When my boyfriend took me out on a date, he made a point of bringing along Kayla, the underprivileged college student he was mentoring, claiming he wanted to “show the girl the finer things in life.” During dinner, he handed me a wilted grocery store bouquet he’d bought for ten dollars on sale. Moments later, I watched a delivery driver hand Kayla a gorgeous, three-hundred-dollar arrangement of preserved velvet roses from Venus et Fleur. When I confronted him, he dismissed my anger with an airy shrug. “She’s young. Girls her age care about these frivolous little gestures. You’re mature—you don’t need all that superficial nonsense.” Another time, when he and I won a small stuffed claw-machine prize, he went out the very next day and bought Kayla an entire backseat full of giant Jellycat plushies. His excuse was offhand and effortless. “A young girl needs to be spoiled a bit, or else she’ll fall for the first bad boy who buys her a cheap drink. I’m just fulfilling a small wish for her.” From then on, whenever he bought me a gift, he inevitably bought Kayla something ten times more expensive right after. Until our wedding day, when Derek suddenly vanished. I searched for him like a woman out of my mind, only to stumble upon him dressed in his bespoke tuxedo at another venue down the street—kissing Kayla passionately at the altar of a separate wedding. When he saw me standing in the doorway, his tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Kayla was envious of your wedding, so I just threw one together for her on the side.” The venue he booked for Kayla was the grand ballroom, draped in fresh lavender flown in straight from Provence. With him, I was always handed the budget version. This love—where I was forever forced to settle for second best—was something I no longer wanted. … Derek checked his watch, tapping the face with a flick of his wrist. “I still have toasts to make down the hall. Don’t wait up for me—head back and rest.” He draped his suit jacket over my shoulders, telling me to get home safely. I grabbed his sleeve, my voice tight and raw. “What about our wedding?” He pulled his arm free, a fleeting look of regret passing over his face. “Kayla’s waiting for me.” Then he turned and walked toward Kayla, who stood waiting on the grand stage. The jacket around my shoulders still held his warmth, but a bone-deep cold settled inside me, making me shiver violently. I made my way back to our apartment in a daze. The wedding coordinator called, asking if I had found the groom. I shook my head, my voice eerily calm even to my own ears. “We’re calling it off. There is no groom.” When I hung up his jacket, Derek’s phone slid out of the inner pocket and clattered onto the floor. I picked it up and swiped the screen. The passcode was still my birthday, but the lock screen wallpaper had been changed to a photo of Kayla’s silhouette taken from behind. I opened his banking app. The same Derek who had cried broke in front of me last week had just wired ten thousand dollars to Kayla, with the memo note: “For the wedding dress.” That same week, I had fallen in love with a five-hundred-dollar bridal gown I wanted to rent for our ceremony. He had looked pained, lecturing me about not being wasteful. Trying to be understanding, I settled on a cheap, off-the-rack dress under a hundred dollars online. The tailoring was atrocious, and it was a size too big, hanging off me like a borrowed sack. A knot tightened in my chest. I opened his hidden photo album. It was filled with photos of him and Kayla vacationing in the Maldives. The day they departed was our anniversary. The day before that, he had rushed me through a quick half-day trip to a neighboring town. He had claimed it was a business trip, but in reality, he was clearing his schedule to give Kayla a luxury getaway. Swiping down, I saw professional portrait shots of the two of them. I remembered begging him for months to do a couple’s photoshoot with me. He had stood beside me with a cold, expressionless face the entire time. Now, looking at the bright, genuine smile on his face in these photos, my stomach churned. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. When I wiped my mouth and looked at his phone again, I opened their chat history with a masochistic compulsion. I saw how he had fully supported Kayla’s application for an exchange program at Oxford. Around that same time, I had received an offer for an advanced professional program abroad and asked to use a third of our joint savings to cover my tuition. Derek had stopped me cold. “Kayla has a stronger academic background than you. An international exchange will do wonders for her resume. Spending that money on your continuing education won’t change much for your career—it’s better to give it to her.” I locked the screen and laid out the acceptance letter from Harvard that had arrived in the mail that morning. It was the result of a year and a half of grueling, late-night study, something I had planned to surprise him with today. The front door opened. Derek walked in, supporting a visibly tipsy Kayla. The mixture of his cologne and her heavy perfume