Category: English

I was stuck in holiday traffic on the highway when I scrolled past a post. “What’s the most thrilling thing you’ve ever done in your life?” Underneath, the most liked comment caught my eye. “About to do it. Like, getting it on right under his wife’s nose… Should I livestream it for everyone?” Someone replied, asking, “Is it really that thrilling?” She replied: “We’re stuck in traffic, and I’m right behind their car. He’s going to come back here and keep me company in a minute.” Attached was a photo of the back of a car. My breath hitched because the license plate in the photo was exactly the same as mine. 01 At this moment, I turned my head to look at my husband, Arthur, in the driver’s seat. The cowardice of his youth was long gone from his features. The poor boy he used to be was a thing of the past. He was currently half-asleep, arms crossed, pretending to rest. A picture of peaceful tranquility. I admit, my mind was blank. I couldn’t believe it, and I didn’t want to believe it. I had firmly believed that the time, effort, and money I poured into him had nurtured a seed of gratitude and a sincere relationship. But… I looked down at my phone. The comments refreshed again. Someone objected: “Is it really okay to destroy someone else’s family?” The user named “Aching for Big Bro” replied quickly. “Lmao, Artie and I have been engaged in our hometown since we were eighteen. Our parents agreed, and we even threw a banquet.” “If this woman wasn’t rich and couldn’t help us establish ourselves in the big city, do you think I’d tolerate my man marrying someone else?” Seeing these words. I couldn’t help but recall how Arthur and I met. My heart pounded wildly. It was as if I was glimpsing some shameful conspiracy. I couldn’t hold back and typed a reply under the comment. “You guys… didn’t approach this woman on purpose, did you?” Almost the next second, “Aching for Big Bro” replied. One after another. Full of smugness and showing off. “Oh my, you guessed it? Baby, you’re so smart.” “When Artie and I first came to the big city, we were so poor we couldn’t even pay rent. But my Artie is handsome, so we came up with a plan. He’d deliver food and specifically target women driving nice cars, looking for a chance to ‘accidentally’ scrape them.” “The first two times were unlucky; we ran into cheapskates who insisted on compensation. It caused us to take out a bunch of online loans and almost drove us to death.” “We didn’t expect to strike gold on the third try. We ran into this stupid woman. Tsk tsk… really just dumb with too much money. Not only did she not ask for compensation, but later when Artie went to find her to pay her back, pretending to be strong and responsible, she actually took the bait.” “And now? After they got married, my house, my car, my bags… which of these wasn’t paid for by this stupid woman?” Below that was a pile of comments marveling at the audacity. “Impressed. Sister has opened up a new lane.” “Too bad my boyfriend isn’t handsome, boohoo…” “Your username is hilarious. Your lover boy sold his body for you, but at least his soul is with you.” Only I felt as if I had plunged into an ice cellar, filled with deep humiliation. Obviously, this stupid woman. Was referring to me… Chloe. 02 I finally clicked into the profile of “Aching for Big Bro.” Though apprehensive, though uneasy. But I had a deeper fear. That was to remain in the darkness of being deceived. My fingertip fell. The pinned post entered my vision. “August 8th. Of course, there needs to be a special sense of ceremony. Artie says it’s thrilling here.” The attached photo was clearly taken in a hotel bathroom. In the mirror, the woman took a selfie with a flushed face. Behind her, a man hugged her from behind. The man’s face was blocked, but the hand wrapped around the woman’s stomach was exceptionally eye-catching. Because, the platinum wedding ring on his ring finger was coldly reflecting the overhead light. This ring was the one I personally picked out and slipped onto Arthur’s finger. And August 8th was the day of my wedding. That is to say, on the day of our wedding. Right under my nose. They had a secret rendezvous in the hotel bathroom. Thinking of this, my stomach churned. I covered my mouth, forcing down the urge to vomit. I gritted my teeth and kept reading. “July 1st, the day Artie took wedding photos. The stupid woman was right outside, and we…” Attached photo: Champagne-colored curtains, very familiar. On the wall, a man and a woman’s hands pressed tightly against it. And this place was the changing room I had used. My finger mechanically swiped down. “October 15th, Artie let me come to his company! We’ll see each other every day from now on.” The attached photo was the company’s fire escape, a dimly lit stairwell, two hands tightly clasped. “November 3rd, lunch break, conference room date. The soundproofing is great, his wife would absolutely never guess.” The attached photo was the silhouette of a hug outside the frosted glass door of the conference room. “December 24th, Christmas Eve. The Benz Artie bought me arrived! Gotta be quick today, he still has to go home to keep that dumb bitch company. Unhappy.” Attached photo: Clothes scattered messily inside a car. The most recent post. “Tomorrow the dumb bitch is going back to his hometown with him for the holidays. So annoying. But he said he’d find a chance to comfort me on the road. Looking forward to it…” Having seen everything. The piercing pain in my heart almost sank into my bones. Following that was a wave of resentment, quietly rising from the bottom of my heart. You guys seem to really enjoy finding thrills in various situations, don’t you? Then I’ll give you more thrills than you can handle. 03 “Chloe, why do you look so pale? Are you feeling unwell?” Arthur’s gentle voice suddenly came from beside my ear. His eyes, as always, were filled with adoration and concern. I forced myself to hide the hatred in my eyes and barely managed a smile. We met three years ago. Just as the comment said. It was an accidental encounter. Arthur, delivering food, scraped my luxury car. His reaction at the time was to hold his head and cry bitterly. Desperately calling me “Miss,” begging for forgiveness. I was amused, and in the end, drove off without pressing the issue. What I didn’t expect was that he would show up in front of me punctually every month and give me all his salary. “Miss, I asked around, it takes thirty thousand to fix the car. Please give me a few more months.” Ridiculous as it sounds, I was moved by his character and sincerity. I was even charmed by his unique rustic simplicity, developing romantic feelings for him. I helped him grow, gave him financial support. Allowed him to go from having nothing to becoming the “Mr. Sterling” everyone else talked about. Now I was even accompanying him to his hometown for the holidays, giving him plenty of face. But now you’re telling me. From beginning to end, it was a trap. Any human being wouldn’t be able to stand it; their heart would clench in agony. I tried my best to suppress the agitation in my heart and squeezed out words. “I’m fine, just annoyed by the traffic.” Arthur shook his head, making a joke. “Everyone thinks they’re so smart, choosing to head home early for the holidays, and the result… everyone gets clumped together, stuck right in it.” I pursed my lips and didn’t speak. My gaze, however, glanced at the rearview mirror. I saw the door of the Benz behind us open. A woman wearing a cashmere coat and little high heels stepped out. The woman’s appearance was exactly the same as the blogger “Aching for Big Bro.” My brow furrowed slightly, but quickly smoothed out. Only the hatred in my heart grew colder. She walked with a swaying, alluring gait, making no attempt to hide. Arriving at the driver’s side, she bent down and lightly knocked on the window. Arthur very naturally rolled down the window, his tone laced with distance. “Hello, can I help you?” The woman’s voice was soft and sweet. “Oh my, sorry to bother you. Sir, do you know what’s going on ahead? How long will we be stuck here?” As she asked, her gaze casually swept over me in the passenger seat. In that brief moment of eye contact. I saw mockery and pity. As if saying: The mistress is standing right here, and you know absolutely nothing. I knew that if I hadn’t accidentally scrolled past that post. I wouldn’t have understood the meaning in her eyes at all. My hands resting on my knees. My nails had already dug deeply into my palms. But my face maintained a calm indifference, and I even gave her a slight nod, treating it as the courtesy between strangers. Arthur’s performance was worthy of an Oscar. He frowned slightly, shook his head, and his voice was steady. “Not too sure, they didn’t say on the radio. Probably an accident up ahead, we just have to wait.” His gaze was open, his tone natural. As if he were seeing this woman for the first time. “I see… alright then, sorry to bother you.” After saying that, she turned and walked back. As Arthur rolled up the window, he sighed. “Waiting dryly like this really isn’t a solution, and who knows how long we’ll be stuck. Chloe, how about I go up ahead and check out the situation? See if I can get some news, just to have an idea.” In this moment, I understood. The woman coming over to ask was a secret signal between them. I twitched my lips and gave a soft “mm-hmm.” Arthur got out of the car, walked forward, and soon disappeared from my sight. I couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to him. Unsurprisingly, he would loop around in my blind spot and get into the Benz behind us. So, I only needed to pay attention to the live comments on “Aching for Big Bro.” 04 See, here it comes. I stared at my phone, motionless. “I just walked over to that stupid woman’s car. She was sitting in the passenger seat, looking all silly, and even nodded at me? Hahaha, I’m dying.” Someone replied: “Sister, you’re awesome. That kind of woman is probably so dumb that if she was sold, she’d help count the money.” Various mocking comments came flooding in. Someone asked: “Your Artie should be here soon, right?” “Aching for Big Bro” answered. “Hehe, here he comes, here he comes. I wonder if she can feel a little movement in the car in front?” The replies below were in an uproar again. If I had seen this ten minutes ago. I might have broken down, might have gone crazy. But at this moment, my mood was unusually calm. The corner of my mouth even curled into an extremely cold arc. You like thrills? You enjoy the pleasure of cheating right under my nose? You treat me as a stupid backdrop, mocking me wantonly? Very well. Then let’s play this game of yours a little bigger. 05 When the comments in the post refreshed again. “Artie is here, we’re going to start now.” Attached photo: Inside the car, discarded coats, a man’s and a woman’s hands intertwined with fingers linked. The replies reached a climax. But I slowly closed my eyes and took three deep breaths. When I opened them again, only clarity and resolution remained in my eyes. I looked up at the rearview mirror. That white Benz was parked quietly there. But looking closely, the body of the car was shaking slightly. Once, and then again. Now is the time. Without any hesitation, I pulled out a red window-breaking hammer from the passenger side glove compartment. The cold, hard touch brought me an inexplicable sense of power. I pushed open the car door, got out, and walked straight back. There were many drivers who had gotten out of their cars to chat nearby. In front and behind, there was an endless line of cars. I believed that in a while, this place would be no different from a bustling market. I walked to the front side of the Benz. No hesitation, no cursing. I just raised the window-breaking hammer high, poured all my strength into my arm, and smashed it down fiercely. 06 Crash… An ear-piercingly loud bang suddenly exploded. The tempered glass was instantly covered with spiderweb-like cracks, the center deeply caved in. “Ah…” At the same time. A woman’s terrified scream came from inside the car. The loud noise and the scream instantly startled everyone. Everyone cast their gazes over. “What happened?” “A car crash?” “Holy shit, there’s a woman smashing a car. Did they get into a fight?” “Look, look, this woman is fierce.” Discussions buzzed immediately. The crowd unconsciously gathered towards here. Soon, they formed a circle around the Benz and me. More people pulled out their phones. Lenses were aimed at this scene. I turned a deaf ear, my eyes icy cold, and raised my arm again. Crash… Crash… Crash… A few more consecutive hits. Finally, with a loud smash. The entire windshield completely shattered, collapsing inwards and revealing a large hole. Through this hole, everything inside the car had nowhere to hide. The driver’s and passenger seats were reclined, and clothes were messily tossed on the floor mats and center console. Two completely naked people were clearly visible. Arthur’s face, which had just smiled gently at me, was now pale as paper. After locking eyes with me, it was filled with unbelievable terror and panic. The woman’s smugness was long gone, leaving only the shameful ugliness and pathetic state of being exposed to the light. I looked at them and pulled a cold smile. I looked away, walked to the right side of the Benz, aimed at the passenger window, and raised the hammer again. “Chloe, don’t! Listen to my explanation.” Arthur finally reacted, an intense feeling of shame making his voice hoarse. “It’s not what you think, don’t go crazy, stop.” Explanation? Go crazy? I acted as if I didn’t hear him and smashed down fiercely again. Crash… Smash… The passenger side window shattered in response. The surrounding crowd erupted in even louder gasps and discussions, phones not leaving their hands. “My god, she caught them cheating.” “This woman is too fierce, looks like she’s from the car in front.” “In broad daylight, on the highway, with the wife’s car right in front, these two… tsk tsk tsk, really shameless.” “If it’s catching cheaters, then she smashed it well.” “Record it, record it, this is too juicy, this video will definitely go viral.” 07 Discussions rose and fell. Mixed with disdain and excitement. Arthur and the woman inside the drafty car. Were even more pathetic, dying of shame and anger. Of course, I didn’t stop. After smashing all the windows on the right side. I walked around to the back of the car and continued smashing the rear windshield. Finally, after a few loud crashes on the left side. At this point, all the glass on the entire car—front, back, left, and right—was completely smashed. And I stood there holding the window-breaking hammer, my face icy, only sneering. The accumulated hatred had finally dissipated quite a bit at this moment. Around us, the crowd holding up phones was three layers deep. Some even started live streaming. Although the viewership was high, they were quickly banned. However, the footage had already spread. Arthur had hastily thrown on his coat. His face was an array of colors, his eyes filled with infinite fear for the future. One could imagine how explosive this incident would become. The woman curled up in his arms, covering her face, and let out broken sobs. The cold winter wind was still howling into the car. Their bodies began to tremble uncontrollably. I finally spoke slowly, my voice not soft. “Everyone guessed right. The man inside is my husband. He agreed with this woman that they would do something right under my nose. “Since they like showing others, then I don’t mind letting everyone take a good look.” The crowd erupted in an uproar. They had indeed guessed right. The men watching the excitement couldn’t help but instinctively shrink their heads upon seeing me like this. The women, upon seeing it, all cheered me on, cursing the scumbag and the mistress to die a horrible death. I slowly walked over to the car door, pulled it open amidst the woman’s screams, cast my gaze upon her, and curled the corners of my mouth. “Little beauty, nice figure, huh? “Oh right, didn’t you like livestreaming your affairs online? Then I’ll let you livestream to your heart’s content.” The woman jerked her head up, the terror and shame on her face not yet faded, replaced by shock and sudden realization. She stared dead at me, her eyes filled with extreme resentment and remorse. “So you saw the post…” However, being exposed in such a pathetic state to countless cameras now made her hysterical. “Chloe, you lunatic, you bitch, you’ll die a horrible death. You think you’ve won? Artie and I won’t let you off easily, just you wait.” Arthur was originally still in a state of panic. Hearing the woman’s words, he suddenly reacted sharply. So the reason I found out wasn’t a coincidence, wasn’t an accident. It was actually because this stupid woman was livestreaming it online! Furious rage instantly flooded his heart. The next second, Arthur directly shoved the woman in his arms away. Because he used too much force, he pushed the woman completely out of the car, and she fell right in front of me. The woman’s screams grew even more terrified. She could only squat on the ground hugging her knees, shivering in the cold wind with barely any clothes on. “Mia Lin, you shameless slut.” Arthur pointed at her, his face livid. His mind was filled with frustration at her stupidity. At this moment, his brain truly processed the situation. What about his future? With this happening, I would definitely take everything back. Without me, he was nothing. How to choose between Mia and me? It was incredibly simple. He gave me an apprehensive glance and then started cursing at Mia. “It’s all your fault! You were the one who kept seducing me. You were the one who wouldn’t let go, using those dirty tricks to force me to give in. I’ve had enough of you.” He cursed fast and urgently, spit flying. In an instant, he threw all the dirty water, all the responsibility, onto this woman who was his childhood sweetheart. After cursing, he immediately turned to me. His face rapidly switched to an expression of remorse and pleading, his voice even carrying a hint of crying. “Chloe, honey, listen to me, listen to my explanation. It’s all my fault. I had a moment of confusion and was blinded by her. “It was her taking advantage of me when I was drunk… and then she got leverage on me. She kept threatening me like this. You’re the only one in my heart, Chloe. “I’ve only ever loved you from beginning to end. I beg you, forgive me this once. I promise it will never happen again. Let’s go home, let’s live a good life. I’ll listen to whatever you say.” He was a bit incoherent, his posture humble to the dust. As for Mia looking up at him with an expression of disbelief, she was completely ignored by Arthur. At this very moment, he only had eyes for me. I scoffed out loud. If Mia hadn’t recounted their story. I might have really been fooled by Arthur. I spoke slowly, filled with disdain. “Even at this point, you’re still acting? Still lying?” How could I not be disdainful? If he had protected Mia just now, I would have respected him a bit more. “Secretly meeting in the hotel bathroom on our wedding day, did she force you to do that? “Fooling around in the changing room while I was trying on wedding dresses, did she force you to do that? “Using my money to buy her a house, a car, and bags, did she force you to do that?” With every word I said, Arthur’s face grew paler. The surrounding crowd couldn’t help but gasp and start discussing. “This is too much, isn’t it?” “Right? If my husband trampled on me like this, I would tear him apart with my bare hands.” “What a pair of dogs…”

