One crisp autumn day, I sat alone in my cozy apartment, restless, watching the leaves outside as I waited for Jace. He hadn’t visited in days, claiming he was sick. Something felt off.
I finally called him. He answered groggily, claiming a fever, then hung up mid-conversation. Frustrated but concerned, I grabbed tea, fruit, and medicine and headed to his place.
When the elevator opened, I saw him holding another woman—too close for it to be innocent.
“Looks like you’re feeling better,” I said coldly.
Jace tried to explain, but I shut him down, threw the groceries, and walked away. He didn’t follow. Days passed with no apology.
I needed closure, so I texted him. He asked to meet at our café but never showed. Instead, he texted, “I can’t stand seeing you so sad.” The nerve.
Back home, the woman from the elevator was waiting outside my door. She introduced herself as Ashley and explained that Jace had lied to her too—told her I was the toxic one.
Turns out, he played us both.
Over wine, we came up with a plan. We made dating profiles using Jace’s photos, set up fake dates, and even paid for a billboard: “Looking for a man to cherish.”
Jace begged us to stop. We named our price. When he paid, we sent one last message: “Oops. Forgot the passwords. Billboards are prepaid :)”
Then we blocked him.
A few days later, Ashley and I landed in Spain. Sun, sangria, and sweet, sweet revenge. I lost a boyfriend, but I gained a real friend.
Leave a Reply