hung thick in the air, making me nauseous. Derek used to tell me he hated perfume and asked me never to wear it. He carefully guided Kayla into the apartment’s master bedroom—the largest room, which Derek insisted on giving to her, claiming it was unsafe for a young single girl to sleep in a smaller, street-facing room. He had spent a fortune decorating it with custom furniture, while my bedroom was furnished entirely with second-hand finds from Craigslist. He walked out quietly and sat down beside me on the couch. Holding a silver crystal necklace, he brushed my hair aside and clasped it around my neck. “I was supposed to spend today with you and take her out tomorrow,” he murmured softly. “But Kayla threw a little tantrum, so I had to smooth things over with her first. In a few days, I’ll plan another wedding for you, okay?” It took me only one glance to recognize the necklace. It was a free promotional gift. I had seen the exact same design featured in a promotional set on Kayla’s Instagram feed weeks ago. I pushed his hands away, my tone flat. “Don’t bother. We don’t need a wedding anymore.” Derek gave a light chuckle. “Is my wife trying to save money for me again?” “I just think it’s unnecessary,” I said softly. He stood up and headed to the kitchen to boil hangover soup for Kayla—a task he almost never performed for me. I stared at his back. “Ask Kayla to move out. Otherwise, we’re breaking up.” His hand paused mid-air as he reached for a bowl. “Stop throwing a fit.” “I’m not throwing a fit. I’m serious.” Before the words fully faded, the bedroom door clicked open. Kayla stood bare-footed in the doorway, looking fragile and teary-eyed. “Naomi, please don’t fight with Derek because of me. I’ll leave right now.” She reached for her handbag on the entryway table. Derek immediately tossed the bowl into the sink and rushed forward to stop her. “Where are you going in the middle of the night? Stay right here. Nobody is kicking you out.” He turned back to face me, his tone sharp with accusation. “Grow up, Naomi. Whatever is going on between us, don’t drag her into it.” Looking at the two of them, my heart sank to the bottom of an abyss. Kayla clutched the doorframe, sobbing softly. “I’m sorry, Naomi. It’s my fault. But I still want to thank you… thank you for agreeing to let Derek use your savings to pay the down payment on my condo…” Derek’s face drained of color. My mind went completely blank. I pulled out my phone and logged into our joint savings account. The balance read zero. Not a single cent was left. I looked up, staring dead at Derek, my voice trembling. “You took our house down payment and used it to buy her a place?” Derek avoided my gaze, looking away. “She’s a young woman alone in the city with no family. Helping her get a foothold is the right thing to do.” “What about me?” I interrupted him. “What about our house? What about our future?” He scowled, his tone growing impatient. “So what if we buy a house a little later? With my income, do you really think I won’t be able to buy you a place eventually?” It was never about buying a house sooner or later. Ever since he started ‘helping’ Kayla, everything had shifted. Our shared savings were spent on her tuition, her study-abroad expenses, and now even our house down payment was handed over to complete her life. A relationship built for two had been forced to accommodate a third person. Exhaustion swept over me. I couldn’t bring myself to argue anymore, so I turned and walked into my room. Derek followed me in, offering a lazy attempt at reassurance. “Don’t be mad. Kayla will pay all of it back later. I wouldn’t just throw money away on her for no reason.” It was laughably absurd. In all the years he had spent money on Kayla, she had never returned a single penny. I gathered my thoughts, preparing to deliver the breakup statement I had rehearsed in my head. But before I could speak, a sharp scream sounded from the living room. Without a second thought, Derek turned and ran out. I kept my eyes open until dawn. Over the next few days, I pulled all-nighters preparing my paperwork and applying for my student visa to the United States. When I went into the office on Monday, I found my nameplate removed from my desk. In its place was Kayla’s name. My personal items had been swept onto the floor, including the professional certification awards I had earned over five years of hard work. Kelly, the junior assistant, cowered by the doorway and whispered timidly, “Naomi, you were out on leave the last few days, so you didn’t know… Manager Derek promoted Kayla to Team Lead, and your desk was reassigned.” Before she could finish, Derek walked into the office area with Kayla by his side. I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning white. “I’ve worked in this position for five years. I handled every major client and led every senior localization project without a single mistake. She’s been here for less than a year and botched two major translation assignments. On what grounds does she get promoted over me?” Derek’s expression was distant, his voice cold and strictly professional. “Corporate life doesn’t care about tenure; it cares about value. Kayla has international exchange experience and a higher degree than you. Her promotion is completely standard.” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Kayla tugged gently at Derek’s sleeve. “Derek, maybe we shouldn’t. I don’t have to be the Team Lead. It’s okay.” Derek immediately stepped in front of her, his tone dropping several degrees, as if lecturing me in front of everyone. “The decision is final. You don’t need to accommodate anyone, Kayla. Just focus on your work.” The surrounding colleagues kept their heads down, afraid to utter a word. Suddenly, Kayla pulled my Harvard acceptance letter out of my leather tote bag on the floor, looking astonished. “An acceptance letter from Harvard? Naomi, you didn’t forge a fake admission letter just to save face because you knew you were being reassigned, did you?” “It’s real,” I said quietly. Derek took the paper from her hand, casually flipped through a few pages, and let out a soft sneer. “Even if you’re desperate to advance your career, you shouldn’t resort to fraud. With your basic state-college degree, how could you possibly meet the admissions threshold for Harvard?” It was always the same narrative with him. Kayla graduated from an elite university—his alma mater. In his mind, I would always be inferior to her. Five years of dedication at this company meant nothing against his deep-seated prejudice. Kayla held the letter, a hint of smugness in her eyes. “Naomi, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately and were worried about being replaced. You wanted to give yourself some prestige, but fake documents will get exposed. It’s embarrassing.” “I didn’t forge it,” I said calmly. “You can verify its authenticity on the official university portal in five minutes.” “Enough,” Derek cut me off sharply, tossing the letter onto the floor. “If the rest of the department finds out my girlfriend pulled a stunt like this, how am I supposed to show my face?” “You don’t care about your dignity, but I care about mine.” With that, he wrapped an arm around Kayla’s waist and began discussing how to redecorate the office to her liking. I knelt, picked up the crumpled acceptance letter, wiped off the dust, and walked out of the office. A wave of sympathetic gazes followed me down the hall. I sat at the remote, tucked-away desk I had been reassigned to, pulled out the resignation letter I had drafted in advance, and signed my name. I walked up and knocked on Derek’s office door. He was on the phone. I slid the resignation form across his desk. Without even glancing at it, he picked up a pen and signed his name at the bottom. I stood there, momentarily stunned. He impatiently pulled the phone away from his mouth. “Anything else?” I shook my head slowly. “No.” When off-duty hours arrived, Derek drove his car to the front of the building. I instinctively reached out to open the passenger door, but as soon as my hand touched the handle, I saw someone already sitting inside. Derek rolled down the window. “I’m taking Kayla out. Take a cab home yourself.” Sensing his own harsh tone, he softened slightly. “It’s cold out tonight. Head home early.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he hit the gas, driving off in the opposite direction from our apartment. A sudden downpour slammed into the city. I stood on the curb for nearly half an hour without catching a cab, eventually forcing me to walk through the pouring rain to the subway station. By the time I dragged myself back to the rental apartment, I was soaked to the skin, shivering uncontrollably. I flipped the light switch, but the apartment remained pitch dark. Checking my phone, I saw a notification that the entire block had lost power. Just then, a notification popped up on Instagram—it was an update from Kayla. Two photos. One showed a beautifully renovated luxury condo, infinitely more elegant than my cramped rental unit. The other was the property deed, stamped with her name. Caption: “A special kind of devotion, just for me.” A chill seeped through my skin into my chest, far colder than the rain outside. I stared at the screen for a long time, then quietly tapped the like button. A second later, a system notification flashed on my screen: my US student visa had been approved. It was perhaps the only good news I had received all day. Without hesitation, I opened an airline app and booked a one-way ticket to Boston for the day after tomorrow. By the faint glow of my phone screen, I packed up all my belongings into luggage. Shortly after I finished, a barrage of text messages from Derek flooded my phone. I suddenly remembered that the primary card linked to my flight app was his account. “Why did you buy a flight to the US?” “You don’t actually think playing this trick through to the end makes you a Harvard student, do you?” “Cancel the ticket right now before the refund fees kick in.” Looking at the messages, I felt only a profound sense of absurdity. Eighteen months of relentless effort were nothing more than a self-directed performance in his eyes. Fine. Let the performance play out. I replied with a brief message: “I’m not refunding it,” and immediately transferred the full cost of the ticket back to his account. Derek didn’t send another word. Over the next two days, he never returned to the apartment. I contacted the landlord to finalize the lease termination, settled the utilities, retrieved my security deposit, and scheduled my luggage to be shipped directly to an airport hotel. On my final day at work, I ran into Derek in the breakroom. I kept my eyes down, pressing the button on the coffee machine, avoiding his gaze entirely. In the past, whenever we bumped into each other during breaks, I would eagerly lean in and talk about my day. Today, I didn’t care to say a single word. Just as I turned to leave, a strong hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me into an embrace. Derek’s breath brushed against my neck, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Why have you been so down lately? Are you having trouble adjusting to your new position?” I remained silent, pulling myself free from his grip. I picked up my coffee cup and turned to walk out. The moment I stepped around the corner, someone slammed hard into my shoulder. Scalding coffee spilled all over my clothes. I looked up and met Kayla’s eyes. Kayla clutched a tiny, slightly reddened spot on the back of her hand, her eyes welling with tears instantly. Derek bolted forward, grabbed her hand, and rushed her to the sink, turning on the cold water to rinse it. He turned to glare at me, his eyes blazing with fury. “Are you satisfied now?” I froze. “Kayla just took over your major client accounts, so you intentionally burned her to get back at her?” A suffocating weight pressed down on my chest. I slowly looked up. “If she earned those accounts through actual competence, I’d have nothing to say. But she doesn’t deserve them.” I set the empty cup on the counter and walked out of the breakroom. Shortly after applying ointment to my minor burn, the department head called me into the conference room to cover a last-minute simultaneous interpretation assignment for a sick colleague. My partners for the session happened to be Derek and Kayla. Suppressing my emotions, I took the reference binder and locked into work mode. Kayla stood behind us, responsible for passing terminology glossaries during the live feed. The first half of the conference went smoothly. Then, the client delivered a long string of complex industry jargon. Kayla hesitated behind us, failing to pass the prepared glossary slip in time. My translation stumbled into an abrupt halt. The entire hall fell into an agonizing fifteen-second silence. Derek stepped swiftly behind my chair, whispering a harsh command: “Step aside.” I didn’t move. Relying on my years of experience, I quickly restructured the sentence structure in my head, translated the general meaning on the fly, and executed the rest of the presentation without a single error. After seeing off the client, only the three of us remained in the room. Kayla stood with her head hung low, silent. Derek’s face was dark. “Stumbling on basic terminology—when did your professional standard drop this low?” he demanded coldly. My back was still soaked in cold sweat. “Kayla didn’t hand over the reference sheet in time. I didn’t have a chance to preview the technical terms…” “Stop making excuses to shift the blame!” Derek snapped. “I won’t report this to senior management this time, but if it happens again, you’re fired.” The remaining words caught in my throat. I couldn’t utter a single line of defense. His eyes were entirely focused on Kayla’s perceived grievance. If he had paid even a fraction of that attention to me, he would have noticed that my resignation paperwork had already been processed days ago. I stopped arguing and offered a quiet nod. When we walked downstairs after work, Derek’s voice sounded behind me. “I can give you a ride. Let’s grab dinner on the way.” I shook my head and declined. He didn’t press the matter, turning instead to leave with Kayla. Watching his car disappear into the traffic, I hailed a taxi, slid into the back seat, and gave the driver the address of the airport hotel. On the way, I pulled up my contacts and deleted Derek and Kayla’s phone numbers and messaging accounts completely. The next morning. Derek walked past my old desk and noticed it was completely bare. A frown creased his forehead. I was never late. He pulled up his phone to text me, asking where I was. Before he could send the message, the department head called an emergency meeting regarding a critical new account. He set his phone aside for the moment. Intending to use the opportunity to build Kayla’s credentials, he assigned her as the lead interpreter for the client presentation. However, Kayla panicked under pressure, making glaring translation errors left and right. Derek grew increasingly agitated as he listened. He turned to his assistant and ordered, “Has Naomi arrived yet? Get her in here to take over.” The assistant looked surprised and whispered cautiously, “Manager Derek… Naomi finished her exit process yesterday.”
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