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During the year my social anxiety was at its worst, I decided to keep a rugged construction worker. Every time I asked him to stay the night, I was a nervous wreck. “E-excuse me, are you free tonight to… do that?” He leaned down and took a bite of my burning red cheek. “That? That’ll cost extra.” “N-no problem.” I nodded eagerly. Until I unexpectedly went bankrupt and decided to let him go with a heavy heart. The rugged man, smoking his post-coital cigarette, listened to me, then casually handed me a Centurion Black Card. “Take it. Keep paying for me.” “Who said you could let me go?” 1 I had been watching the handsome, rugged guy on the construction site across from my coffee shop for a long time. He arrived a week ago. His name was Arthur. The older workers seemed to think he was young and kept bullying him. They always ignored him, didn’t give him work to earn money, and marginalized him in every way. Arthur didn’t look too happy every day. I held back and held back, but finally couldn’t anymore. On his eighth day at the site, I summoned my courage and walked out of my coffee shop. Braving the roar of machines, the flying dust, and the curious stares of other workers, I walked up to Arthur, who was leaning in a corner, lost in thought. The man was tall, his profile sharply defined, exuding testosterone. My face was flushed, and I hesitated to speak. The man snapped out of it, paused for a moment when he saw me, and then grumbled: “Hey, coming onto a construction site without a hard hat, do you have a death wish?” He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, making his voice a bit muffled. Then, he took the hard hat off his own head and plopped it onto mine. I nervously adjusted the hard hat. “Hello, I-I have something to ask you.” “Me?” I nodded. Under the man’s indifferent gaze, I carefully said: “C-can I keep you as my sugar baby?” Arthur paused. “What did you say?” I was so nervous I kept swallowing, my eyes darting around, completely unable to meet his gaze. “I-I want to keep you.” “Um, my name is Chloe. I-I opened the coffee shop right across from the site. I’m not a bad person.” “Don’t worry, I’ll treat you well. I absolutely won’t insult you.” “And I’ll give you money every month. Three thousand dollars. That way you won’t have to suffer at the construction site, and you won’t be bullied by the older workers.” “Is that okay?” ……. Arthur didn’t say a word; he just slowly exhaled a puff of smoke. Through the swirling smoke, I acutely sensed him looking me up and down. His gaze swept frankly over my face, my neck… Just when I thought I was going to be rejected, he raised an eyebrow. “Sure.” 2 When the coffee shop closed for the night, Arthur also finished his shift. He stood behind me, watching me lock the door, and then followed me to a nearby hotel. I have social anxiety. Severe social anxiety. For a moment, I didn’t know what to say to this towering “kept man,” so I just kept my head down and walked. The more I walked, the more awkward I felt. The more awkward I felt, the less I knew how to walk. It was a vicious cycle of clumsy movements. Arthur didn’t seem to notice my awkward gait. As we passed a convenience store, he suddenly asked lazily: “Don’t we need to buy some tools for the crime, sugar mama?” My ears burned. “Um… the hotel nightstands should have them, right?” “I’m worried about the size not fitting.” “…Then please go buy some. I’ll transfer you the money.” My voice was as small as a mosquito’s. Arthur didn’t move, looking at me somewhat wickedly. “It’s only fun if we buy this kind of stuff together, right?” “!” My face felt like it was going to catch fire instantly. I hurriedly waved my hands. “N-no, I’ll wait for you up ahead.” After saying that, without waiting for him to speak, I kept my head down and scuttled away, arms and legs swinging awkwardly in tandem. Leaving behind only Arthur’s barely audible chuckle. Fortunately, I only waited a short while before he caught up with me, carrying a bag. We entered the hotel, got a room, and went upstairs. Because this was the most rebellious thing I had ever done in my life. It went without saying what would happen today. So my heart was racing like a trapped rabbit. Pounding wildly. It’s not that I hadn’t thought about bringing him home, but the soundproofing there was terrible. If the neighbors heard anything, it would be social death; I’d never be able to show my face again. So a hotel was the safest and most suitable place for our relationship. I secretly told myself to stay calm, but when I swiped the keycard to open the door, my hand shook a little, and it wouldn’t open. At that moment, a tall, solid body pressed up behind me. Arthur encircled me, wrapped his hand over mine, and swiped the card again. Beep. It opened. He asked in my ear: “You’re the sugar mama, what are you so nervous about?” 3 Arthur had a great body. An eight-pack and a V-taper. His muscles were knotted but not unappealing. Just standing there, the sexual tension was off the charts. Even the most naturally aloof woman would unconsciously look at him. I yield. This was the conclusion I had reached after secretly observing him from the coffee shop for a week. I just didn’t expect it to be this good. When he pressed against me, my entire spine almost melted. After Arthur gently pushed me into the room, my whole brain was buzzing. Whatever he told me to do, I did. Shower. Lie down. Very obedient. Arthur, who had showered right after me, stood by my bed and suddenly reached out, lightly poking my cheek. “Chloe, I’ll ask you one last time. Are you sure you want to keep me?” “Hold on. You do know what keeping me means, right?” I slowly pulled out my phone. And transferred three thousand dollars to him on the spot. My voice trembled slightly. “I know, and I’m sure.” “……” Arthur stared at me expressionlessly for a few seconds, then reached out and grabbed the convenience store shopping bag. He pulled out… A pile of snacks. Not a single NSFW item. ? ?? What about the promised fun?! Just as I was about to anxiously ask, a strawberry-flavored lollipop was suddenly stuffed into my mouth. It was sickly sweet. Arthur grumbled: “What do you know. Let’s just eat some snacks and watch a movie today.” 4 Arthur lay down next to me and actually started picking a paid movie on the TV. This bland turn of events really disappointed me a bit. I sucked on the lollipop, staring at him eagerly. “Arthur, you’re already kept by me, and you took the money. You can’t back out.” The man clicked the remote control loudly. “I didn’t say I was backing out.” I didn’t understand, and asked softly: “Then why aren’t you doing that with me? You know, that.” “Too fast. I’m afraid I’ll scare you.” “I’m not scared.” Arthur shot me a mocking glance. “Then why have you been shaking all night, not even daring to lift your head, scared like a rabbit?” “…….” Being seen through made me very embarrassed. “Not really.” “Really not? How come I feel like you’re very afraid of making eye contact with people? Is this what the internet calls social anxiety?” “Mm…” “You really have social anxiety. Then how do you run a shop?” “Customers order online themselves, then I make it behind the counter, and they pick it up themselves. As little communication as possible.” “What if a customer insists on getting close to talk to you? Like this.” Saying that, Arthur deliberately leaned in close to tease me. Only… Being so close, our eyes naturally met. Suddenly, no one spoke. I licked my lollipop. My social anxiety instinctively made me want to look away to avoid awkwardness. Suddenly, Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he said: “Hey, we can’t do that, but we can do other things. Wanna try first?” ……. I noticed his gaze landing on my mouth. Mustering my courage, I tilted my chin up at him. “Y-yes.” Then, the lollipop was pulled from my mouth. The candy hit my front teeth. Just as I was about to make a sound of pain, a shadow covered my vision. The sound of pain was blocked back down. 5 At first, Arthur’s kissing technique was surprisingly inexperienced. Of course, I didn’t notice. Because I was even more inexperienced. But Arthur quickly grasped the essentials. He supported the back of my head with one hand, our lips and teeth grinding together. We both used the hotel’s body wash, so we smelled exactly the same. Baked by his overly high body temperature. It was simply dizzying. After the lollipop was stuffed back into my mouth, I was still a bit dazed. Arthur didn’t bother me. His large hand roughly wiped the saliva from my mouth, and he continued looking for a suitable movie. After I came back to my senses, I gently tugged the hem of his shirt. “Arthur, I want to kiss some more.” “…….” The man, who was already trying hard to pretend to be calm, instantly lost his composure. He cursed under his breath. Threw the remote control aside and turned back. His gaze was intense. Like it was mixed with fire. So that night, we didn’t end up watching the movie. I still don’t know if my lollipop was thrown in the trash can or some random corner. No one cared at all. I only remember Arthur muttering hoarsely as he wiped the moisture from the corner of my mouth one last time. “Strawberry flavor really is sweet.” Although we ended up just chatting purely under the covers in the end, this development made me very satisfied and shy. Sitting in my coffee shop, I touched my still slightly swollen lips, happily looking at the construction site across the street. Dust filled the air. I couldn’t see Arthur. I didn’t care either. I just sat there fantasizing about the shape of Arthur’s muscles bulging when he worked. Suddenly, my phone, which was always on silent, showed an incoming call. Seeing the caller ID, my mood instantly plummeted. I stared at the phone in panic until the other party lost patience and hung up. I don’t know how long passed. Thump thump. The glass of the coffee shop was casually knocked on a few times. I looked up and met the eyes of my rugged “kept man.”

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The company canceled our annual gala and distributed the budget to each department for a private dinner. I was stuck in traffic and arrived late, only to overhear our new male intern talking trash about me through the door: “Clara Hayes? She’s what, thirty-three? An old hag who hovers around my desk every day. It’s pathetic.” “It’s hilarious. She wants to date me? She wishes. I’m not gonna indulge her delusions!” “In a minute, I’m ordering ten portions of the most expensive items on the menu. Don’t worry, she’s paying—what’s she gonna do, not show up?” Everyone inside cheered, praising him for being the ultimate “Gen Z boss-buster” who was finally taking down toxic corporate culture. I quietly released the door handle and stood outside, listening until he finished ordering a $15,000 feast. Once he was done, I walked away and sent a message to the department group chat: “Family emergency came up, I won’t be able to make it tonight.” “Here is the $800 dinner budget the company provided. Eat well and have a great time.” On the ride home, I leaned against the car window, a slow smile curving my lips. Taking down toxic corporate culture? Sure. With this $15,000 bill, I’m going to teach you exactly how the real world works. 1. I sat in the back of my Uber, watching the notifications explode on my phone screen. The “Marketing Dept Family” group chat was practically on fire. Three minutes ago, right after sending those two messages and Venmo-ing the $800 budget into the group pool, I left the chat entirely. But I forgot about the unofficial, “no-managers-allowed” group chat. Right now, messages in that chat were refreshing at a rate of a dozen per second. Tyler Vance, the intern, had tagged me dozens of times: “Clara, what the hell is this? You made it to the door and then left?” “Are you a sore loser? You’re the department manager, you’re supposed to pay for this!” “Who is $800 supposed to feed? Are you tipping a homeless guy?” “Get back here and pay the tab! Don’t make me lose respect for you!” Following his messages were a flurry of photos. Maine lobster sashimi, one for every single person. Three bottles of wine that cost over three grand each, already uncorked. And a table overflowing with premium seafood. Just minutes ago, standing outside the private dining room, I had heard everything clearly. Tyler’s voice was loud and obnoxious as he ordered: “This, this, and this—give us the most expensive ones! Ten orders of each!” “Waiter, pop all those bottles and let them breathe!” “What are you guys scared of? Someone’s footing the bill tonight. Our Manager Clara is loaded. If she wants to date me, she’s gotta bleed a little cash, right?” The room had erupted into hoots and hollers. Someone tried to reason with him, “Tyler, can we even finish all this? Clara isn’t even here yet.” Tyler’s voice pitched up, “If we can’t finish it, I’ll box it up and feed it to my dog! We need to teach this touchy-feely female boss a lesson, let her know I’m not to be messed with!” “Yeah, Tyler’s right! Gen Z doesn’t hold back!” “Clara is always so stingy anyway, she deserves to bleed a little.” I let go of the door handle. Originally, I was going to walk in. Even though I was late, I would have just bought a round of drinks as an apology and moved on. But this dinner? I had lost my appetite. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Dave, one of the older guys in the office, texted me privately: “Clara, did you really leave? The food is already served, the bill is nearly $15,000. If you’re not here, who’s going to pay?” I replied, “Whoever ordered it pays. The company budget is $800. I transferred all of it.” Dave: “Stop messing around. Tyler is just a clueless kid, why stoop to his level? Hurry back, the waiter is hovering with the tab and everyone is getting really embarrassed.” Me: “I’m not embarrassed.” Dave: “You’re leaving everyone high and dry! The wine is opened, we can’t return it!” Me: “Tyler said he wanted to teach corporate a lesson. I’m giving him the opportunity.” I put my phone on silent and shoved it in my pocket. The Uber driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to, ma’am?” “Home.” The car merged into the night traffic. I closed my eyes, my head filled with Tyler’s arrogant voice. I am thirty-two this year. I’ve ground it out at this company for eight years to finally climb to the position of department manager. Tyler was an intern who started last month. He was decent-looking, but his work ethic was an absolute disaster. He messed up basic print jobs and lost data when making simple spreadsheets. Seeing that he was new, I gave him extra guidance and occasionally took him along to client meetings so he could learn the ropes. To him, this translated to me wanting to date him, making me a “creepy boss.” It even became his justification for burning through fifteen grand. Fifteen thousand dollars. I have savings, but I’m not a human ATM. My phone screen lit up again. It was an audio call from Tyler. I declined it. He called again. I blocked his number. A moment later, Marcus, the deputy manager, called. Marcus and I had always been at odds; he had been gunning for my job for years. I answered. Marcus couldn’t hide the smirk in his voice. “Clara, you really played dirty this time. Everyone was waiting for you, and you just bailed, leaving a room full of people hanging?” 2. “I had a family emergency.” “What emergency is more important than the department dinner? Tyler is practically crying his eyes out, saying you’re bullying the new guy.” “I gave you guys the $800 budget.” “$800? The tab is fifteen grand! Who’s going to cover the rest? We all split it? That’s going to ruin everyone’s holiday!” “Whoever ordered it pays.” “Clara, you’re the leader, you need to take responsibility. Tyler is new, he doesn’t know the rules. You’re a veteran, do you not know the rules either?” “I know the rules perfectly. The company rule is an $800 budget for the dinner. For anything over that, the person who ordered it is responsible.” “Are you really not coming?” “No.” “Fine, Clara. You’ve got some nerve. This isn’t over.” Marcus hung up. I stared at the neon lights flashing past the window. In the past, I was too responsible. I took the blame for everything and cleaned up everyone’s messes, which only spoiled them into thinking I was a pushover. When I got home, I took a hot shower and fell right asleep. I slept like a rock. The next morning, I arrived at the office right on time. As soon as I walked in, I felt the heavy atmosphere. Everyone was staring at me, their eyes filled with disdain, anger, and the gloating anticipation of a good show. Tyler was sitting at his desk. His eyes were red and puffy, the bags under them prominent, his face sagging like a miserable, deflated balloon. It was obvious he had been crying. Seeing me, he shot up from his chair and slammed a folder hard onto his desk. “Clara! Are you even human?” The office instantly went dead silent. Everyone stopped what they were doing, their eyes locking onto us. I walked to my desk, set down my briefcase, and looked at him. “It’s working hours. What are you screaming about?” Tyler stormed over, pointing a finger right in my face. “Drop the act! You did that on purpose last night, didn’t you? You said you were treating us, and then you ran! You made every single one of us shell out over two grand just to leave that restaurant!” The other coworkers gathered around. Dave looked grim. “Clara, you really went too far this time. We’re all just working stiffs. How much do we make a month? Dropping half a month’s salary on one dinner, how are we supposed to survive the holidays?” Another female colleague chimed in sarcastically, “Exactly. Manager Clara makes six figures, so of course she doesn’t care about this kind of money. We aren’t like you; we have families to feed.” Marcus leaned against a cubicle partition, arms crossed, sneering. “Clara, when we were pooling our cash last night, everyone cursed your entire family tree. Tyler is just an intern, he had zero cash on him. He had to max out his credit card. You’re a real piece of work as a manager.” I looked at their angry faces. When they were scarfing down Maine lobster last night, they didn’t have these expressions. Back then, they were cheering, telling Tyler what a great job he did, waiting for me, the rich sucker, to foot the bill. I turned to Tyler. “When did I ever say I was paying?” Tyler’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t? When a department dinner is announced, isn’t it an unwritten rule that the manager pays? Besides, when I was ordering, you never said I couldn’t!” “I was stuck in traffic.” “That’s just an excuse! You just wanted to see me humiliate myself! This is retaliation because I rejected your advances!” Tyler raised his voice, “Everyone, be the judge here! Does a woman who maliciously retaliates against her employees deserve to be a manager?” “Advances?” I fired back. “When did I ever make advances on you?” “Don’t even try to deny it! You’re always calling me into your office, insisting on taking me to client meetings. Isn’t that just because you have an ulterior motive? I didn’t give in, so you held a grudge and set a trap to screw me over!” Tyler was getting more and more agitated. A grown man, crying on cue, putting on a sickeningly theatrical performance as the victim. 3. The whispers around the office grew louder. “That’s so gross, using her position to harass a male subordinate.” “She always looked so professional, I never thought she’d be so dirty behind closed doors.” “Someone like her should be fired!” Taking him to see clients was because he was new to marketing and needed to learn the business. Calling him into my office was because his weekly reports lacked any logical structure, and I had to walk him through fixing them step by step. To them, this translated to “ulterior motives.” “Tyler, if you’re going to make accusations, you need proof,” I said coldly. “Last night, you ordered those dishes yourself. Ten portions of each, and only the most expensive ones. You’re the one who said you wanted to teach corporate a lesson and have everyone box up the leftovers. What, now that you can’t afford the bill, you’re throwing dirty water on me?” “I did that to liven up the mood!” Tyler shrieked. “And I thought you were going to pay for it! Who knew you were such a cheapskate! If you couldn’t afford it, you should have said so! Stop acting like a big shot!” “The company’s dinner budget is $800. I transferred the full amount to you all.” “What is $800 going to do? It doesn’t even buy a single bottle of wine!” Tyler pulled a stack of receipts from his bag and slammed them on my desk. “The total was $14,800! Minus your $800, that’s $14,000! You have to pay this! Pay everyone back their money!” I didn’t even glance at the receipts. “Whoever ate, pays.” “You!” Tyler was shaking with rage. “You backstabber! You’re not even human!” “Clara.” Marcus walked over and patted my shoulder. “Don’t make this so ugly. We’re all in the same department, we see each other every day. Yeah, it’s a lot of money, but it’s not like you can’t afford it. Just treat it as a tax to avoid bad luck and squash this. Otherwise, if the CEO hears about this, it’s going to look really bad for you.” He was threatening me. Using my career to threaten me. If it were the old me, for the sake of departmental harmony and the bigger picture, I might have just pinched my nose and paid it. But now, looking at Marcus’s hypocritical smile, Tyler’s self-righteous greed, and the coworkers ganging up on me like an angry mob. I suddenly realized that this job, being their manager, was utterly meaningless. “Marcus, if you’re so generous, why don’t you pay for him?” I looked right at him. Marcus’s smile stiffened. “Clara, that’s uncalled for. You caused this mess, why should I pay?” “I caused this?” I laughed. “Tyler ordered the food. Tyler opened the wine. You guys are the ones who put it in your stomachs. I didn’t eat a single bite, didn’t drink a single drop, didn’t even step foot in the room. How did this become my mess?” “Because you’re the manager!” Tyler yelled. “The manager has to take responsibility!” “A manager is responsible for the work, not for footing the bill for your endless greed.” I swept the receipts off my desk onto the floor. “I am not paying a single cent of this.” “Ah!” Tyler screamed, as if he had been dealt a fatal blow. “Clara! Just you wait! I’m going to report you! I’m going to let the whole company know what kind of person you are!” He spun around and stormed toward the CEO’s office. Marcus looked at me and shook his head. “Clara, you’re done. Tyler has connections high up, and you know how the media environment is these days. If this blows up, you won’t be able to handle the fallout.” The other coworkers dispersed, retreating to their desks to whisper. “This is gonna be a good show.” “Manager Clara is definitely going down this time.” “Serves her right for being so cheap.” I sat down and opened my laptop. Report me? Great, I was just worrying about how to blow this up myself. 4. I opened my phone and located the audio recordings I had saved last night. I recorded them while standing outside the private dining room. I had originally intended to send them to the CEO to explain the situation, but they were going to be far more useful now. In the recording, Tyler’s voice was crystal clear: “Hilarious, she wants to date me? She wishes. I’m not gonna indulge her delusions!” “In a minute, I’m ordering ten portions of the most expensive items on the menu…” “You guys box up the leftovers, I’m making Clara pay the tab!” I transferred the audio files to my laptop to back them up, then started drafting an email. Not a resignation letter. A work report. A report regarding the marketing department’s recent budget overruns, the chaotic management of interns, and attempts by certain employees to commit corporate embezzlement via company dinners. Half an hour later, the HR manager notified me to go to the conference room. When I walked in, Tyler was sitting across from the CEO, Mr. Henderson, crying his eyes out. Henderson was a balding man in his fifties who hated conflict and loved sweeping things under the rug. Seeing me, Henderson frowned. “Clara, what is going on? A simple team dinner, how did it turn into this mess?” Tyler jumped in, “Mr. Henderson, you have to help me! Manager Clara is bullying me! she intentionally set a trap to screw us over, making every single one of us lose a ton of money! And… and she even…” He feigned embarrassment, biting his lip. Henderson tapped the table impatiently. “And what?” “She sexually harassed me!” The conference room went dead silent. Henderson’s face instantly darkened. In the corporate world, financial disputes are one thing, but the moment the words “sexual harassment” are uttered, a hard line has been crossed. “Clara, is this true?” Henderson stared at me. I pulled out a chair, sat down, and looked him in the eye. “No.” “You’re lying!” Tyler pulled up a few screenshots on his phone and handed them to Henderson. “Look, Mr. Henderson, these are her daily chat logs! Texting me late at night, insisting on driving me home! When I refused, she started making my life miserable at work!” Henderson took the phone. His frown deepened. I could guess exactly what those texts were. Just standard late-night overtime texts: “Did you make it home safe?” or “I need that proposal on my desk first thing tomorrow.” But clipped out of context by someone with an agenda, these normal check-ins and work demands could easily be twisted. “Clara, how do you explain this?” Henderson pushed the phone toward me. I glanced at it. Just as I thought. It only showed the fragments of me asking “Where are you?” and “Do you want me to give you a ride?”, completely deleting the voice memos right before them where he whined, “Manager Clara, I can’t get an Uber and I’m so scared.” “Out of context,” I said. “Mr. Henderson, you can check the full chat history.” “I deleted it!” Tyler yelled. “Those gross messages, I felt dirty just keeping them! Thank god I had the presence of mind to take screenshots!” “Playing the ‘dead men tell no tales’ card, huh?” I looked at Tyler. Tyler avoided my gaze, shouting even louder at Henderson. “Mr. Henderson, even though I’m a guy, I still care about my reputation. If I wasn’t pushed to the brink, why would I expose this? Now the whole department knows what kind of person she is, how am I supposed to work here?” Henderson sighed, taking off his glasses to clean them. “Clara, regardless of what happened, you really handled last night’s dinner poorly. You’re the leader, you need to be forgiving. Tyler is new, he doesn’t know any better, you need to cut him some slack.” Exactly as I expected. Sweeping it under the rug. “So, what are you proposing, Mr. Henderson?” 5. “How about this. You cover the bill for last night’s dinner. As for the harassment claims… since there’s no hard evidence, Tyler, don’t go spreading this around, it’s bad for everyone. Clara, you apologize to Tyler, and we’ll turn the page on this.” I almost laughed out loud. He wanted me to cough up $14,000 and apologize? This was his idea of a resolution? “Mr. Henderson, I am not paying that money. And an apology is completely out of the question.” I looked Henderson dead in the eyes. “First, I didn’t order the food. Second, I never harassed him.” “Clara!” Henderson slammed his hand on the table. “What kind of attitude is this? I am trying to protect you! If this blows up, the company will have to fire you to protect its reputation! With a reputation for harassing subordinates, how are you ever going to find a job in this industry again?” “Exactly!” Emboldened by Henderson’s backing, Tyler grew even more arrogant. “If you don’t pay up and apologize, I’m going to expose you online! Let the internet judge you! Let’s see how you live with yourself after that!” “Expose me?” I looked at Tyler. “How exactly do you plan to do that?” “I’ll post it on TikTok, on Instagram! I’ve already got the title figured out: SHOCKING! Creepy Female Boss Fails to Seduce Gen Z Intern, Traps Him with $15,000 Dinner Bill!” Tyler looked incredibly smug. “I’ve got a lot of followers, you know. The second I post it, you’re going to be canceled permanently!” Henderson’s face changed. “Tyler, stop this nonsense! Do you not care about the company’s reputation?” “That depends on how Manager Clara behaves.” Tyler crossed his arms, looking like he had me backed into a corner. “Either you pay the $14,800, plus an extra $5,000 for my emotional distress, and we settle this privately. Or, I post the video, and we burn together!” Looking at his face, the last shred of pity I had vanished. This was extortion. Naked, blatant extortion. “Mr. Henderson, you heard him.” I pointed at Tyler. “He is extorting me.” A flash of awkwardness crossed Henderson’s face, but it was quickly masked by impatience. “Clara, just pay the money and be done with it. Twenty grand isn’t that much for you, don’t lose the forest for the trees.” “And if I refuse?” “Then you are refusing to follow company orders!” Henderson’s face darkened, his knuckles rapping against the table—thud, thud, thud—like a death knell. “Clara, you need to think very carefully about the consequences.” I stood up. Buttoned my suit jacket, one button at a time. “I have thought about it very carefully.” I looked down, placing my phone face-up on the table. The screen was on. The voice memo recording app was open. 04:47, and still ticking. Tyler’s face drained of color in an instant. “Since he wants to expose things—” I picked up my phone, hitting “Save” right in front of his eyes. “Let’s expose it all.” Henderson was stunned. “Clara! You—” I didn’t look back. Behind me came the loud crash of a chair tipping over, and Henderson’s furious roar: “If you walk out that door today, don’t bother coming in tomorrow!” I didn’t stop walking. “Whatever.” The door closed behind me. The hallway was long. The click of my heels on the tile echoed steadily, one step at a time. Henderson said don’t bother coming in tomorrow? Fine. Because tomorrow, I might not be the one getting fired. Back at my desk, I started packing my things into a box. My coworkers whispered around me, looking at me like I was already a ghost. Marcus walked over, feigning sympathy. “Clara, why do this? Why fight over money? Why fight with Mr. Henderson? You leave now, and all your hard work these past few years goes down the drain.” “Marcus, you don’t have to play the good guy here.” I placed a picture frame into the box. “You’ve been eyeing this position for a long time, haven’t you? It’s yours now.” Marcus couldn’t hide the gleam in his eyes. “Oh, come on now. I actually wanted to help you, but your temper is just too stubborn. Keep in touch, alright?” Tyler walked out of the CEO’s office, a victorious smirk plastered across his face. He strolled over to me, looking down at me as I packed. “If you had just paid up last night, none of this would have happened. Now look at you. Lost your job, ruined your reputation, and you still have to pay up! If you don’t, I’m going to make a scene at your front door every single day!” He leaned in close and whispered, “Let me tell you something. My cousin runs with a rough crowd. If you don’t cough up the cash, I’ll have him pay your family a visit.” 6. My hands stopped. I looked up at him. “Are you threatening my family?” “So what if I am?” Tyler sneered. “Scared now? If you’re scared, hurry up and pay! And I don’t just want what I asked for in there. I’ve changed my mind. I want $25,000! Not a penny less!” I looked at his face, twisted with greed. Excellent. Originally, I was going to leave him a way out. Now, it seems there’s no need. “Tyler, remember what you just said.” I picked up my box and strode toward the elevator. Behind me, Tyler laughed mockingly. “Stop acting so tough! You’re a stray dog!” The elevator doors closed. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Hello, Attorney Brooks? I have a few cases I want to retain you for. Yes, involving extortion, corporate embezzlement, and defamation. Evidence? I have plenty of evidence.” After hanging up, I opened another group chat. It was my college alumni group, filled with friends working in media and PR. I sent a message: “Ladies, I’ve got some massive tea. Exclusive scoop, complete with audio and video. Unlimited material. Someone wants to take down toxic corporate culture, and I want to give him a hand.” When I got home, I didn’t stay idle. I organized the recordings from last night, the audio I secretly recorded in the conference room, and screenshots of Tyler cursing me in the group chat. Especially his final threat regarding my family. Even though I didn’t have audio for that specific moment, there was a security camera right outside the conference room. From that angle, it would easily capture his mouth movements. That alone would be enough of a headache for him in court. 3:00 PM. Tyler made his move, exactly as expected. He posted a video on TikTok. In the video, he cried pitifully, alleging workplace bullying and sexual harassment. The title was clickbait gold: [Gen Z Intern Tries to Fix Toxic Workplace, Gets Set Up by Creepy Female Boss With $15k Dinner Bill!] The video was masterfully edited. It only showed the massive receipt and the two messages I sent in the group chat. Layered over it was his sobbing voiceover: “I’m just a recent grad, I only make three thousand a month… Manager Clara kept dropping hints, and when I rejected her, she purposefully bailed on our team dinner, forcing us into debt…” “She even threatened me, saying if I didn’t listen to her, she’d make sure I could never work in this industry again…” The video blew up fast. In less than two hours, it had over 100,000 likes. The comment section was a bloodbath directed at me. “Why doesn’t this psycho old hag just go die?” “Doxx her! Expose her info!” “Feeling so bad for this guy, it’s too hard for Gen Z to fix corporate culture.” “This is the reality of the workplace, funny how the feminists are quiet now.” My phone was blown up by unknown numbers. A barrage of abusive texts flooded in. Some people even found my private social media accounts and spammed the comments. Mr. Henderson sent me a message: “Clara, look at what you’ve done! The company phones are ringing off the hook! You need to issue a public apology immediately! Take full responsibility! Otherwise, the legal department will sue you for damaging the company’s reputation!” I didn’t reply. I was waiting. Waiting for the heat to rise a bit more. Waiting for Tyler to feel like he had completely won, lowering his guard entirely. 8:00 PM. Tyler went live on TikTok. I checked in; there were over 100,000 people watching. He was playing the victim, thanking the internet for their support, and conveniently pinned his Venmo handle, claiming he needed to crowdfund to pay off the dinner tab. “Thank you guys, I really have no other choice. I had to borrow from all my friends just to cover that $15,000, and now I have to pay off my credit cards…” “That Clara woman has already been fired, but she still hasn’t paid us back, and she even threatened me…” “If you guys send enough gifts, I’ll leak her home address!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394808”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Winter break was coming up, and my Aunt Teresa called me with a “suggestion.” She told me to cancel my Amtrak ticket and just hitch a ride with my Uncle David. “Money is tight these days, Riley,” she’d said, her voice dripping with practiced maternal concern. “Why waste a couple hundred bucks on a train? Save where you can. Besides, it’ll be faster.” I fell for it. I trusted her. Instead of a smooth four-hour train ride, I spent eighteen agonizing hours crawling through a blizzard-induced gridlock on I-95. By the time we finally pulled into my parents’ driveway, my bones felt like glass and my head was thumping. I reached for the door handle, desperate to escape the cramped backseat, but the locks didn’t click. Teresa turned around in the passenger seat, her eyes sharp and expectant. “So, honey, that’ll be a thousand dollars.” I froze, my hand still hovering over the latch. “Aunt Teresa? I thought you said you were just giving me a lift since you were heading this way anyway.” She didn’t even blink. Her expression remained perfectly composed, as if she were reciting a weather report. “We were giving you a lift, yes. But we never said it was free.” “Look at the trip we just had,” she continued, gesturing vaguely at the windshield. “Gas, tolls, the wear and tear on the SUV… it adds up. And don’t forget, when we were stuck at that rest stop in Jersey, I bought you that twelve-dollar corn dog. Honestly, a thousand is a steal.” I nearly laughed out of pure, hysterical spite. My train ticket had been two hundred and forty dollars. Even if I’d taken an Uber to and from the stations, I wouldn’t have cracked three hundred. David sat behind the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, tapping his fingers impatiently on the leather. “Come on, Riley. We’ve got places to be. Just Venmo her.” The locks stayed engaged. I felt like a hostage in my own driveway. With a shaking thumb, I opened the app and transferred the thousand dollars—practically my entire semester’s savings. Click. The doors finally unlocked. I dragged my suitcase out, the cold air hitting my face, but it didn’t cool the white-hot anger simmering in my chest. Once I got inside and slumped onto my bed, the injustice of it started to itch under my skin. I picked up my phone. “Hey, Nana?” “Hi, sweetheart! Are you home? I can’t wait to see you for the New Year’s dinner!” I swallowed hard, my voice trembling. “Nana… I don’t think I can make it this year. I’m probably just going to stay home.” 1 Nana’s voice sharpened instantly. “What? Riley, what happened? You were so excited to come over. Did something go wrong at school?” A lump formed in my throat. I tried to keep my voice level, but the hurt was leaking through. “It’s nothing, Nana. It’s just… money is a little tight right now. I realized I don’t really have enough to buy everyone gifts, and I’d feel terrible showing up empty-handed.” “Rubbish!” Nana cut me off. “Your presence is the only gift I care about. Since when do you worry about buying us things? Tell me the truth, Riley. Who upset you?” Under her relentless, grandmotherly interrogation, the whole story came pouring out. I told her about the canceled ticket, the eighteen hours of traffic, and the thousand-dollar “fee” at the finish line. The line went silent for a few beats. Then, I heard the low, dangerous hum of Nana’s temper. “The absolute nerve of those two,” she hissed. Then, her voice softened just as quickly. “Riley, don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve heard enough.” “Nana, it’s fine, it’s just—” “It is not about the money, Riley. It’s about the principle. It’s about how we treat family. You leave this to me. I’ll make sure you get that thousand dollars back, and when you come over on New Year’s Eve, I’m giving you a massive ‘stress-relief’ bonus myself. Now, go get some sleep.” Hanging up, I felt a tiny bit of the weight lift. I headed downstairs where my parents were waiting. My dad grabbed my suitcase while my mom pulled me into a suffocating hug. “My God, you must be exhausted. Eighteen hours? I told David the train was better, but he insisted.” I forced a weak smile. “I’m okay, Mom. Just… a little broke.” “Broke?” They both paused, looking at me with concern. “What do you mean? Did you lose your wallet?” I shook my head and looked them in the eye. “Teresa charged me a thousand dollars for the ride. I had to give her almost all of my scholarship money just to get out of the car.” The living room went dead silent. “What?” My dad’s brow furrowed into a deep V. “A thousand dollars? For a carpool? David… he actually went along with that? Are you sure you didn’t mishear her?” My mom’s face transformed. It wasn’t shock; it was a cold, hard realization. “David wouldn’t have the guts to come up with that on his own. It’s her. It’s Teresa.” She turned to my dad, her voice vibrating with fury. “Mark, I told you when they got married—that woman has dollar signs where her soul should be. Charging her own niece for a ride home? It’s predatory.” My dad was still struggling to process it. “But even if it was her idea… David is her uncle. How could he just sit there?” They went back and forth, their anger building with every sentence. “No,” my mom said, pacing the rug. “We aren’t letting this slide. Riley worked her tail off for that scholarship. She isn’t subsidizing Teresa’s new handbag.” My dad nodded, his expression grim. “You’re right. This isn’t just about the cash. If we let them do this now, what’s next? We need to have a word.” They reached a consensus within minutes. My mom pulled out her phone and dialed David. “Hey, Dave! Are you guys settled in? Listen, we haven’t seen you two in ages. Why don’t we do a nice family dinner tonight? Our treat.” I could hear David’s voice on the other end, sounding hesitant. “Oh, hey, Sarah. Tonight’s tough, you know? End of the year, lots of errands, we’re pretty wiped…” My dad stepped in, leaning toward the speaker. “Come on, Dave! Even busy people have to eat. We already booked a table at The Sterling. I hear their dry-aged steaks are incredible.” There was a two-second beat of silence. At the mention of the most expensive steakhouse in the city, David’s tone flipped like a switch. “The Sterling? Oh… well, if you’ve already got the reservation… let me talk to Teresa. Yeah, okay, we’ll be there at seven!” 2 Seven o’clock arrived, and the restaurant was glowing with holiday lights and the scent of expensive bourbon. We had been seated for ten minutes when David and Teresa strolled in. Teresa was dressed to the nines, clutching a brand-new designer tote. She scanned the opulent dining room with a predatory sort of glee before plastering a bright smile on her face. “Sarah! Mark! You guys really shouldn’t have,” she cooed, sliding into the leather booth. “This place is just magnificent.” David followed her, looking slightly more sheepish. He caught my eye for a split second before looking down at his menu. As the appetizers arrived—delicate plates of tuna tartare and wagyu sliders—the conversation stayed light. My dad poured David a glass of heavy red wine, chatting about work and the holidays. After a few drinks, David started to loosen up. He sighed, leaning back. “I’ll tell you, Mark, the economy is killing me this year. Business is slow, expenses are up.” “I hear you,” my dad said smoothly, taking a sip of his water. “Costs are rising everywhere. That’s why the kids love the train so much. Amtrak is quick, easy, and honestly, it’s usually cheaper than driving.” “Like Riley,” my mom added, her voice conversational but sharp. “Her ticket was only two-hundred-something. Even with a couple of Ubers, she would’ve been home for under three hundred bucks. So much simpler.” David’s smile faltered. His fork hovered over a slider. “Yeah… yeah, the train is fine, I guess…” Teresa gave him a sharp nudge under the table. She beamed at my mom. “Well, Sarah, driving is just more flexible, isn’t it? You can pack what you want, leave when you want. It’s just the holiday traffic that’s the killer.” “We were miserable,” Teresa continued, oblivious to the trap being set. “Eighteen hours! I thought my back was going to snap.” “I know,” my mom said, putting her spoon down and looking Teresa directly in the eye. “Riley told me all about it. It sounds like quite an ordeal.” “Especially at that rest stop,” my mom continued. “I heard you even treated her to a corn dog? That was so sweet of you, Teresa. I told her she shouldn’t have let you pay.” Teresa’s smile froze. David cleared his throat. “It was just a corn dog, Sarah. No big deal.” “Right, no big deal,” my mom nodded. Then, as if it were a casual afterthought, she added, “Oh, but Riley also mentioned that right before she got out of the car, you charged her a thousand dollars.” “Gas and tolls, apparently? I’ve been trying to do the math in my head, but even with the worst traffic in history, a thousand dollars… it seems a bit steep, doesn’t it?” David’s face turned a deep, blotchy red. He set his wine glass down, his lips trembling as he searched for words. “Well… Sarah, look, the thing is… the expenses on the road…” “The expenses were high, I’m sure,” my dad interrupted, his voice losing its friendly edge. “But Riley is a student. She hitched a ride with family. Ordinarily, she’d be the one saying thank you. But a thousand dollars? I’d love to hear the breakdown on that. I’m always looking to learn about logistics.” Seeing David flounder, Teresa’s survival instincts kicked in. She straightened her posture and raised her voice. “Mark, don’t take that tone with us!” “Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a buck these days? We went out of our way to pick her up to save her money. Doesn’t gas cost money? Aren’t tolls expensive? What about the wear and tear on our vehicle? That’s an investment!” “It was the holidays! We spent our precious time sitting in that traffic. Is our time worth nothing? And that traffic was stressful! A thousand dollars is just a flat fee for the trouble. We barely broke even!” 3 She spoke with such frantic speed you’d think she was the victim of a grand heist. I decided it was time to pop her bubble. “To save me money?” I asked, my voice cutting through her rant. “Aunt Teresa, did you forget that you were the one who begged me to cancel my train ticket?” “You told me the train was a waste of money. You said Uncle David’s car would be faster and cheaper. I only did it because I believed you.” Teresa’s face went ghostly white. Her eyes darted toward David, who was now staring intently at a piece of broccoli as if it held the secrets to the universe. “And as for the gas and tolls,” I continued. “I checked the route on my phone. Even with the surge in holiday prices, the total cost for that trip is five hundred dollars, max. And that’s if you’re driving a tank.” “Plus,” I added, leaning in, “if you hadn’t insisted on getting off the highway for three hours to hit that designer outlet sale for your new bag, we wouldn’t have been caught behind that ten-car pileup. We wouldn’t have been stuck for eighteen hours at all.” “You… you little brat! What are you talking about?” Teresa’s finger was suddenly inches from my face. “That’s a lie! I never told you to cancel your ticket! You’re making things up because you’re grumpy from the car ride!” She turned to my parents, her face twisted into a mask of wounded dignity. “Sarah, Mark, look at her! Is this how you raised her? To slander her own family? We did her a favor, and now she’s vilifying us?” “That thousand dollars was a fair reimbursement! You can’t let a child dictate how adults handle their finances!” My dad’s face was now like thunder. My mom’s knuckles were white as she gripped her napkin. I looked at Teresa—at the way her lip curled in that ugly, greedy snarl—and I didn’t hesitate. I pulled my phone from my pocket. I tapped the screen a few times. I hit play and set it in the middle of the table. Teresa’s voice, bubbly and forced, filled the quiet space of the booth: “…Oh, Riley, honey, just cancel the Amtrak! It’s so overpriced. Money is so hard to come by these days, you have to be smart! Just hop in with your uncle, it’s basically just the cost of a little extra gas. It’s faster anyway! We’re family, we look out for each other. We’ll be at the dorm gate to pick you up!” “…Traffic? Don’t be silly! We’ll leave early and beat the rush. Trust me, Riley. Cancel the ticket!” The recording was short, but it hit like a gunshot. My dad’s eyes were burning as he looked at David. “Dave! Talk to me. Is the recording lying too?” David opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked like he was about to faint. “Okay, so maybe the kid misunderstood the ‘free’ part,” Teresa spat, her voice dropping the facade. “But what about the traffic? The bag? That’s all speculation!” “It’s not speculation,” I said calmly. “We can check the dashcam. Or we can just look at the timestamp on the receipt for that bag in your purse.” Teresa was trapped. Her face went from white to a sickly, mottled purple. David looked at me, and for a second, I saw it—a flash of pure, pathetic resentment. He wasn’t embarrassed that they’d scammed me; he was angry that I’d caught them. My dad pointed a shaking finger at Teresa. “Teresa, have you no shame? You looked this girl in the eye and lied to her just to pocket her scholarship money?” “She’s twenty years old! She stayed up until 3:00 AM every night to earn that money, and you thought you could just… snatch it?” 4 My mom’s eyes were brimming with tears—not of sadness, but of pure, unadulterated rage. “David, I’m your sister,” she whispered. “I have looked out for you since we were kids. When you were struggling in college, I sent you half my paycheck from my waitressing job so you could eat.” “When you bought your house and you were short on the down payment, Mark and I gave you twelve thousand dollars without asking for a single cent in interest. We never asked for anything in return! We did it because you’re my brother!” She took a ragged breath and turned to Teresa. “And you! Three years ago when you broke your leg, who was at your house every day for a month cleaning your floors and cooking your meals? When your mother needed surgery, who called every contact I had to find a specialist and fronted the deductible?” “We did those things because we loved you. And now, my daughter hitches a ride with you, and you think it’s an opportunity to shake her down?” “You invented ‘wear and tear’ fees to steal from your own niece? Do you even have a soul?” My mom’s words were like scalpels. David looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. Teresa, however, finally snapped. She dropped the “sweet aunt” act entirely. “Oh, spare me the history lesson, Sarah!” she shrieked, her voice drawing stares from the neighboring tables. “That was years ago! This is now! In the real world, people pay for services!” “Does the car run on magic? Do the tires not wear down? Is our time not worth a premium? Why should she get a free ride while we do all the work?” “A thousand dollars? Honestly, we’re still losing money on the deal! We suffered for eighteen hours! Who’s compensating us for our stress?” David muttered under his breath, “Sarah, look, Teresa’s a bit blunt, but she’s got a point. Things are tough for us. Riley’s an adult now. It’s time she learned that nothing in life is free.” My dad let out a dark, sharp laugh. “Nothing is free? David, this is extortion. You lured her into that car with a lie and then held her suitcase hostage for a thousand bucks.” “You two are unbelievable. Your skin is thicker than a brick wall.” “Watch your mouth, Mark!” Teresa was in full combat mode now, hands on her hips. “We provided a door-to-door service. You see what a private car service costs for a four-state trip? It’s more than a thousand, I’ll tell you that!” “You just want to freeload because we’re ‘family.’ Well, family doesn’t pay my mortgage!” “Freeload?” My mom’s voice was ice. “I have never seen someone so delusional.” “Teresa, I’m going to make this very simple. I don’t care about the money. But you are going to refund every single penny of that thousand dollars to Riley, right now.” “It’s not about the cash. It’s about the fact that you aren’t going to steal from my child.” “Refund? In your dreams!” Teresa screamed, nearly spraying her wine across the table. “The money is gone! It was a fee for service! You think you can just book a ride and then ask for your money back? Get real!” “That money is mine now! If anything, I should’ve charged fifteen hundred!” She was shaking with adrenaline, pointing her finger at my parents. “You think your daughter is so special? You think she’s too good to pay her way? You’re all just a bunch of users!” “I’m not giving back a cent. And you know what? You’re paying for this dinner, too. You invited us to a five-star restaurant to show off? Fine. Enjoy the bill!” She grabbed the bottle of red wine from the table, took a long, classless swig straight from the bottle, and smirked. “What are you gonna do about it? David’s my husband. He listens to me. You ‘family’ types are just easy marks.” She crossed her legs, swinging her heel back and forth in a victory dance. “The world belongs to people with money, Sarah. Not people with ‘feelings.’ You aren’t getting that grand back if God himself walked through that door.” Just as my parents were about to explode, the heavy oak door of the private dining area swung open with a soft thud.

