It was midnight when my phone finally lit up. I stared at the screen, my heart doing a nervous little flutter-kick in my chest. “Dear Ms. Sharon Chan, wishing you a happy 28th birthday! Your account balance is $328.51.” It was just the bank app. I waited five more minutes, then ten, then thirty. The phone stayed silent. My boyfriend of three years, Ryan Jared, had texted earlier, claiming his flight was delayed due to a business trip, and he’d call as soon as he landed. My mom called last week: “Your brother needs $10,000 for the engagement, wire it over.” I said okay, and she hung up. My best friend, Maya Lin, posted on Instagram today: “Busy but fulfilling day!” The picture was a dozen perfect red roses. I flipped the phone face-down on the table. $328 was my total worth for the rest of the month. I’d given $300,000 for my brother’s down payment, $100,000 for his engagement, and God knows how much more over the last three years to fill various holes. Suddenly, I felt like there was nothing to celebrate on my 28th birthday. But that’s fine. I opened my laptop and pulled up a specific folder. Three years. It was time for me to collect my own debts. 01 Ryan’s flight delay was a lie. I’d known for a while. Because he hadn’t bought a plane ticket; he’d bought a train ticket. The order confirmation was pushed to my email late last night. We shared a joint rewards account. He’d forgotten to log out. The destination? A five-star hotel right here in the city. A “three-day business trip,” and the hotel was twenty miles away from our office. I didn’t confront him. I just wanted to see who he was spending his weekend with. At one in the morning, I lay in bed, wide awake. Staring at the ceiling, I drifted back through the past three years. Ryan was a senior from my college, now my co-worker. “Sharon, I’ve been watching you for a long time.” Back then, I thought he was kind, thoughtful, and ambitious. He told me, “Let’s work hard together. We’ll buy a house and get married before we turn thirty.” I believed him. My salary wasn’t high, but I saved every penny. I’d squirreled away eighty thousand over three years. I gave it all to him. He said it was for a stock market investment that tanked. He said it was for a startup that went belly-up. He said it was the down payment for a car that was stolen. I never questioned him. Because every time, he’d say, “Baby, when I make it big, I’ll pay you back tenfold.” I didn’t need tenfold. I just needed him to remember my birthday. At two in the morning, I messaged him: “Did you land?” No reply. Three in the morning: “Are you asleep?” Read, but ignored. He’d walked 12,876 steps today. A flight delay, stuck at the airport? Could you really walk twelve thousand steps in a terminal? I laughed. It was the first time I truly felt like an idiot. Five in the morning, I finally got his reply. “Just landed. So exhausted. Talk tomorrow, get some sleep.” Attached was a photo of a hotel room. The curtains were drawn tight. But I still saw it. There was a bouquet of flowers on the nightstand. Red roses. The exact same ones from Maya’s Instagram post today. 02 I didn’t lose it immediately. I hadn’t gathered all the evidence yet. At eight in the morning, I got up, washed, put on my makeup, and left for work, like a normal day. The office was forty minutes away by subway. Squashed into the morning rush hour crowd, I thought about Ryan and Maya. How did they even connect? Maya was my college roommate. That’s how she knew Ryan. When Ryan and I started dating, I was the one who introduced them. “This is my best friend, Maya. And this is my boyfriend, Ryan. Please look out for me, you two.” How naïve I was back then. I thought a best friend was a best friend, and a boyfriend was a boyfriend. I thought sincerity earned sincerity. The train was jammed. Someone stepped on my foot without apologizing. I looked down at my shoes. They were a pair I bought on clearance last year for $59. Ryan mentioned last week he wanted a pair of limited edition sneakers—$2,999. I told him, “I’ll get them when I get paid.” He sighed, “Forget it, I don’t want to burden you.” The next day, Maya posted an Instagram story. “A gift I picked out for a good buddy. Hope he likes them.” The photo was the sneaker box. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now, I realized. What best friend buys my boyfriend three-thousand-dollar sneakers? I was completely and utterly played. Nine on the dot, I arrived at the office. It was Monday, time for the weekly meeting. Our director, Ted Carson, sat at the head of the table and scanned the room. “Where’s Ryan?” Leo, a colleague, piped up, “Ryan’s on a business trip.” Ted frowned. “Business trip? What business trip? I didn’t approve any.” Leo laughed awkwardly. “I... I’m not sure.” Ted’s face darkened. The meeting continued, focusing on the proposal review scheduled for next Friday. This was the company’s biggest project this year—a major corporate client, an eight-figure contract. Our team submitted three proposals. I authored one of them. But during the kick-off, Ryan had said, “Just give me the first draft, I’ll help you refine it. We’ll co-author.” I gave it to him. In the end, only his name was on it. Ted had asked me once, “Sharon, the framework for this proposal doesn’t quite match Ryan’s usual style.” I’d said, “We collaborated; he incorporated some of my ideas.” Ted just looked at me and didn’t press. That look—I understood it now. He knew. But he never stood up for me. Because Ryan was his protégé. After the meeting, I returned to my desk and opened my computer. The original file for the stolen proposal was still on my USB drive. I’d saved everything. In three years, I’d learned one thing: Before you commit, always keep a record. 