the promotion, of course. And a mentorship shoutout from the VP. Rafiq left two months later. I still remember his parting words: “Some people climb the ladder. Others pull it up after them.”

But here’s the thing.

Tara might have won the short game, but whispers started catching up to her. Her charm lost its shine once people realised how many ideas she “borrowed.” Colleagues stopped confiding in her. Her once-loyal allies started keeping receipts. Eventually, even leadership began to see the cracks in the façade.

Because here’s the power paradox no one tells you in your first HR onboarding slideshow: The traits that get you power aren’t always the ones that let you keep it.

Empathy. Integrity. Collaboration. They sound like fluff. Until you’ve worked in an office ruled by manipulation masquerading as ambition. Then you realise how vital they are.

So, what did I learn?

Power doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it whispers, flatters, and strategically forwards emails. But the real flex? Leading with kindness when it’s easier to compete. Sharing credit when it costs you clout. Choosing to build others up, even when you could climb faster alone.

Tara reminded me what I never want to become.

She also made me double-check every Google Doc permission setting. Just saying.