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When the sign-in sheet finally made its way to me, someone had already taken a red pen to my name. Kat Miller — Unemployed. I stared at the jagged, hasty scrawl. I didn’t erase it. Rick stood in the center of the private dining room, microphone in hand, the gold watch on his wrist catching the light with a tacky, aggressive glare. “Alright, alright! Ten years, people! Let’s do a roll call!” “Is Kat here yet?” Twenty-something pairs of eyes swiveled in my direction. I pulled out the chair in the corner—the one without a name card—and sat down. To my immediate left was the door to the restrooms. “I’m here.” “Whoa, Kat actually showed up?” Rick grinned, a wide, shark-like expression. “Honestly? I thought you’d be too embarrassed.” Laughter rippled through the room. A waiter passing by with a tray paused, his eyes lingering on me for two seconds too long. I gave him a subtle shake of my head. He blinked, startled, then ducked his head and hurried away. 01 When Rick went around pouring drinks, he skipped the wine when he got to me and filled my glass with tap water. “Water for Kat. Wine’s expensive, you know.” He laughed, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t a friendly pat; it was a shove disguised as camaraderie. “Just kidding, don’t be sensitive.” Doug sat across from me. His suit jacket still had the shiny press marks from a cheap dry cleaner. He slapped his City Hall ID on the table, face up. “Boys, just got promoted to Senior City Planner.” “Damn, Doug! nice!” “We know who to call for permits now!” Rick worked the room with a wine bottle, circling back to hover near me. “So, Kat. What about you? What are you doing with yourself these days?” “Just a small business.” “What kind of small business?” “I run a shop.” Rick chuckled—a sound that pushed air through his nose in a dismissive snort. “A shop. Good for you. Be your own boss, right?” He turned to address the table, his voice booming. “Kat runs a shop, everyone! Let’s make sure to support her.” Doug snickered. “What kind of shop? Selling crafts on Etsy? manicures?” I took a sip of water. I didn’t take the bait. Becca, sitting diagonally across from me, raised her glass in a silent toast, trying to cut the tension. “She’s low-key. Leave it alone.” Rick ignored her and kept circling. It was a performance. Every stop at a chair was an opportunity to broadcast a resume. Tessa, importing electronics in Seattle, moved eight million in volume last year. Jen, married to a developer’s son, owned three vacation homes. Lexi, the influencer, four million followers on TikTok. When they hit their stride, bragging about assets and acquisitions, nobody looked at my corner. The restroom door swung open and shut, wafting damp air my way. The waiter returned with the cold appetizers, stealing another nervous glance at me. “Just serve the food,” I murmured, barely moving my lips. “Don’t look at me.” His hand trembled, setting the plate down two inches off-center. 02 Cole arrived forty minutes later than everyone else. When the door opened, the scent of expensive leather and cedar entered the room before he did. Bespoke suit. On his wrist, a watch with a face that gleamed with quiet authority. I recognized the brand. Patek Philippe. Limited edition. “Hey, hey! So sorry! Traffic was a nightmare!” He scanned the room. His gaze landed on me for half a second. Then he smiled. It was the smile of someone seeing an old acquaintance they had long ago outgrown—thirty percent polite, seventy percent judgmental. “Kat?” “Yeah.” “You made it.” He pulled out the chair next to Rick. People immediately rushed to pour him a drink. “Cole here is the golden boy now! Married into old money, busy man!” Rick announced. Cole waved a dismissive hand. “Not busy. Just managing some construction projects.” He sipped his wine, his eyes drifting over the rim to inspect me again. “So, Kat. Where are you working these days?” Rick answered for me. “Kat opened a little shop back in her hometown.” “Oh…” Cole dragged the syllable out. That “Oh” contained a decade of unspoken judgments. Expected. Typical. Thank god I left. He nodded, a benevolent smile plastered on his face. “That’s nice. Freedom, right?” Then he turned away to talk to someone who mattered. Becca kicked me under the table. I knew what she was saying. Hold it together. I took another sip of water. It was warm. 03 By the third round of drinks, Rick stood up and slammed his hand on the table. “Drinking is boring! Let’s spice this up!” He pulled out his phone and opened a roulette app. “Whoever it lands on has to tell us their proudest achievement of the last ten years. If you can’t come up with one, three shots of tequila!” The digital needle spun, round and round, until it stopped pointing directly at me. The room erupted in jeers. “Oh, look at that! Kat hit the jackpot!” “Come on, tell us! Proudest moment!” I thought for a moment. “My garden produced a really good harvest of peppers last year.” Silence. Two beats of it. Then, the laughter exploded like a bomb. Doug laughed so hard he dropped his chopsticks. “Peppers? You’re gardening? Hahahaha!” Rick shook his head with exaggerated pity. “Kat, Kat, Kat. You have a college degree. Why did you go back to playing in the dirt?” “Three shots! That doesn’t count as an achievement!” Someone slid three shot glasses of tequila in front of me. I picked them up. One by one. Down the hatch. It burned. A hot line of fire straight to my stomach. Becca stood up. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop targeting her.” Rick patted her shoulder. “Relax, Becca. Nobody’s forcing her. She drank them herself.” “Exactly,” Doug chimed in, his voice oily. “Kat’s a big girl.” Cole didn’t speak. He just looked at me with a faint, detached pity. That pity hurt more than the mockery. I set the glass down. The aftertaste was bitter. The needle spun again. It stopped on me again. Rick cackled. “Even God thinks you have more to say.” “New topic. Kat, tell us your biggest regret of the last ten years.” Cole spoke up then, his voice smooth. “Is it regretting that you didn’t come with me?” He laughed at his own joke before anyone else could. The room dissolved into sycophantic laughter. I looked at him. He was smiling radiantly, the kind of smile that wins clients and charms in-laws. Ten years had been kind to his face; he was handsome. But the light behind his eyes was gone. “No regrets,” I said. The laughter faltered for a second, then surged back to cover the awkwardness. “Alright, alright! Drink up!” Three more shots slid across the table. 04 Five rounds in, Rick suggested checking out the cars. “Let’s go, let’s go! What’s everyone driving? Let’s compare rides!” The group stumbled downstairs, loud and loose. The parking garage was in the basement, bathed in sickly yellow fluorescent light. Rick’s black BMW X5 was parked in the VIP spot. Doug’s Audi A6 was polished to a mirror shine, the license plate ending in a lucky ‘8888’. Tessa stood by her pink Mini Cooper, already filming for TikTok. “Reunion madness! Check out the lineup!” I walked to the far corner. A silver, beat-up Ford Transit van. The body had scratches along the side. The side mirror was held on by duct tape. On the passenger seat sat a cardboard box of homemade pickled radishes I’d promised to bring for Becca. Tessa swung her camera toward my van. “Oh my god,” she giggled, hand over her mouth. “Kat, you drove this here?” The group swarmed, pointing and whispering. Doug circled the vehicle, whistling. “How much is this worth? Four grand? Five?” “Three thousand,” I said. “Hahahaha! Three grand!” Rick pulled a key fob from his pocket and pressed it. The BMW chirped and flashed its lights nearby. He sauntered over and leaned his hand on the roof of my van. “Kat, does this thing rattle when you hit sixty?” “It gets me there.” “Man, this is awkward,” Rick turned to the group. “If I’d known, I would have sent a car for you.” Cole stood ten yards back. He didn’t come closer. But he held up his phone and snapped a picture. I saw him do it. Becca stepped in front of his lens. “Okay, seen enough? Let’s go eat.” “Don’t rush off,” Rick draped an arm around my shoulders. “Kat, this van… good for hauling inventory, right?” More laughter. I opened the door, took out the box of pickles, and handed it to Becca. “For you. Mom made them.” Becca took it, ignoring the others. She whispered, “Kat, let’s just leave.” I shook my head. “I’m here now. I’m staying until the end.” 05 Back in the private room, the main courses arrived. In the center of the lazy Susan sat a bottle of wine. The label was French. The dark liquid caught the chandelier light. Rick patted the bottle. “This bad boy is fifteen hundred dollars. The star of the night.” He poured a glass for everyone, deliberately skipping me again. “Kat, better not waste this on you. You might not like the taste.” Doug laughed and slid a bottle of generic domestic beer toward me. “Here, this is more your speed. Six bucks a bottle.” I took it, twisted off the cap, and took a sip. Rick raised his glass. “Here’s to the most successful person in the room!” “Who’s that?” “Obviously… all of us!” Clinking glass. Laughter. Then Rick pivoted. “By the way, Kat, you came alone? No husband?” “No.” “Tsk, tsk. Thirty-two and still single.” Cole was slowly chewing a piece of foie gras, silent. Doug leaned in. “Kat, want me to set you up? I know a guy.” He grabbed the arm of a passing waiter—a young, terrified college kid who looked like he was working a shift between classes. “Hey kid, this is my friend. She’s a… business owner. Interested?” The waiter’s face turned crimson. He tried to pull away but was too scared to be rude. “Let him go,” I said. Doug laughed. “Look at that! She’s protective!” Rick waved his hand. “Alright, quit messing around.” But the look he gave me was pure, distilled arrogance. I poured myself another glass of the cheap beer. Cole suddenly spoke. He put down his fork, wiped the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin, and spoke at a volume perfectly calibrated for the room to hear. “Kat, when we broke up, I told you something.” The room went quiet. “I said you were a good person, but you had no ambition. No drive.” He looked at me, his gaze terrifyingly calm. “It’s been ten years. And you’re exactly the same.” The sentence landed like a needle sliding into flesh. No noise, just a sharp, deep pain. I didn’t answer. Under the table, Becca’s hands curled into fists. 06 By the sixth course, Rick was drunk. His face was flushed the color of boiled shrimp, his voice rising in volume. He slung an arm around Doug and pointed a finger at me. “Kat. You said you opened a shop.” “Yeah.” “What shop? Give us a name. It’s not… it’s not that little bodega your dad used to run, is it?” My fingers froze on the glass. Rick didn’t notice. He plowed on. “I remember your dad. Used to set up a stall by the school gate selling sandwiches and noodles.” “Right, right!” Doug slapped his thigh. “Uncle Liu! I remember him!” “One time he tried to bring food to the class for us, and the security guard wouldn’t let him in.” “He stood in the pouring rain for half an hour.” Rick laughed loudly. “Yeah, that was him! Nice guy, but… you know. Zero capability.” He raised his glass, swaying slightly. “Kat, I’m gonna be real with you. Your dad spent his whole life stuck in that little shop in that little town. And now, you’re stuck there too.” “You and your dad. Cut from the same mold.” Some people in the room laughed. Others looked down at their plates, uncomfortable. Cole didn’t laugh. But he didn’t stop it, either. I set the beer bottle down. Slowly. Becca slammed her hands on the table and stood up, her chair screeching against the floor. “Rick, shut your damn mouth! Do you even know how her dad died?” “Whoa, whoa,” Rick waved a hand. “Just joking among old friends. Why so serious?” “Yeah, it’s just the liquor talking,” Doug tried to smooth things over. Becca opened her mouth to scream, but I tugged on her sleeve. “Sit down.” “Kat…” “I said, sit down.” She looked at me. I knew what she saw. Because her expression changed. Not to pity. But to realization. I checked my watch. 9:14 PM. It was time. I finished the last sip of the six-dollar beer and placed the empty bottle on the table. Glass hit glass with a crisp clink. The door opened. The waiter entered with the fruit platter. I saw his hands shaking. Because following right behind him, dressed in an immaculate black suit, was the General Manager. 07 The Manager walked straight to Rick and bowed slightly, presenting a black leather bill folder. Rick took it, flipped it open, and glanced at the number. “Sixteen thousand eight hundred. Not bad.” He snapped the folder shut and looked around. “Let’s split it. AA style. Eight hundred a person.” Then he looked at me and smiled. I knew that smile. He used to smile like that in college every time the bill came. “Who’s going to cover… Kat’s share?” “I got it, I got it,” Doug pulled out his phone, winking at me. “Just treat me to a sandwich sometime.” Cole pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to Rick. “Put two shares on this. Consider the extra one a gift for old times’ sake.” He didn’t look at me. But everyone knew who the charity was for. Becca’s face was burning red. I stood up. “No need.” I walked over to the Manager and took the folder from his hands. Rick laughed nervously. “Kat, don’t try to be a hero. It’s sixteen grand.” I opened the bill. Scanned it. Sixteen courses. Four bottles of wine. Two fruit platters. The math was clear. Except two items were overpriced, and the vintage on the red wine was mislabeled. “The vintage on the Australian Shiraz is wrong,” I said, pointing to the seventh line. “You listed a 2016 as a 2018. That’s a six hundred dollar price difference.” The Manager’s face drained of color. “And the Black Truffle Scramble. We adjusted the price last October from 388 down to 328. The menu was updated, but the POS system wasn’t synced.” The room went dead silent. Rick froze, his mouth hanging half-open. A sheen of sweat broke out on the Manager’s forehead. Then, he did something nobody expected. He bowed to me. A full, ninety-degree bow. “Ms. Katherine, I am so sorry! It was my negligence!” “Ms…?” Doug nearly dropped his glass. “Katherine?” The Manager straightened up, turned to the table, and spoke, his voice trembling. “Ladies and gentlemen… this restaurant belongs to Ms. Katherine.” I handed him a black card. “Go fix the bill. This meal is on me.” Cole’s hand, still holding his credit card, hovered in mid-air. Rick’s jaw was unhinged. The gold watch glinted, mocking him. I turned and looked him in the eye. “Keep going. What were you saying about my father?”

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I grew up in the shadow of a girl named Hannah. We were the kind of “best friends” people tell stories about—the boy next door and the girl who shared his every secret. But to get into the good graces of my roommate, Logan, she did the unthinkable. She got me drunk, tucked me into bed, and locked the bedroom door from the outside. By the time I clawed my way out of sleep, my phone was a graveyard of unanswered calls. I had missed my Multivariable Calculus final. My GPA, my standing, my future—all of it felt like it was slipping through my fingers. … Around noon, she finally showed up. She was carrying a box from the local patisserie, the one that made the dark chocolate mousse she knew I couldn’t resist. “It’s just one exam, Nate,” she said, her voice airy, as if she were talking about a missed bus. “College isn’t a real experience unless you fail a class or have a messy breakup. You’re too high-strung.” “I missed the final, Hannah. I sat in a locked room while the clock ran out.” “I’m so sorry. It’s a habit, locking the door when I head out. And my phone was on Do Not Disturb for a departmental meeting.” She swung the box in front of my face, a playful pout on her lips. “To make it up to you, I got the good stuff. You can just take a make-up exam later. It’s not a tragedy.” I stared at her. This was the face that had occupied the center of my universe for fifteen years, the face I had seen in every dream of my future. But looking at her now, the image was blurring. “Did you trap me here for Logan?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Her smile faltered. It didn’t vanish, but it turned brittle. That was all the answer I needed. “Hannah, you’d really do anything for him, wouldn’t you? Even if it meant breaking me.” I felt a hollow ache in my chest, a physical need to get away from her. I turned to leave, but she grabbed my sleeve, her eyes suddenly frantic. “Nate, listen. You’re brilliant. You’ve had the Presidential Scholarship for two years straight. Just let Logan have this one win. If he gets the top mark this semester, his resume will actually look decent for the fall recruiting cycle. He needs this more than you do.” The honesty was more devastating than the lie. I closed my eyes and took a long, jagged breath. “Hannah, stay out of my life. I’m blocking you.” The cake box hit the floor with a dull thud. The mousse inside probably turned into a smeared mess, but I didn’t look back. I dragged myself back to the dorm, exhaustion weighing down my bones. Just as I threw myself onto my bed, my phone buzzed. A banking notification. Hannah had transferred $2,000 to my account. The memo read: Logan says the scholarship you’re worried about is worth a grand. Here’s two. He gets the honors, you get the cash. Everyone wins. Please stop being mad. They had known each other for exactly one week, and she was already calling him by pet names, protecting his ego like it was her job. I had known her for fifteen years, and she still treated me like a safety net she could cut whenever she needed more slack. That’s the difference between love and whatever it was she felt for me. For a decade and a half, I had been running toward her. My family had nothing, so I studied until my eyes bled just to keep up with her, just to get into the same university, just to be in the same city. I refused to believe she couldn’t feel the weight of my devotion. But she thought my dignity had a price tag. Those two thousand dollars felt like a public execution. I started laughing. It was a sharp, ugly sound. I suppose when the heart finally shatters, the only thing left to do is find the humor in the wreckage. I transferred every cent back to her account. My mind drifted back to a few weeks ago, to a casual FaceTime call we’d had. Logan had walked into the background of my frame, shirtless and grinning. Hannah’s eyes had lit up instantly. She hung up on me without a word and sent a flurry of texts. Nate, who was that guy? He looks like a literal Abercrombie model. Why haven’t you introduced me? I remember staring at the screen, my hands going cold. That’s Logan. He’s in my program. He moved in this semester because he didn’t get along with his old roommates. I need his number. Now. Don’t be a gatekeeper. She’d phrased it as a joke, but I couldn’t breathe. I never gave her the number, but Hannah’s aunt was a dean in the humanities department. Within forty-eight hours, she’d tracked Logan down. When Hannah wanted something, she was a force of nature. For the next week, she vanished from my life, too busy on marathon phone calls with Logan to check if I was still breathing. Our dorm room became a personal purgatory. Every night, I heard them—the hushed whispers, the suggestive giggles, the sound of a romance blooming on the other end of a speakerphone. Each word was a needle under my fingernails. They talked until two, three in the morning. I’d lie there, staring at the dark ceiling, the acid rising in my throat. One night, unable to sleep, I turned on my desk lamp to try and focus on my thesis. Logan let out a heavy, theatrical sigh. He threw on a hoodie and stomped out of the room. A moment later, I heard his voice echoing in the hallway, muffled but clear. “I don’t know what his problem is, Han. He’s acting out. Turning on the lights at 1 AM just to flex how much he studies. He doesn’t care that people are trying to sleep.” A pause. “I don’t know how you’re friends with him. He’s like a robot. No personality, just textbooks and silence. I’m a human being, you know? I can’t compete with a machine that doesn’t sleep. He’s been top of the class for two years, and I’m sick of being the runner-up because I actually have a life.” I sat there, stunned by the sheer audacity of it. He was the one keeping the room awake with his flirting, yet somehow, I was the villain. I didn’t want a fight. I clicked off the lamp, climbed back into bed, and shoved my earplugs in so deep they hurt. The sound of footsteps and laughter pulled me back to the present. Logan was back, flanked by our other roommates, Tyler and Jordan. “Man, that steak was incredible. Thanks for the treat, Logan,” Tyler said, patting his stomach. “I still don’t get Nate,” Jordan added, shaking his head. “The guy lives in the library, then just… doesn’t show up for the biggest exam of the year? There goes his 4.0. Looks like the King is dead. Congrats on the top spot, Logan. Long time coming.” “Stop, guys, you’re embarrassing me,” Logan said, though his voice was dripping with smug satisfaction. They walked into the room and froze when they saw me sitting on my bed. The air turned thick with awkwardness. “Oh… hey, Nate,” Tyler said, breaking the silence. “Where were you today? We missed you at the exam.” Before I could speak, Logan’s phone chimed. He looked at the screen, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. He hit play on the voice note. “Logan, is Nate with you? I think he’s actually upset. Tell him we’re all getting lunch tomorrow. We need to clear the air.” Logan looked at me, his eyes dancing with malice. “Did you hear that? My girlfriend wants to take you to lunch.” The word girlfriend felt like a serrated blade across my chest. I actually flinched. “I’m not going,” I said, my voice tight. He tilted his head back, looking down his nose at me. “If you don’t go, how are we supposed to ‘clear the air’?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “You spent the night at my girlfriend’s place. Just the two of you. Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? Or are you just going to keep pining after her like a pathetic loser? Is that why you wouldn’t give me her number? You wanted her all to yourself?” “Say something!” The room went silent. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tyler nudge Jordan. They slipped into their chairs, backs turned, desperate to disappear from the confrontation. I felt the blood drain from my face. My head spun, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead. They hadn’t made it official until now. I thought they were still in the “talking” phase. That’s why, when Hannah invited me over for her birthday, I had been stupid enough to hope. I had asked her, Is Logan coming? No, she had said. Just the two of us. A quiet celebration. I had dressed up. I had bought her a gift I couldn’t afford. I had planned to finally tell her how I felt, to ask her to choose. She had cooked a massive dinner. She kept pouring the wine. Before I could even get the words out, the world started tilting. I felt heavy, drugged. She told me to sleep it off in the guest room. I trusted her. I never saw the lock on the door. Logan saw my silence as a confession. He sneered, a look of pure disgust on his face. “Using ‘friendship’ as a cover to try and sleep with someone else’s girl… you’re a special kind of low-life, Nate.” My throat tightened. I wanted to scream, to tell him what she’d done, but the words died in my throat. Tears blurred my vision, and I couldn’t let him see me break. I bolted for the door. As the door slammed behind me, I heard him talking into his phone. “Hey, babe. I tried, but he’s being a prick. He won’t come.” I ran until my lungs burned, the tears finally spilling over. He was right about one thing. I was pathetic.