03 At noon, I ordered a $15 boxed lunch. I ate while scrolling through Instagram. Maya posted a second time: “Super happy today! Surprise coming this afternoon~” The photo was her fresh manicure—bright red with tiny hearts painted on the tips. A surprise? What surprise? I looked down at my own hands. My nails were clipped short, unpolished, practical for typing. It had been a year since I last got a manicure. It was for an anniversary dinner Ryan promised. I got my nails done specially. He canceled at the last minute, claiming an emergency. I sat in the restaurant alone for two hours, ate by myself, and went home. He said, “I’ll make it up to you next time.” There was no next time. “Sharon, my office.” Ted’s voice cut through my thoughts. When I entered, he was looking at Ryan’s proposal. The one that was mine. “Sharon,” he began, “how much of this proposal did you actually contribute?” I paused. “I...” “Don’t lie to me.” He looked up. “I know your writing. Ryan’s technical skills aren’t this good.” I kept silent. He sighed. “Forget it, you must have your reasons. I’ll just ask you this: Do you have a handle on next Friday’s review?” “What do you mean?” I asked. “The client has already internally decided on another firm,” he said in a low voice. “That’s insider information. All three of our proposals, no matter how good, are likely just a formality.” My heart sank. “Then why still hold the review?” “To follow protocol,” he said. “But if our proposal is groundbreaking enough, there’s still a slim chance.” He looked at me, a meaningful expression in his eyes. “Sharon, this project is important for you.” “For me?” “You’ve been here three years, and you’re still just a coordinator. Everyone below you has been promoted, and you’re stuck.” He paused. “Do you know why?” I didn't. I made the PPTs for others to present, I pulled the all-nighters for others’ names to be on, and my ideas were used for others to take credit. But every time there was a promotion, I was passed over. Ted said, “Because you’re too accommodating.” He pushed the proposal toward me. “You present this one yourself.” I took it. I didn’t say yes, and I didn’t say no. Because a thought had suddenly sparked in my mind: Ryan was still “away on his business trip.” I had three days. I could do a lot of damage in three days. 04 After work, I didn’t go home. I went to the five-star hotel Maya mentioned. It was in the heart of the CBD. You needed a key card to get upstairs, but I could wait in the lobby. I bought a $58 latte, sat in a secluded corner, and watched the elevator. At 7:18 PM, the elevator doors opened. Ryan walked out. He was wearing the jacket I bought him—$2,800, three months of savings. The person on his arm was Maya. She was wearing a red dress, fully made up, more beautiful than I had ever seen her. They were laughing and chatting like a couple deeply in love. I took out my phone and snapped three photos. They didn’t see me. They would never in a million years think I’d be here. They walked toward the hotel’s fine-dining restaurant, sat down, and ordered. I watched from afar. I watched Ryan pour her water, serve her food, and cut her steak. He had never done any of those things for me. I watched Maya laughingly feed him a piece of food. He opened his mouth, took it, and they exchanged a look so sickeningly sweet it made my stomach turn. I suddenly remembered something that happened three days ago. Maya asked me out to lunch and inquired, “How are things between you and Ryan?” I said, “Good.” She said, “He got a promotion, you must be happy for him, right?” I said, “Of course.” She said, “Sharon, you’re so generous. I don’t think I could be so understanding.” I didn’t get what she meant then. I got it now. She was testing me. Testing to see if I knew. Once she confirmed I was an idiot, she could confidently move in for the kill. Eight on the dot, they finished their meal. Ryan called the waiter over and said something. The waiter nodded and walked away. A moment later, the restaurant lights dimmed. A cake was wheeled out, topped with candles. The staff started singing the birthday song. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” Maya covered her mouth, a look of surprise on her face. Ryan held her hand, saying something I couldn’t hear. But I saw Maya nod. Then Ryan took a small box out of his pocket. He opened it. A ring. Maya cried, laughing through her tears. Ryan slid the ring onto her ring finger. They hugged. They kissed. The surrounding diners applauded. I sat in my corner and watched the entire show. Today was October 15th. My birthday. Ryan was celebrating another woman’s birthday and proposing to her. Maya’s birthday was April 9th. I remembered it clearly. I sent her a gift every year. So this wasn’t her birthday at all. They had simply chosen the day of my supposed “business trip” to stage their little performance. No. They didn’t think they were staging anything. They just assumed I would never find out. I set down my coffee cup. And I laughed a quiet, sharp laugh. Fine. Very fine. 05 I didn’t storm out right then and there. That would be letting them off too easily. I wanted them to lose everything. That night, I returned to my apartment and started organizing the evidence. First, the proposal. My original draft was completed in March 2023, three months before Ryan submitted his. The revision history, the metadata, the backup emails—a complete chain of evidence. Second, the transfers. In three years, I’d wired Ryan $83,200. I had screenshots of every single transfer. The notes were explicitly clear: stock market, startup, car down payment, credit card debt. Third, the text messages. Including every time he said, “Baby, wait for me,” and every time he said, “I promise I’ll pay you back.” Fourth, my family. My parents had taken $470,000 from me in three years. $300,000 for my brother’s house down payment, $100,000 for his engagement, and the remaining $70,000 for various excuses. Every single transaction was documented. But they had never called to ask how I was doing. They had never once remembered my birthday. I finished organizing around three in the morning. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t cry. The tears felt like they’d dried up. The next morning, I went to work as usual. Ryan hadn’t “returned” yet. Maya had also taken the day off. They were probably still celebrating their engagement at the hotel. I opened my laptop and continued revising the proposal. Ted told me to present it myself, and I would. I spent those three days working non-stop to polish that proposal until it was flawless. Around noon, my mom called. “Sharon, did you send the $10,000 for your brother’s engagement party?”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "390823", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel