In our circle, everyone called me the Roly-Poly. No matter how cruel the joke, I was expected to act just like those weighted toy clowns with the painted-on grins. I would wobble for a second, right myself, and laugh it off with a quiet, It’s fine. When Jared swapped my prescription allergy cream with regular body lotion just to watch me panic, digging through the drawers as hives broke out across my arms, he only laughed and tapped my forehead. “Oh, Grace, look at you. You look so cute when you’re frantic. It’s just a little rash, don’t be such a baby.” When my best friend, Amber, ruined the architectural scale model I’d stayed up three straight nights building, she merely poked her tongue out, entirely devoid of guilt. “Our little Roly-Poly always has a Plan B, right? You have the best temper in the world, Grace. Don’t be so sensitive.” In their eyes, I didn’t feel pain. I didn’t have feelings. It didn’t matter how hard they pushed me down; the moment they whistled, I would snap right back to attention. Until Jared’s twenty-seventh birthday party on a chartered yacht. I was standing just outside the VIP suite, holding a bowl of warm soup I’d brought up from the galley, when I heard Amber’s laughter rising above the rowdy clinking of glasses. “Jared, are you seriously going to marry Grace? She’s like a piece of cardboard. No personality, no spine.” Jared let out a low, amused chuckle. “What do you guys know? The best thing about a Roly-Poly is how much abuse she can take.” “No matter what I do out there, she doesn’t make a scene. It’s incredibly low-maintenance.” “Hell, I could pull Amber onto my lap and kiss her right now, and tomorrow morning, Grace would still be smiling as she adjusts my tie.” The room erupted into roaring laughter. Amber giggled, sliding effortlessly into Jared’s lap, resting her head against his chest. Standing in the dim corridor, the bowl of hot soup in my hands suddenly lost all its warmth. It felt as cold as ice. I didn’t push the door open. I didn’t scream, and I didn’t demand answers. The moment I turned around and walked away, the Roly-Poly, who had spent seven years always bouncing back, was finally broken. And this time, she wasn’t standing back up. … The next day was the bid presentation for the city’s new landmark development—the waterfront district project. It was a make-or-break moment for my boutique architectural firm. The physical scale model Amber had ruined was the centerpiece of our presentation. To save the firm, I hadn’t slept in seventy-two hours. I had survived entirely on black coffee and adrenaline, rebuilding the entire model from scratch, creating something even more breathtaking than the original. By the time I arrived at the backstage holding area of the convention center, my stomach was cramping in agonizing waves. Then, as I rounded the corner of the corridor, I heard Amber sobbing hysterically. “How could the file be corrupted? This was six months of work! Jared, what am I going to do? I ruined everything… the board is going to fire me…” Jared was standing beside her, his brow furrowed in deep concern as he murmured comforting words. Today, he was here as the primary venture capital representative. Hearing my footsteps, he looked up. His eyes locked onto the large acrylic model box in my arms and the backup flash drive hanging from my lanyard. He walked straight toward me. “Grace.” “Give your backup pitch and model to Amber.” My stomach clenched violently, and my fingertips went numb. “What did you just say?” “Don’t play dumb.” Jared frowned, a flash of irritation crossing his face. “I know you were outside the yacht suite last night. If you’re angry, take it out on me. But don’t use Amber’s entire career to play games on a stage this big.” I stared at the man I had loved for seven years, struck by the utter absurdity of it all. He actually believed my hesitation was a petty tantrum. He thought I was holding back because of the humiliating things I’d overheard last night—that I was playing the jealous girlfriend, seeking revenge. He didn’t know that when Amber smashed my original model, I never had a “Plan B.” He didn’t understand that the box in my arms held the survival of my firm and the livelihoods of thirty employees who depended on me. “Jared, I don’t have a backup plan,” I said, holding his gaze, keeping my voice steady. “This is the only copy. If I give it to her, my firm is disqualified.” Jared let out a cold, dismissive laugh. “Grace, you’re really disappointing me right now.” He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper. “You always find a way. I know exactly how strong you are, how much you can handle. But Amber can’t. She’s fragile, she can’t take a hit like this.” “Just step back. Tomorrow, I will personally double the funding for your firm from my private account. Is that enough for you?” So that was it. In his eyes, my hard work, my sleepless nights, and my professional dignity were nothing more than bargaining chips to shield Amber’s delicate sensibilities. “No,” I said, clutching the heavy model box to my chest. My voice shook, but my resolve didn’t. “I won’t do it.” Jared’s face darkened completely. He didn’t argue further. He simply reached out and grabbed the edge of the box. “Jared, stop! You’re insane! This is my life!” “I told you, stop throwing a tantrum!” He was a man, and his physical strength easily overpowered mine. As we wrestled for control, there was a sharp, tearing sound. The jagged aluminum edge of the model box sliced deep across my palm. A white-hot flash of pain shot up my arm, and my fingers involuntarily went slack. I let go. Blood immediately began to pour from the wound. Jared froze. His eyes lingered on my bleeding hand for a fraction of a second. But before he could speak, Amber’s tearful voice echoed from the hall. “Jared, they’re calling my name… I’m up next…” Jared pulled his gaze away from my blood-slicked skin, took the model box, and turned around. “Go get that cleaned up,” he muttered over his shoulder. “Don’t make a scene like I abused you. Go back to the house. I’ll pick up that chestnut cake you love on my way back. Consider it my apology.” I stood there in the empty corridor, watching the blood drip from my fingertips, pooling on the polished linoleum floor. Later, the fluorescent lights of the emergency room burned into my retinas. Seven stitches. I bit my lower lip so hard it bled, refusing to make a sound. The doctor sighed, examining the deep laceration. “The cut is deep. I’m afraid there’s severe nerve damage. You might never be able to hold a pen or draw for extended periods again.” When I finally returned to the house, night had fallen. Jared was sitting on the sectional sofa, typing away on his laptop. Hearing the front door click, he didn’t even look up. His voice held a note of annoyance. “Where have you been? You weren’t answering your phone. The cake on the coffee table is practically melting.” Following his gaze, I saw the elegantly wrapped pastry box on the mahogany table. I stood in the entryway, looking at the man I had loved for seven years. He looked mildly inconvenienced, as if the man who had violently ripped away my life’s work for another woman, leaving my hand sliced open, was someone else entirely. “Jared, my firm went under today,” I said. My voice was dry, hollow, so quiet it felt like a breath of wind could sweep it away. His fingers paused over the keyboard. He looked up, his eyes falling on the thick white gauze wrapping my right hand. A momentary flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was quickly masked by irritation. “I told you, it’s just one bid. I’ll wire double the amount to your firm’s account.” He stood up and walked over to me. “Grace, you’re usually so sensible. Why are you being so difficult today? I already had my accountant transfer the first installment. Let it go.” He thought I was playing the victim, exaggerating the bankruptcy to make him feel guilty. He didn’t understand that two hours ago, because we failed to present our model, my firm was flagged for breach of contract. The investors had pulled out, and we were hit with catastrophic liquidated damages. “Money doesn’t erase a blacklisted record,” I said, staring directly into his cold eyes. “Jared, what you took from me today was the only thing keeping my business alive.” “Don’t dramatize it,” he snapped, his demeanor turning icy. He walked back to his briefcase, pulled out a document, and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Since you’re back, you need to sign this.” I looked down. It was a Joint Design Agreement. “The concept Amber submitted today shares too many similarities with your earlier portfolio,” Jared said, watching me closely. “Someone on the review committee filed an internal plagiarism report. Sign it. It declares that the model was a collaborative project where you acted as her assistant.” I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. “You want me to declare myself her assistant? You want me to admit that six months of my blood, sweat, and tears belong to her?” “It’s just a formality!” Jared raised his voice, trying to impose his twisted logic. “I’m covering your firm’s entire debt. I’ll hand you our firm’s next major commercial project next month. It’s a win-win for you! But Amber can’t handle this. If she gets branded a plagiarist, her career in design is dead.” Because Amber was too fragile, my dignity had to be the pavement for her career. “And if I refuse?” Jared’s patience evaporated. The look in his eyes was one of pure, patronizing disappointment. “Grace, do you really have to be this petty?” “My hand is ruined.” I ignored his accusation. Slowly, I lifted my heavily bandaged, blood-seeping right hand and held it between us. “The doctor said the nerve is severed. I probably won’t ever be able to draft or sketch again. Jared, you didn’t just kill my firm. You destroyed my hands.” Jared stiffened. His eyes locked onto the stained gauze, and he took an instinctive step forward. “That’s… that’s impossible. I barely pulled. I didn’t use any force…” “Right. Just a gentle tug.” A bitter smile touched my lips, but my eyes remained dead. At that moment, the phone in his pocket began to buzz. It was Amber’s custom ringtone. Jared froze. He glanced at the screen, and the fleeting trace of guilt in his eyes vanished, replaced by urgency. “About your hand… I’ll find the best orthopedic surgeons in the country, even in Europe. We’ll get it fixed.” Avoiding my gaze, he grabbed his blazer off the sofa. “Look over the agreement when you’ve calmed down. Amber is in a terrible state. She’s threatening to leave the industry entirely. I have to go console her.” At the door, he paused and looked back. “Don’t forget to eat the cake. I went out of my way to get it for you. Let that be my peace offering.” The heavy oak door clicked shut behind him. I slowly untied the ribbon of the exquisite box. It was the famous chestnut cake from the southside bakery. The filling was loaded with crushed peanuts. And I was severely allergic to peanuts. Years ago, when I had accidentally eaten peanuts and broken out in hives, he had swapped my medicine for lotion, telling me how funny I looked when I panicked. He had never bothered to remember. I picked up the fork, carved out a piece of the cake, and swallowed it. Within minutes, my throat began to tighten, and my breathing grew heavy and shallow. I collapsed onto the cold marble floor. I didn’t search for an EpiPen. I didn’t dial 911. I just lay there in the dark, watching the ceiling blur as tears finally slipped silently down my temples. Jared, I accepted your peace offering. When I woke up, the sterile smell of antiseptic filled my nose. Jared was sitting by the hospital bed, still wearing his bespoke shirt from the day before. As soon as my eyes fluttered open, he stood up abruptly, his brow knitted in deep anger. “Grace, is this some kind of sick joke? Attempting suicide just to get back at me?” I wore an oxygen mask, my throat too parched to make a sound. I could only look at him with empty eyes. “You knew that chestnut cake had peanuts in it,” Jared said, leaning over the bed, his voice trembling with suppressed fury. “You knew you were allergic, and you ate it anyway. You didn’t even call for help. You just wanted to make a scene, didn’t you? To guilt-trip me?” I stared at the face of the man I had loved for seven years. I finally understood that when someone doesn’t love you, your deepest despair and agony are always interpreted as manipulation. I raised my bandaged right hand with trembling effort and pulled off the oxygen mask. “Jared… I can’t draw anymore.” His eyes flickered away, avoiding the sight of the heavy gauze. “Grace, stop playing the martyr to hold me hostage. Compared to your hand, Amber is facing the total destruction of her reputation right now!” The hospital room door pushed open. Amber walked in, her eyes red and puffy, clutching a manila envelope. When she saw I was awake, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “Grace… thank God you’re awake. I’m so sorry. I had no idea Jared coming to support me would drive you to do something so reckless…” “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice flat. “Amber came to show you the truth,” Jared said, snatching the envelope from her and tossing the contents onto my bed. “Grace, you claimed that model was your original work. Then explain this.” I forced my eyes down to the paper. It was an official copyright registration certificate. It displayed the exact initial schematics of my design. The registration date was March of this year. The registrant: Amber. My pupils dilated. “Do you see it now?” Jared’s voice was completely devoid of warmth. “Amber copyrighted the core concept back in March. I personally checked your firm’s local drive, and your project folder wasn’t created until May. Grace, if it weren’t for that anonymous report, Amber wouldn’t even have known you were secretly poaching her discarded concepts.” I stared at the forged certificate and let out a dry, breathy laugh. “Jared…” I bit my pale lip. “Do you honestly believe that someone who couldn’t even handle a delicate scale model without breaking it actually drew those blueprint schematics?” “Are you still denying it?” Jared’s patience snapped. “The legal registration is right here in black and white! Where is your proof?” Four months ago, Amber had offered to help me “clean up” my office. She had taken several of my sketchbooks and run them through the paper shredder. When I lost my temper, Jared had shrugged it off. Our little Roly-Poly has the best temper. It was just a bunch of old scraps, don’t be so petty. My only means of proving my authorship had been systematically shredded four months ago. “Grace, I know you’re jealous because Jared cares about me, but you can’t commit commercial fraud to destroy me…” Amber sobbed, hiding behind Jared, her shoulders shaking. Jared took a deep breath, grabbed a pen, and forced it into my uninjured left hand. “Grace, if Amber takes this certificate to court, you’ll be facing prison time. I’m asking you to sign that agreement to protect you!” “Jared,” I whispered. “If I told you that back in March, Amber claimed her laptop was broken and deliberately copied my drafts… would you believe me?” Jared’s brow knitted into a tight knot. Without a second of hesitation, he snapped, “Grace, how much dirt do you need to fling at Amber before you’re satisfied? You’re bringing up something from four months ago now? Even if she glanced at your sketchbooks, design is about mutual inspiration. You can’t let your jealousy ruin her entire life over nothing!” He only saw the paper in Amber’s hand. He only remembered Amber as the fragile girl who cried over a broken scale model. He didn’t know that the “original concept” Amber had registered was stolen from my private black moleskin notebook. He didn’t know that his careless words four months ago—don’t be so petty—had become the final nail in my coffin. “Grace,” Amber sniffled, clutching the hem of Jared’s jacket. “If you’re really that angry, I’ll… I’ll just leave the industry. I’ll give the credit back to you. Please just stop pressuring Jared…” “That’s enough, Amber. This isn’t your fault,” Jared said, pulling her protectively against him before turning his cold gaze back to me. “Grace, my patience is wearing thin. Sign the agreement. If you keep pushing this, I will have our legal team step in tomorrow. Don’t blame me when you’re facing a lawsuit.” “Fine. I’ll sign,” I said. My voice was as flat and lifeless as a stagnant pond. Jared blinked, a flash of surprise crossing his face. “Good. I’m glad you’re being reasonable.” He pushed the agreement closer, his tone softening slightly. I signed it with my left hand—the final surrender of my seven years of devotion. Just as I finished, his phone buzzed. It was his PR manager. “Yes, I have the signed statement,” Jared said into the receiver. “Release it immediately. Suppress any press about Amber’s plagiarism.” He paused, his eyes carefully avoiding mine. “And… Grace’s firm has defaulted and filed for bankruptcy. Have her studio’s high-end workstations and unfinished design databases transferred directly to Amber’s team.” Hanging up, Jared tucked the agreement back into the folder and handed it to Amber. “Get some rest, Grace,” he said. “Amber has a major press conference tomorrow to clear her name. She’s too overwhelmed, so I need to take her home and prepare.” He walked over to the bed, habitually reaching out to tuck in my blanket. I turned my face away, flinching from his touch. His hand froze in midair, then retracted with a hint of irritation. “Still sulking? I told you, I’ll make it up to you. Once the press conference is over tomorrow, I’ll personally come pick you up and take you back to the Riverside estate.” He turned and guided Amber out by her shoulder. At the doorway, he tossed back his usual parting words: “Stay put. Wait for me.” The sound of their footsteps faded down the quiet corridor until there was only silence. I sat in the hospital bed, staring out the window. It’s funny how when you reach a certain level of despair, you stop feeling pain altogether. Even when your life is dismantled, even when your core beliefs shatter. With an expressionless face, I ripped the IV needle from the back of my hand. I pushed open the heavy hospital door and walked out into the endless, dark night. Anywhere was fine, as long as it was far away from Jared.
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