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It was two in the morning when my husband’s mistress called. “Mrs. Lockwood? Harrison got into a brawl over me. The paparazzi are swarming.” Her voice was a cocktail of feigned panic and genuine triumph. “You need to come down here. Bring a change of clothes. Fix this.” The audacity wasn’t new. In the three years Harrison and I had been married, Paige’s brazenness was the third person in our relationship. To the public, I was the shield that deflected every scandal, the grace that smoothed over his hedonism. In private, I had screamed, packed bags, and had breakdowns that left me hollow. I had become the punchline of the Upper East Side—the wife who wouldn’t leave. But tonight, I wasn’t screaming. “Fine,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m on my way.” 01 When I arrived at the VIP lounge, the scene was a tableau of chaotic indulgence. Paige Miller was draped over Harrison, her face flushed, hair artfully messy, clinging to him like a vine. She had mastered the art of looking fragile—tears trembling on her lashes, ready to fall but never quite ruining her makeup. Harrison Lockwood sat on the velvet sofa, looking bored. Even with bruised knuckles and a split lip, he didn’t look defeated. He looked dangerous. His collar was unbuttoned, tie loose, radiating that specific brand of arrogant aggression that comes from knowing you own the building you’re sitting in. The heir to the Lockwood empire, getting into a fistfight over an assistant. The tabloids would eat well tomorrow. Seeing me, Paige scrambled up, shedding her coat to offer it to me. “Mrs. Lockwood, thank god.” As she handed it over, the challenge in her eyes settled into a smug calm. “Harrison hit someone. It’s going to be hard to bury,” she whispered, ensuring only I could hear. “But if people find out it was over me, the stock price will tank. I’m sorry you have to do this. But if the narrative is that he was defending his wife’s honor… well, that’s just romantic, isn’t it?” Harrison watched from the sofa, a smirk playing on his lips. He was waiting for the explosion. “So, Norah,” he drawled. “How are we playing the victim tonight?” Usually, Paige’s “selfless” act was the spark that lit my fuse. But tonight, he miscalculated. I took the coat. It smelled like her perfume—heavy, floral, cloying. I draped it over my shoulders with the casual indifference of someone accepting a napkin. “Let’s go,” I said, checking my watch. “The press is already at the barricades.” 02 They both froze. Clearly, my compliance was not on the bingo card. Harrison’s amusement shifted into a narrow-eyed scrutiny. Then, he laughed. “Playing the obedient wife today, Norah?” Paige, sensing the shift, poured gasoline on the fire. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lockwood. I know I’m just a distraction for when Harrison is bored. You’re the one he loves. Please don’t blame him. If you want to scream at someone, scream at me.” Her tone was humble, but her voice carried the rasp of a woman who had just spent the last hour screaming in pleasure. Harrison watched me, waiting. Waiting for the mask to crack. Waiting for the tears. But I was too tired for madness. I was too tired for grace. I just wanted the circus to leave town. I extended a hand toward Paige. “Give me your bag, too.” “If we’re selling a lie,” I said flatly, “we might as well sell it all the way.” 03 In the few seconds it took Paige to hand over her clutch, Harrison’s smile vanished. He strode over, snatched the bag from my hand, and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then, he ripped the coat from my shoulders. Before I could react, he stripped off his own suit jacket—heavy, warm, smelling of cedar and expensive scotch—and wrapped it around me. “Norah,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. “Are you angry?” He hated my calm. He needed the reaction, the proof of life. But the surface of the water was glass; nothing moved underneath. “No. This is my job.” Professionally, I was the PR Director for Lockwood Holdings. Privately, I was the wife hired to clean up the mess. I was the target dummy they wheeled out to absorb the arrows of public scrutiny. But, I thought, as the silk lining of his jacket warmed my skin, this is the last time. “You’ve grown up, Norah,” he said, sounding almost proud. 04 I ignored the patronizing praise and pushed open the exit doors. The flashbulbs hit us like a physical blow, a wall of blinding white light. “Mrs. Lockwood! Who was the woman in the lounge?” “Is it true Mr. Lockwood was fighting over a mistress? Are you here for damage control?” “Sources say you’ve been living apart for six months! Is this all a show?” “Mrs. Lockwood, how do you feel about your husband’s relationship with his assistant?” The shutter clicks sounded like automatic gunfire. I stood my ground, waiting for the cacophony to dip, before I spoke. My voice was practiced, cool, detached. “My husband was in a meeting with partners tonight. He encountered an intoxicated individual who was harassing guests. His actions were strictly to maintain the security and brand standards of the venue.” The questions got sharper, aiming for blood. In the reflection of a camera lens, I saw Harrison watching me. He looked… stunned. We had been in a cold war for six months. He barely spoke to me. He had no idea this was my Tuesday night. He had no idea how good I had gotten at lying for him. After I finished the spin, Harrison suddenly stepped in, pulling me against his side. “My wife is tired,” he announced to the wolves. “That’s all for tonight.” 05 The unexpected rescue threw me off balance. Even more surprising, he followed my car home. For the last six months, I could count the number of times he’d slept at the penthouse on one hand. In the dim light of the underground garage, I could feel his eyes on me. “Are they always that vicious?” he asked. “It’s fine,” I said, unclipping my seatbelt. “Just another day in PR.” He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft, laced with a nostalgia I no longer recognized. “Norah, I’ve been thinking about the old days lately. Back when I was a wreck, you were the only one who could talk sense into me.” He reached out, fingers grazing my arm. “I’ve neglected you. I’m going to cut the distractions. From now on, it’s just us.” “There’s a gala tomorrow. Old friends. Come with me? Let’s reintroduce ourselves.” I had heard this speech before. Three years of variations on a theme. Harrison had cycled through eight ‘distractions’ since our wedding. When things were good, he let them walk all over me. When he got bored, he dragged them in front of me to apologize, like a cat presenting a dead bird. And every time he decided to play the reformed bad boy, he paraded me around town to re-establish my status as “Mrs. Lockwood.” He didn’t realize that every time we did this, the looks from society wives got more pitying. “Oh, look, Harrison is playing house again.” “Lucky Norah.” “ wonder how long this one lasts?” 06 The phantom echoes of their gossip rang in my ears. I closed my eyes, exhausted. “Forget it, Harrison. Take Paige.” His gaze darkened. “Why?” “Because I can’t control you anymore,” I said, and it was the truth. ” maybe you’ll listen to your assistant instead.” I meant it literally. To him, it sounded like surrender, like jealousy. He chuckled, tapping the tip of my nose like I was a sulking pet. “Jealous, Norah?” “Don’t be ridiculous. Paige can’t compare to you. No one compares to my Norah.” He leaned in, his body heat radiating in the cool car, and instinctively reached for my left hand to stroke my ring finger. But where the cold weight of the diamond should have been, there was only skin. He froze. His posture stiffened. “Norah. Where is your ring?” 07 Right. He didn’t know. The one-of-a-kind, twelve-carat Tiffany cushion cut—the symbol of the Lockwood fortune—was gone. I had sold it. And I got a hell of a price. Enough to fund the capital requirements for my new project. “It’s at the jeweler’s,” I lied effortlessly. “Getting cleaned.” Before he could press, his phone buzzed. Paige’s voice, sweet and melodic, filled the quiet cabin through the Bluetooth system. “Harrison? I’m so glad you’re okay. But please, don’t fight anyone for me again. It makes the PR team work late, and I hate making your wife unhappy.” He cranked the volume up, watching me. He was waiting for the water to boil. I just checked my nails. After a few seconds of my silence, he laughed. “You know, Norah, I think I see why you don’t like her. She’s a bit of a stirrer, isn’t she? Makes our dignified Mrs. Lockwood look bad.” His voice was gentle, coaxing. “Say the word, and I’ll fire her. Okay?” It sounded like love. It sounded like compromise. But I heard what he was really saying. He knew. He knew exactly how his women smiled at me, how they dug their little knives in, how they undermined me. He wasn’t deaf. He wasn’t stupid. He just didn’t care. 08 The tragedy was that for a split second, that soft tone still worked on me. But three years of marriage was a wound that wouldn’t close. One touch, and the pain woke me up. I wished, truly, that he had never loved me. Harrison Lockwood at seventeen was a city legend. A face like a fallen angel, top of every class, but with a dark streak a mile wide. He made deals in shady backrooms and fought with a reckless disregard for his own safety. We dated for three years before I realized who he really was. To me, he was just the boy who smoked too much. “You think you look cool?” I’d scolded him once, snatching a cigarette from his lips. “Do it again and I’m walking.” I was naive. I thought I was saving him. He had looked down at me, a helpless smile on his lips, and crushed the remaining pack in his hand. “Who else but Norah Kingsbury could keep me in line?” When he proposed with a rock the size of a skating rink, I realized which Harrison he was. The gap between us was terrifying. I tried to run. He caught my wrist. “Norah, I’m marrying for love. Trust me.” I trusted him. For six months, he was perfect. He protected me from the press, from his terrifying mother, from my own insecurities. He bought flowers. He brought me takeout. I thought I had won the lottery. Then came the first call from the PR department. 09 It was our first anniversary. I had cooked. Instead of my husband, I got a call from the crisis team. I was shoved into a car, briefed with jargon I didn’t understand, and ushered into a hotel suite. The scene destroyed me. Paige—back when she was just an intern—was standing there in a sheer silk slip, calmly pinning up her hair. Harrison walked out of the bathroom, shirt unbuttoned, eyes glassy. He looked at me, standing there frozen, and smiled a thin, distant smile. “Norah? What’s wrong?” Like this was normal. “You’ve been sheltered too long,” he said, turning to Paige. ” teach her the ropes.” “Teach me what?” I had screamed, my voice cracking. “How to clean up your adultery? How to pretend this is fine?” Harrison just laughed, a cold, dry sound. “It’s called discretion, Norah. It’s called being an adult. Stick around. You have a lot to learn.” 10 Paige had looked at me with dead, calm eyes. “Mrs. Lockwood, Harrison isn’t a one-woman man. You’ll be doing this a lot.” I don’t know if he did it to impress her or break me, but he let Paige train me. I became a cornered animal. I tore up endorsement deals of actresses he looked at. I bought back gifts he sent to other women and burned them in the driveway while he watched. I took a golf club to a Porsche he bought a model. He never stopped me. He just watched, smiling, petting my hair afterward, saying he was glad I got it out of my system. Then he’d go out and do it again. Eventually, I realized he wasn’t afraid of my anger. He fed on it. My loss of control proved he still owned me. But three years is a long time to bleed. “Forget it,” I said now, shaking my head in the car. “Paige has it hard enough. Besides, she understands you. I’m comfortable leaving a… sympathetic ear by your side.” 11 Harrison’s eyes went flat. He looked at me with pure contempt. “Norah, that’s enough. The magnanimous wife act is getting old. It’s exhausting.” I smiled. “Isn’t that what you told Paige to teach me?” He stared at me. “You are Mrs. Lockwood. Did you really think I wanted you to take orders from an assistant? If she was making your life difficult, why didn’t you tell me?” Gaslighting at its finest. He didn’t want dignity. He wanted me to act dignified while suffering. “She didn’t make it difficult,” I said softly. “She was very professional.” Professional at showing me I was disposable. He crushed his unlit cigarette. “Is that so? You’re so obedient now. If I asked you to give up your title, would you do that too?” I mentally tallied my assets. My apartment was packed. The auction house had the jewelry. “If that’s what you want,” I said. “I can do that.” He gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “Fine. Don’t regret it.” I wouldn’t. He ripped a red string bracelet off his wrist and threw it on the dashboard before storming out of the car. I looked at the frayed red cord. I had bought it for five dollars at a temple in Chinatown during our first year. He wore it next to Patek Philippes and diamond cuffs. It was the only thing that made me feel special. I picked it up and dropped it in the console trash bin. Being stupid for love was a rite of passage. Staying stupid was a choice. 12 Resigning was easy. I wasn’t high enough on the org chart to require Harrison’s signature. Two days later, I walked into the Venture Capital Summit as Norah Kingsbury. I was handing my card to a potential investor when a lazy, familiar voice drawled behind me. “Mrs. Lockwood? I thought Harrison brought a date today.” It was a chorus of whispers. “She’s here to put out another fire?” “Honestly, the girl who spends the most time with Harrison isn’t the wife.” “Remember the auction? He dropped a fortune on Paige.” “The wife is just a human shield.” I didn’t hide. I stood in Harrison’s line of sight. He was entering with Paige on his arm. He saw me immediately. His eyes lit up with that familiar mix of mockery and satisfaction. He thought I was here to beg. He thought I was here to make a scene. I didn’t move toward him. So Paige walked over to me. “Mrs. Lockwood. Harrison is fully booked today. Big investors. He doesn’t have time for… domestic issues. Should I pencil you in for next week?” She raised her voice just enough for the circle around us to hear. Three years, and she finally couldn’t hide the gloating. “You misunderstand, Paige,” I said. “I’m not here for him.” She laughed, a delicate, tinkling sound. “Oh, Norah. The act is getting stale.” 13 The act. “Paige,” I asked quietly. “Are you tired of waiting?” She leaned in, her mask slipping into a sneer only I could see. “Norah, do you really think he ever loved you? When you were chasing him around in high school, he was paying my tuition. He trusts me. The whole family treats me like one of their own.” She paused, savoring the kill shot. “There were never eight other women. All those scandals? All those fires you put out? They were smoke screens to hide me.” She waited for the devastation. She wanted the tears, the shaking hands. I just listened. And then, I almost laughed. “If Harrison loves you so much,” I asked, “why have you been a secret for three years? Why are you still the assistant while I’m the wife? Have you ever considered that maybe you’re just… convenient?” Her smile faltered. I turned my back on her and walked toward the man I actually needed to see. Carter Sterling. “Mr. Sterling. I’ve been following your portfolio. Do you have a moment?” Carter took my card, surprised. “Mrs… Lockwood?” “Kingsbury,” I corrected. “Norah Kingsbury.” Before we could speak, a shadow fell over us. “Mrs. Lockwood.” Harrison was standing right beside me. 14 Not Norah. Mrs. Lockwood. A reminder of who owned me. He plucked the business plan from my hand. “Since when is PR boring you? Playing investor now?” His tone was indulgent, like I was a toddler showing him a finger painting. “Harrison, that’s private,” I said, keeping my voice level. He flipped a page, chuckled, and then jerked his chin at Paige. “Paige. Come here.” She appeared instantly. He handed her my business plan. “Whatever Norah is asking for, Lockwood Corp will fund 120%. You run the project, Paige.” Paige’s eyes widened with greed, though she feigned hesitation. “Harrison, are you sure? I mean… can I?” “You wanted to lead a project,” he said, bored. “Consider this practice.” He handed my dreams to his mistress like a party favor. He didn’t even look at me. The crowd watched, delighted by the cruelty. “Ouch,” someone whispered. “That’s cold.” I dug my nails into my palms. This was his lesson. He was showing me that even my escape route belonged to him. He wanted me to beg him for it. Boring. 15 I found him at the end of the corridor, staring out the window. “Norah. Is it really that hard to just apologize?” I stopped. I looked at the man I had loved from seventeen to twenty-seven. “I didn’t know I married you just so I could spend a lifetime apologizing,” I said. His brow twitched. “I thought we might drift apart. I thought the love might fade. But I never thought that in less than three years, you’d humiliate me for sport.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a document. “I’m done being the punchline, Harrison.” “Being Mrs. Lockwood is a full-time job. I quit.” I slapped the divorce papers against his chest.

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I accidentally ruined the designer beanbag chair his new girlfriend had bought. To make it up to her—to soothe her performative pout—my father shoved my mother inside the oversized velvet slipcover while she was pleading for my sake. He didn’t just zip it shut; he took a heavy upholstery needle and stitched the opening closed, a twisted game to prove a point. While he and the woman laughed and flirted in the bedroom, I crawled across the hardwood, my small fingers frantically searching for a zipper tab that wasn’t there. My mother’s muffled pleas grew faint, then died into a terrifying silence. I hammered on my father’s door, sobbing, but his voice came through the wood, sharp and impatient: “It’s just a damn slipcover, Daisy. Your mother is a grown woman. If she wants out, she’ll find a way out. Stop being dramatic.” The security detail held me back. I was forced to watch as the shape inside the velvet stopped struggling. Five days later, on my birthday, my father returned. He tossed a cheap, generic teddy bear at me, his face a mask of irritation. “I ended things with her. I hope your mother is happy now. Tell her to quit hiding and get out here.” I pointed at the heavy beanbag he was sitting on, my voice a hollow whisper. “Mommy is bleeding.” 1 I stayed curled against the velvet, huddled in the ghost of my mother’s presence for two days until the gnawing in my stomach became unbearable. I finally crept out to find food. Joe, the neighborhood security guard, was at the gate. He started to wave, but as I drew closer, his face twisted into a mask of confusion and disgust. “Kiddo? What’s that… what’s that smell? And where’s your mom?” I took his hand and pulled him toward the silent, cold house. I pointed to the beanbag in the center of the living room. “Mommy’s trapped. She can’t get out.” Joe muttered something under his breath about “rich people and their sick games,” but when he stepped closer to the chair, the color drained from his face. He stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own boots. The velvet had sagged, taking on the unmistakable, gruesome silhouette of a human form. The air was thick with the stench of decay. Joe lunged forward, shielding my eyes with one hand while his other trembled as he reached for his radio. “This… this is a crime scene,” he choked out. I didn’t understand. To me, Mommy was just resting. She had spoken to me only two days ago. Joe carried me outside, running past the neighbors who were out walking their dogs or checking their mail. They recoiled from us, whispering behind manicured hedges. “I heard David brought some trophy girl home last week. Claire hasn’t been seen since.” “Typical. She had no family, no safety net. She probably just took the abuse to keep the lifestyle. For the sake of the money.” “Poor kid. Look at her. Abandoned in that mansion with no one to even give her a bath.” Joe’s tears were hot on my face. He kept whispering “God forgive them” as he handed me over to Mrs. Gable, the woman who lived in the townhouse behind ours. Then he ran back to his post to call the police. I leaned against Mrs. Gable’s shoulder, watching my house grow smaller. She cried as she scrubbed the grime and the smell of death from my skin. She made me a sandwich, and I ate half, tucking the other half into my pocket. “Daisy, honey,” she said, her voice breaking. “You don’t have to save food. There’s plenty.” I shook my head. “Mommy hasn’t eaten in days. I have to bring her something.” Mrs. Gable dropped her fork. She pulled me into a hug so tight I could hear her heart thudding, and she sobbed into my hair. “Those monsters. Those absolute monsters.” I didn’t cry. Mommy was waiting. She was the only one who ever truly loved me. I wouldn’t leave her behind. But when I returned home, the beanbag was gone. The house was swarming with men in dark windbreakers with “POLICE” stenciled in yellow. Joe was there too, wiping his eyes. I walked up to him and handed him the squashed half of my sandwich. “Don’t cry, Joe. I’ll be good.” Joe’s hand shook as he took the bread. He turned to one of the detectives. “Look at her. Look at this child. What happens to her now?” A detective knelt in front of me, his expression soft but his eyes hard with repressed anger. “Daisy, where is your father?” I shook my head. “He left with the pretty lady. He hasn’t come back.” The detective’s hand on my shoulder trembled. I looked past him. “Can I see Mommy now? The food is getting cold. She has a sensitive stomach; she needs it warm.” The room went silent. Every officer looked at me with the same devastating pity. The detective lowered his head, his shoulders shaking. After a long time, he looked up and whispered, “Sweetheart… do you have any other family? Anyone at all?” I nodded. Two days ago, before the silence took her, Mommy had whispered a string of numbers to me. Over and over. A phone number. I took the detective’s phone and dialed. It picked up on the second ring—a deep, authoritative voice. “So, you finally remembered you have a father? It took you long enough to call…” I interrupted him, my voice small. “Are you my Grandpa?” 2 Grandpa was out of the country. He wouldn’t reach the city until tomorrow at the earliest. Mrs. Gable tried to take me home with her, but the police insisted on reaching my father first. When they finally got him on the line and explained the situation, I heard his voice crackle through the speaker—derisive and cold. “I checked it myself. It was a slipcover, for God’s sake. Claire has nails like talons; if she wanted out, she would have clawed through the fabric.” I pulled on Joe’s sleeve and whispered, “It wasn’t normal fabric.” The detective had told Joe earlier—the slipcover was industrial-grade, puncture-resistant synthetic velvet. It was designed to be indestructible. Even with a knife, it would have been a struggle. And with the zipper teeth intentionally jammed with adhesive, she never stood a chance. My father must have heard me. He let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Daisy, stop it. I know your mother coached you to say this. It’s pathetic.” Joe tried to argue, but my father cut him off. “This is the last time I’m dealing with this drama. I’m at an awards gala with Tiffany. If you keep helping Claire lie to the police, I’ll have your contract terminated the second I get back.” He hung up. Joe cursed under his breath, and the police allowed Mrs. Gable to take me for the night. But in the middle of the night, I slipped out of her guest bed. I climbed through a window and walked back to my house. It still smelled like Mommy’s perfume. I curled up on the rug in the foyer and fell into a dreamless sleep. I woke up to the sound of the front door slamming. My father was standing over me, looking haggard and furious. “I broke up with Tiffany. Are you happy now? Is your mother finally satisfied?” He spat the words at me, then tossed the same ragged teddy bear from before at my feet. “There. Happy birthday. Now, where is she? Why is the house a mess?” I didn’t answer. I just pointed to the spot on the floor where the beanbag had been. “Mommy bled a lot.” He scoffed, but then he saw it—a dark, brownish stain on the expensive hardwood where the fluids had pooled and seeped. He jumped back, his face contorting. “Stop it, Daisy. You probably spilled some juice or used some animal blood to freak me out. Your mother is fine. Tiffany told me she bought a standard beanbag. It’s impossible to suffocate in one of those.” He knew. He knew what it was, and he had still sewn her in. I stared at the stain. I remembered the detectives using words like “excruciating” and “asphyxiation.” I felt a sudden, sharp heat in my chest. I lunged at him, hitting his legs with my small fists. “Bad daddy! Give her back! Give Mommy back!” He had never had patience for me. He snarled, swinging his arm to shove me away. “Knock it off!” The force of his strike sent me flying. I crashed into someone entering the house behind him. A woman shrieked, clutching her stomach as she stumbled. It was Tiffany. She looked at my father with watery, manipulative eyes. “David… I’m pregnant. I came back to tell you. Are you really going to throw me away?” The fury on my father’s face vanished, replaced by a look of manic joy. He kicked me aside to get to her, hovering over her stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been miserable all night.” Tiffany gave a demure smile, but then she winced, pressing her hand harder against her belly. “The doctor said the first trimester is fragile. When Daisy hit me just now… it really hurt, David.” Without a word, my father turned and backhanded me. Stars exploded in my vision. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine. Tiffany pretended to look concerned, but the corners of her mouth were twitching upward. I remembered that smile. It was the same smile she wore the day they sewed Mommy in. She had leaned down and whispered in my ear: “Your mother can’t win against me. And neither can you.” I forced myself to stand, staring at her. She let out another tiny whimper. “David, maybe this is a mistake. Look at the way she’s looking at me. I’m scared of what she’ll do to our baby.” My father’s face turned purple. He unbuckled his leather belt. The belt lashed across my arms and legs. I screamed, begging for him to stop. But the more I screamed, the harder he swung. He started yelling toward the second floor: “Claire! Do you hear this? If you don’t come out right now, I’m going to beat this brat half to death!” But Mommy couldn’t answer him. He raised the belt again, but a thunderous voice shattered the air from the doorway. “Stop! Drop that belt right now!” 3 Joe came charging in, pulling me into his arms, shielding me with his own body. “David, for God’s sake, she’s a child! Are you trying to kill her too?” My father lowered the belt, chest heaving. “Joe, you’re fired. Get out of my house. Now.” “Fire me. I don’t care,” Joe shouted, pointing a finger at Tiffany. “This woman brought that death trap into this house. That fabric was reinforced—Claire never had a chance. My biggest regret is letting her in that gate.” Joe was sobbing. My father remained cold, a statue of denial. “Tiffany is kind. She’s gentle. She’s nothing like Claire and her pathetic mind games. My daughter is my business. Get out.” He shoved Joe toward the door and turned back to me, the veins in his neck bulging. Tiffany sat on a small side chair, watching with a satisfied smirk as my father grabbed me by the collar, dragging me from room to room, searching for my mother. The collar choked me. He was screaming her name now, his voice cracking, looking for her in closets, under beds, in the pantry. When he found nothing, he pulled out his phone and dialed her number. A ringtone began to play in the living room. My father found her phone under the sofa. He looked at the lock screen—a photo of the three of us from years ago. We were all smiling. For a second, his resolve flickered. He rubbed his eyes, then knelt in front of me, gripping my shoulders too hard. “Daisy. Where. Is. She?” Tiffany started to speak, but the doorbell rang again. Two detectives entered, carrying a small, heavy box. Their eyes immediately landed on my bruised, bleeding skin. “Are you the father?” the lead detective asked, his voice like ice. My father stared at them, then started to laugh. He pinched my arm hard and looked at the officers. “Claire is good. I’ll give her that. Hiring actors to come to the house? Brilliant.” He shoved me toward them. “I’m not her father. I’m just an actor she hired, just like you. If you see her, tell her she owes me for the overtime.” The detectives looked at him with utter confusion. Then they looked at me. After a long silence, I spoke. “He’s not my daddy.” My father died the day Mommy did. The detectives sighed, looking pained. They handed the small box to me. “Sweetheart, these are your mother’s ashes. We will get her justice. We promise.” I clutched the box to my chest. It was cold, but I imagined I could feel her warmth through the wood. After they left, I walked out to the garden alone. I wanted to bury her here, among the flowers she loved. She always told me that when she and Dad were starting with nothing, his first gift to her was a rosebush he’d planted himself. He used to tell her that as long as the roses bloomed, he’d be by her side. Now, he had discarded us for a woman and a lie. My tears hit the dirt as I dug. The soil was loose. I pulled something out—a handmade doll. It had Mommy’s birthday written on it in black ink. And it was stuck full of sewing needles. “I knew it,” a sharp voice snapped behind me. I turned to see Tiffany clutching her stomach, sinking to the grass. She pointed at the doll in my hand, her voice shrill. “I knew I felt a curse! She’s trying to kill my baby from the grave!” 4 “But this doll has Mommy’s birthday on it…” Before I could finish, my father’s hand clamped over my mouth. His face was a mask of iron. He didn’t even look at the doll. “Claire, you’re a monster.” “You couldn’t give me a son, so you try to kill Tiffany’s? I can’t believe I ever loved a woman so vile.” He glared at me. “And I can’t believe I fathered this little brat.” He snatched the urn from my hands and hurled it against the ground. I screamed—a sound that didn’t feel like it came from a child—as I watched the grey dust scatter like rain over the dying roses. Without Mommy to water them, they were wilting, just like everything else in this house. “Pathos. Is she really cursing herself now? What kind of actress commits this hard?” my father muttered, looking at the empty box. Tiffany let out another cry. She had moved the needle-stuck doll so it sat right next to my hand. “David, it hurts… I’ve never done anything to her, but she hates me. She hates our son!” My father abandoned the urn and gathered Tiffany into his arms. “Don’t cry. You’re the most important thing in this family now. No one will touch you.” Tiffany smiled. She ground her designer heel into the dirt, mixing Mommy’s ashes with the mud. Then she picked up the doll and whispered something into my father’s ear. He hesitated, then nodded. Tiffany took my hand—her grip was like a vice—and led me into the house. I was numb. I was still thinking about the ashes in the dirt. Then, a sharp, white-hot pain flared in my palm. My father and Tiffany held me down. They took the needles from the doll and began to drive them into my hands. “Tell us where she is, Daisy! Stop the games!” my father roared, pushing a needle into my skin. Tiffany was worse. She drove a long steel pin under my fingernail. As I shrieked in agony, she leaned in, her breath smelling of peppermint and malice. “Your mother deserved it. She was in my way. And you’re just a nuisance. Join her, or learn to serve me. Those are your only choices.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I lunged forward and bit down on her ear as hard as I could. Tiffany screamed, a raw, ugly sound. It took my father slamming my jaw shut to make me let go. Her ear was a jagged, bloody mess. I looked at her with a cold, hollow satisfaction. My father looked at me as if I were a demon. “What did she turn you into?” I looked at him, slowly pulling the needles out of my hands, one by one. “Mommy only taught me to love you,” I said. “But you killed her. You aren’t my daddy anymore.” “When my Grandpa gets here, he’s going to destroy you.” My father froze for a second, then burst into a jagged laugh. “Grandpa? Daisy, your mother was a nobody from a backwater town. She had no family. She had no one but me.” His eyes turned dark and predatory. He dragged me to the corner of the room and tied my wrists to a radiator pipe. Then he went to the hall closet and pulled out a baseball bat. “Let’s see how long your mother can watch this.” The first blow hit my ribs. The world went white. Through the haze of pain, I saw Mommy. She was smiling at me. “Mommy… are you here to take me home?” I whispered. Something warm and metallic leaked from the corner of my mouth. My father hesitated, the bat trembling in his hand. He reached out to touch me, but a massive hand caught his wrist and twisted. I was lifted into a pair of strong, trembling arms. A voice, deep and resonant with ancient fury, boomed through the house. “My daughter is dead, and you think I will let you touch her child?”

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The Feds took the parents in handcuffs, leaving behind a ten-thousand-square-foot McMansion and a trust fund baby who couldn’t even butter his own toast. I was packing my bags, ready to bolt, when a string of glowing, neon text floated across my vision like a ticker tape on a news channel: [This family’s foundations run deep. Even the crumbs falling from their table are enough to feed a normal person for a lifetime.] [Pity about the kid. Parents are looking at twenty-to-life. He’s essentially an orphan now.] I’m not the most educated woman in the world, but I caught the keywords: Foundations deep. Feed for a lifetime. Fine. For the money, I’d raise the kid. 1 I’d only been working at the Remington estate for two months when the sirens cut through the quiet hum of the Greenwich suburbs. “Martha! I’m leaving Preston in your hands!” Mrs. Remington wailed as she was shoved into the back of a black SUV. Her makeup was running in streaks down her face. I was about to wave my hand and say hell no, but then those glowing words popped up in the air again. I didn’t fully grasp the legal intricacies of “Federal Indictment,” but I understood the word “Money.” As long as the check clears, I can handle anything. I waved at the receding police cruiser. “Don’t you worry, Ma’am! I’ll keep the young master fed and watered!” That evening, Preston came home from his private prep school. The kid tossed his monogrammed backpack onto the marble floor of the foyer, didn’t bother taking off his designer sneakers, and screamed at the ceiling. “I want organic fruit snacks! Now! Immediately!” This kid was spoiled rotten, eyes always looking down at people like they were furniture. I didn’t even look at him. I pulled a packet of fruit gummies from the sub-zero fridge, tore the lid off, and slurped one down myself. Strawberry. Sweet. “Pick up the bag,” I said, “or no dinner.” Preston’s eyes went wide, like he’d seen a ghost. “You ate my snacks? I’m telling my mom. You’re fired!” He stormed off to find her. [This housekeeper has guts. Kicking him while he’s down.] [ Does the kid not realize the sky has fallen? Truly a hothouse flower.] [If the housekeeper sticks it out, the salary for the next three years is guaranteed. A starving camel is still bigger than a horse.] Three years? Salary? I felt a sudden calm settle in my chest. Preston did a lap of the house. Finding the echoing emptiness of the mansion, the panic finally set in. “Where’s my mom?” I licked the foil lid of the fruit snacks clean. “Your parents went on a sabbatical to Europe. They said they’ll be back when you start middle school.” “Liar!” He rushed to the landline. Dead air. Preston collapsed onto the Italian leather sofa, his face draining of color. “Hungry?” I asked. “No!” “Gonna pick up the bag?” “Why should I? You always pick it up!” I crossed my legs, settling into the armchair. “Before, your parents paid my salary. Now? I run this house. Don’t pick it up? Then the Wi-Fi password changes.” If the floating text hadn’t promised there was still meat on this bone, I’d be back in Ohio growing corn. By dinner, Preston folded. He picked up the bag, sulking the whole time. “Hey, are they really going to be gone a long time?” “I have a name. It’s Martha. Or Ms. Martha. You call me ‘Hey’ again, you lose the chicken drumstick.” Preston held his tongue. Looking at his small, defeated posture, I felt a twinge of something soft in my chest. “Don’t look so down. Three years goes by in a blink. It’s fast.” After dinner, Preston pulled out his homework. He chewed on the end of his pen, staring at a blank page. “Martha, this is too hard.” I leaned over. The words were dancing like ants. Common Core math. It gave me a headache just looking at it. But I couldn’t show weakness. How would I command respect? “Read it out loud,” I lied effortlessly. “I forgot my reading glasses.” “Aren’t they in your pocket?” “Those are sunglasses! Read!” Preston pointed at the book. “A pool has an intake pipe that fills it in 5 hours, and a drain pipe that empties it in 8 hours. If both are open, how long until it fills?” I laughed out loud. “Who is this idiot? Filling it while draining it? Is water free? Sounds like another trust fund baby wasting resources.” Preston blinked. “So what do I write for the answer?” “Write: ‘Waste of natural resources. Suggest EPA fine.’” “…Okay.” Next question. “Johnny climbs from the first floor to the fourth floor in 3 minutes. How long to get to the eighth floor?” “Johnny’s got good knees,” I said, cracking a sunflower seed between my teeth. “But is the elevator broken? Living on the eighth floor is a hike. Write: ‘Take the elevator, thirty seconds.’” I directed him with this brand of nonsense until I couldn’t fake it anymore. I sent him to watch TV and grabbed the pen myself to fill in the blanks. For the words I didn’t know, I drew circles or sounded them out phonetically. I figured, it’s third-grade homework. How hard could it be? Two weeks later, the homeroom teacher called. “Is this Preston’s guardian?” “That’s right. I’m the housekeeper.” “Right. Well, we suggest you take the child for… cognitive testing,” the teacher said, her voice dripping with diplomatic concern. “His recent homework… well, the logic is fascinating. It’s almost primal.” Me: “…” I hung up and looked at Preston, who was laughing at a cartoon. I felt a little guilty. “From now on, do your own homework. Ask a classmate if you’re stuck.” Preston didn’t argue. He turned off the TV and went to his desk. [The kid is actually pitiful. He’s getting bullied at school and won’t say a word.] [Parents are gone. What’s the use of telling a nanny?] [It’s the status drop. Yesterday he was royalty, today he’s the son of felons.] Bullied? I caught the keyword. I grabbed Preston by the arm. “Who hit you?” Preston kept his head down, eyes red. “No one.” “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to the school with a megaphone.” Preston looked terrified. He burst into tears. “They said my parents are bad people! That they’re in prison and never coming back!” I sighed, pulling a tissue to wipe his face. “Since you know, I won’t lie to you.” Preston sniffled, looking up at me. “Your parents didn’t commit a crime. They felt like… they messed up on their first try—I mean, they wanted to give you a sibling. But the regulations here are strict, so they went abroad to have a second baby in secret.” I lied with a straight face. “They only said they were arrested to avoid the paparazzi.” “Really?” “Why would I lie? If I had that kind of energy, I’d eat another pork chop.” Preston believed it. The light came back into his eyes. “So who hit you? You can tell me now.” “Carter.” The next day, I was at the school gates. Near the corner store, a husky kid was shoving beef jerky into his mouth. I sized him up. Solid build. A linebacker in the making. “Hey kid, is that jerky good?” The husky kid nodded. “Yeah.” I waved my hand and bought twenty packs, piling them in front of him. “Do me a favor. These are all yours.” The kid’s eyes went round. “Lady, I don’t do anything illegal.” “Nothing like that. Just look out for Preston. If anyone messes with him, you handle it. Especially a kid named Carter.” The kid thumped his chest, red spices smeared on his mouth. “Deal! As long as the jerky keeps coming, Preston is my brother from another mother!” [This nanny plays dirty. Violence for violence?] [Honestly, sometimes simple and crude works best.] [Satisfying to watch! That Carter kid is a menace.] A few days later, Carter’s mom cornered me in the principal’s office. “How are you raising that child? You let that fat relative of yours beat up my son?” The woman was dripping in gold and diamonds, spit flying everywhere. I channeled my best calm, detached persona. “Kids will be kids. Roughhousing is normal. They fight today, they’re friends tomorrow. Adults shouldn’t interfere.” Carter’s mom choked on her rage. “You…” The teacher tried to mediate, but I cut in. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Crabtree? Boys build character through conflict.” Walking out of the office, I saw Carter hiding behind his mom, looking with terror at the husky kid—let’s call him Tank—eating jerky nearby. I walked over and patted Tank on the shoulder. “Good work. Don’t leave right after school. I’m buying you a soda.” Tank saluted. “Mission accomplished!” That night, Preston awkwardly used his chopsticks to put a piece of broccoli in my bowl. “Martha, you’re awesome.” “Ms. Martha.” “Martha makes you sound like family,” Preston mumbled, shoveling rice. “Carter walked the long way around the hall when he saw me today. Tank even gave me Carter’s eraser.” Seeing his face beaming, I felt satisfied. “Don’t bottle things up. Your parents pay me, so I have to do right by that money.” Mentioning money, Preston ran upstairs and came down hugging a heavy, golden piggy bank. “Martha, this is my savings. If your salary doesn’t come through, take it from here.” I weighed it in my hands. Heavy. The floating text was right. The family had reserves. But the gold pig was beautifully made. Smashing it seemed like a waste. “Keep it for now. We’ll settle the bill at the end of the year.” 2 Good times don’t last. A week later, men in suits showed up. US Marshals. “This property is being seized. Vacate immediately. Personal clothing only. No valuables.” [It’s over. Hitting the streets.] [The housekeeper is going to run. Who wants to drag around an anchor like this kid?] [Poor kid. Truly has nothing now.] I watched the scrolling text, calculating. “Officer, clothes are allowed, right?” “Clothing is fine.” I dragged Preston into the walk-in closet. “Martha, where are we going?” Preston’s voice wobbled. “Wherever. We won’t starve.” I opened the wardrobe and started layering. Thermal underwear first. Then cashmere sweaters. Then a fleece. Then the Master’s trench coat over everything. “Don’t stare, put them on! Wear as much as you can! We can sell this stuff later!” Preston sniffled and started pulling things on. His mother’s mink coat, his father’s silk robes. We didn’t care about fashion; we just piled it on. “This… this looks expensive.” Preston pulled out a handful of colorful, tiny pieces of fabric from a drawer. “It has beads. And chains.” I glanced at it. Skimpy fabric. God knows where you wear that. “Take it! Every penny counts. Someone might buy it!” When we waddled downstairs, the Marshals stared, dumbfounded. Preston and I looked like two walking spheres. We couldn’t put our arms down. We took one step and gasped for breath three times. “Ma’am, are you moving out or preparing for the apocalypse?” “I have poor circulation. Is it a crime to be cold?” I asked indignantly. We stepped out the front door into the blazing July heat. The humidity hit us like a wall. Two steps in, Preston started walking funny. Like a duck. “What is it? You hurt?” I stopped to wipe sweat from my forehead. Preston’s face was beet red. He pointed to his rear end. “Martha, it’s wedged.” “What’s wedged?” “That tiny cloth with the beads… you said it was worth money, so I put it on first layer… it’s cutting me in half…”

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I fell for Nate Cross the moment he walked into my dad’s dive bar looking for a part-time shift. I was nineteen, persistent, and perhaps a little too enamored with the brooding intensity in his eyes. It took six months of my relentless chasing before he finally gave in and asked me out. A few weeks before his graduation, we were at the same cramped, hourly-rate motel near campus we always frequented. The air smelled of cheap bleach and stale cigarettes. After we finished, he rolled away, lit a cigarette, and stared at the peeling wallpaper. Out of nowhere, he asked, “So, when girls like you finally decide to ‘retire,’ do you just go back to some small town and find a boring, honest guy to marry?” I sat up, pulling the thin sheet over my chest. “What do you mean, ‘girls like me’? And what defines an ‘honest guy’?” He took a long drag, the cherry of his cigarette glowing in the dim light. “You know. A guy who doesn’t ask too many questions about your past. Someone willing to pay your siblings’ tuition. Someone… blissfully dim-witted.” I walked out of that motel room and never looked back. I blocked his number before I even hit the sidewalk. We didn’t cross paths again until four years later. By then, my father’s old dive bar had been gutted, renovated, and reborn as The Gilded Lily—the most exclusive private club in the city. I had just finished a training session with the floor staff when the heavy mahogany doors swung open. Nate walked in, flanking a high-profile client. He looked the same, yet entirely different. He caught my eye, his brow arching in a look that was both surprised and mockingly familiar. “Still here, Tracy?” he said, his voice carrying that old, condescending edge. “I figured you’d have aged out of the business by now. Beauty like yours has a short shelf life.” He turned to the man beside him with a smirk. “Mr. Sterling, why don’t we have her join us tonight? She used to be quite the bargain back in the day—a hundred and fifty a night. Given her age now, maybe I’ll offer you a flat hundred, Tracy? For old times’ sake.” I looked past him to the man at his side. The client—Xavier Knight—was watching the exchange with a strange, unreadable expression. “A hundred dollars?” Xavier asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Will a million get you to at least sit down and have a drink with me tonight, Tracy?” 1. Nate glanced back at Xavier, his star client, looking utterly bewildered. Then he looked at me, waiting for a reaction. When I remained silent, he quickly masked his confusion with a professional grin and ushered Xavier toward the VIP lounge. Xavier didn’t move immediately. He looked at me with a pouting, almost puppy-like desperation until I gave him a sharp, warning glare. Only then did he let out a long sigh and slowly trail after Nate. I turned to head back to my office, but Nate slipped out of the lounge before the door could fully close. He caught my arm, though I pulled away instantly. “Hey, if you set us up with the premium bottle service, do you get a commission on that?” he asked, leaning against the velvet wallpaper. “I assume the kickbacks here are better than they were at the old bar.” Since he was technically a paying guest, I kept my tone professional. “No, I don’t. But you’re right; the sales margins in a place like this are significantly higher.” He clearly still hadn’t grasped the reality of the situation. He thought I was just a glorified hostess. To be honest, four years is both an eternity and a heartbeat. Nate had changed. He still had that “love at first sight” face, but the clean-cut, academic charm had fermented into something greasy. There was a desperate, calculating look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “The guy inside is a whale,” Nate whispered, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “My entire year’s performance review hinges on this deal. He’s loaded, but he’s a total snob. Don’t take what he said about the million bucks seriously—he’s just showing off. Don’t let him play you.” He paused, then let out a dry, cynical laugh. “Then again, you’ve been in these clubs for years. You’ve probably seen every trick in the book. Why am I even worrying about you? It’s almost funny.” He straightened his tie, looking back toward the lounge. “Just go in there, get us the good scotch, and find some of the younger girls. Someone pretty, someone fresh. Tell them to take extra care of Mr. Knight. No offense, but girls who’ve been in the game as long as you have… well, you tend to get a bit jaded. You forget how to put on a real show.” I gave him a thin, joyless smile. “I’m afraid you can’t afford my appearance fee, Nate.” He snorted. “A million dollars a drink? Right. Don’t let your ego get ahead of your paycheck, babe.” 2. I watched him walk away, a strange sense of vertigo washing over me. It was a jarring realization: the man who had whispered “I love you” against my neck in a cramped dorm room was the same man who just tried to price me out like a used car. The breakup had been a slow, agonizing death. For months, I had lived in a state of mourning, my pillow soaked with tears, wondering what I had done to deserve his sudden cruelty. It took years for the salt to wash out of the wound. I stared at the closed door of the lounge for a moment before waving over one of the floor managers. “If the guests in 512 ask for me, tell them I’m unavailable. Don’t offer any explanations.” I turned to leave, but a hand clapped onto my shoulder. I spun around to see a woman with a bright, predatory smile. “Harlan? No, wait—Tracy! It is you,” she chirped. “I can’t believe you’re still working this circuit. I guess the old man’s bar getting a facelift means you got a promotion to ‘Head Hostess’ or something?” It was Brooke Harrington, Nate’s old college mentee. Her father owned a series of pet food manufacturing plants—wealthy, but the kind of wealthy that always felt like it was trying too hard. “Did you see Nate?” she continued, not waiting for an answer. “He’s in there with a huge client. My dad set the whole thing up. Nate’s about to hit the big leagues. It makes you think, doesn’t it? If he had stayed with you, he’d probably be behind the bar right now, instead of being served at it.” She emphasized the word “served” with a look that suggested she knew exactly what kind of “services” she thought I provided. I never quite understood why Nate’s time working at my dad’s bar was framed as a “inspiring story of a self-made man,” while my time working there was treated like a criminal record. “Anyway, I’ve got to get in there,” Brooke said, smoothing her silk dress. “You probably shouldn’t come back in. Your perfume is a little… drugstore. It might ruin the vibe.” 3. I had known about Brooke since the day I started dating Nate. He was the golden boy of the Economics department—tall, handsome, and brilliantly sharp. It was only natural that girls like Brooke would hover around him. At the time, I wasn’t threatened. I was young and naive enough to believe that being the “pretty one” was an invincible shield. And I was pretty. I took after my mother, a B-list actress who had retired from the screen to marry my father. I had her bone structure and her haunting, cinematic eyes. When Nate first accepted my advances, he told me, “You’re breathtaking. I noticed you the second I walked into that bar.” He was my first real love. I was all in. I wanted every second of his time, but he could never give it to me. He had classes, student council, and three different part-time jobs. He was fiercely, stubbornly proud. He never talked about his family, and he never applied for financial aid, but the frayed cuffs of his shirts and his thrift-store shoes told the story of his poverty. To spend more time with him, I started sitting in on his lectures. I helped him with student events. I worked side-by-side with him at my dad’s bar. Because I was always there, hustling for tips and wearing off-brand clothes to blend in, he assumed I was just like him—a girl from the wrong side of the tracks trying to scrape together enough for tuition. The closer we got, the harder it became to tell him the truth. I kept waiting for the “right moment,” but that moment kept getting pushed further away by his pride and my fear of losing the connection we shared. 4. As graduation approached, Nate became a ghost of himself. He was juggling his own thesis, ghostwriting papers for wealthy slackers to make extra cash, and dealing with constant, frantic calls from his parents. They had just had another baby—a “miracle” child that Nate saw only as another mouth he would have to feed. I overheard a call once. His mother’s voice was thin and shrill through the receiver. “You’re the eldest son, Nate. The whole family is counting on you to bring us into the light. Once you graduate, we expect five hundred a month. Don’t go wasting your money on girls. Stay frugal. Your father and I have sacrificed everything for this day.” After those calls, Nate would spiral into a dark, suffocating silence. He would stare at me—or through me—with a look of profound resentment. He started spending more time with Brooke. She was “recruiting” clients for his ghostwriting business, acting as his gatekeeper to the wealthy students. I tried to cheer him up. I bought him a high-end leather briefcase and a designer watch for his upcoming interviews. I thought he’d be happy. Instead, his face contorted with anger. “Where did you get the money for this, Tracy?” Before I could answer, Brooke walked up, eyeing the gifts with a sneer. “Oh, Nate, look at the stitching. They’re obviously knockoffs from a street corner. Those girls who work the lounges always buy fake luxury to make themselves feel ‘high-end.’ It’s a classic status play.” Nate’s eyes turned cold. I could see the wheels turning in his head. If I told him they were real, he’d assume I’d earned the money in some illicit, shameful way. “If you don’t like them, I’ll just return them,” I whispered, my heart breaking. 5. When people are under immense pressure, they look for an outlet. During those final weeks, Nate’s physical affection for me turned into something desperate and almost violent. He was obsessed with me in a way that felt like he was trying to reclaim something he was losing. I mistook that desperation for passion. I thought it meant he loved me. Then came that afternoon at the motel. The “honest man” comment. “What exactly is ‘a girl like me’?” I had asked him, standing there shivering in the cold AC. He looked me up and down, his gaze stripped of all tenderness. “Girls like you. From some backwater town, clawing your way up, using your body as your only collateral.” I felt the blood drain from my face. “You think I’m… selling myself? After all this time, that’s what you think of me?” I realized then that all the “firsts” I had given him—moments I thought were sacred—were, in his eyes, just cheap, used-up scraps. The irony was sickening. I walked out. I sent the breakup text. I moved on. Or so I thought, until a floor runner burst into my office four years later. “Ms. Rosemary, there’s a fight in Lounge 512. Guests are getting violent.” 6. I sprinted toward the VIP wing, barking orders at the runner. “Don’t call the police yet. Let me see if I can de-escalate. If things get out of hand, hit the silent alarm for security.” The runner looked terrified. “Shouldn’t we call the owner? Or at least the bouncers? You going in there alone is dangerous.” “It’s fine,” I said, my voice steady. “I know the people involved. They aren’t that brave.” I threw open the doors to 512. Nate was huddled in the corner, clutching his forehead, blood seeping through his fingers. Shards of a crystal tumbler were scattered across the floor. Before I could say a word, Xavier Knight stood up, smoothing his Italian suit jacket. He looked at me with the most indignant, “who, me?” expression I had ever seen. “Tracy, I swear, I didn’t want to cause a scene,” Xavier said, sounding like a victim. “But I couldn’t sit here and listen to their filth anymore. If I’d known these were the kind of people I was dealing with, I never would have agreed to this meeting.” He stepped over the glass toward me. “My schedule didn’t even have this on it. An old partner begged me to meet this ‘rising star,’ and since it was at your place, I thought, why not? But let the record show: it was self-defense. I’m not the aggressor here.” Nate let out a strangled groan from the corner. “Self-defense? You hit me with a glass! I didn’t even touch you!” Brooke jumped in, pointing a manicured finger at me. “You! You’re the manager, right? Do your job! We paid for this room to conduct business, and our guest was assaulted. You are liable for this!” Xavier suddenly stepped closer to me, his tone shifting to something soft and almost whiny. “Honey, they were talking shit about you. They were dragging your name through the mud, and I just… I lost it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make a mess at your work.”

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