I got home late from my internship, only to find my deeded parking spot taken by a brand-new Porsche. It took me forever to track down the owner. When I did, she refused to move, hitting me with a laundry list of excuses: “It’s your fault for coming home so late,” “Just find another spot,” and my personal favorite, “What if you’re a creep trying to rape me?” I thought about it all night. Then, I had a plan. The next day, I got a call. “Sir, you’re a civilized person. Don’t stoop to her level.” I laughed. “Don't be so sure. I’m not civilized at all.” 1 I landed my dream internship at a major bank. As a graduation gift, my parents bought me a brand-new electric car, a sleek Xiaomi SU7. They wanted my commute to be safe and comfortable. I was so grateful I almost cried. I posted a picture on Instagram, thanking my parents for being the absolute best. A few minutes later, my boyfriend, Matt, texted me. ‘Babe, I got good news too! I landed that new job! It’s a $3k raise!’ Double good news! I agreed to meet him for dinner, driving my new car. We’d been together since college. His family situation was tough—his mom was partially paralyzed, and his dad ran a food truck. He was, to put it mildly, broke. But he was gorgeous. I’m an only child. My parents own a few businesses and got lucky with some real estate. We’re in completely different worlds. My parents weren't thrilled about him and told him he needed to buy a house before they’d even consider marriage. Matt swore to them he’d have a down payment within three years. To help him, I never asked for gifts. But Matt had all the ambition and none of the hustle. Whenever I suggested he could pick up some gig work on weekends, he’d sigh. “I’m already exhausted from my 9-to-5, babe. I have no energy. Maybe next weekend.” But "next weekend" always turned into "I’m sick" or "I have to work." The house was just a test. I knew it. But watching him flake out, again and again, was chipping away at my feelings. The cute, talented college guy wasn't cutting it in the real world. We hadn't spoken in almost a month. I was this close to breaking up with him when he sent that text. He finally got a new job. I was genuinely thrilled. I pulled into the restaurant, excited. But Matt just gave me a quick, distracted hug. His eyes were glued to my car. He immediately asked if he could take it for a spin. I hated to kill his vibe, but... “Matt, you still haven’t passed your driver's test. And this is a parking garage. What if you hit something?” His face fell. But he recovered quickly, launching into a speech about his new job. I was happy for him until he mentioned the commute. “Wait, it takes you two hours each way? By bus and subway?” I did the math. “The raise doesn’t even cover the Uber fare if you’re late. You’re really going to spend four hours a day on public transport?” 2 He blinked, as if the question surprised him. Then, he put a piece of fish on my plate and casually dangled my car keys. “Babe, you have a car now. You can just drive me.” “That’s why I took the job. I figured you’d be able to. Otherwise, I’d be wasting four hours I could be using to moonlight.” I didn't answer. My apartment, his apartment, my new job, and his new job were at four completely different corners of the city. Driving him would add at least two hours to my day. My parents bought me the car to make my life easier, not to turn me into his personal chauffeur. He didn't notice my silence. “I’ll even pick you up breakfast! You’ll save money.” “And at night, we can go grocery shopping, I’ll cook, and you can just pay for the food!” I held up my hand. “Matt, stop. It’s not on the way. At all.” He leaned across the table, grabbing my arms and putting on his pathetic puppy-dog face. “But it would be on the way if you moved in with me!” I stared at him. “We’d commute together, eat together... it would be perfect!” I laughed, but it was a cold sound. “So, let me get this straight. You want me to give up my 800-square-foot apartment to move into your 300-square-foot studio?” “And pay for the groceries?” “And wake up an hour earlier every day to be your driver?” The audacity was stunning. He smiled, his voice turning into a wheedle. “Babe, don’t make it sound so bad! And hey, if you do... some of the chores, I won't even make you pay for food. I’ll only charge you, like, a thousand bucks for rent. It’s a steal.” “This new job has a huge future, Liv. I’m doing this to save up for our house. This is all for you.” My voice was flat. “So I should be thanking you, then.” “Exactly! You’re my future wife!” he chirped. “Oh, by the way, my washing machine is broken, so you’ll have to hand-wash our stuff for a while. Or you could just buy a new one.” “And since you’re saving so much, you should really learn to cook. That’s what a good wife does.” “My college reunion is next month. My license should be here by then. Make sure you get the car detailed. I want to look good pulling up.” 3 I looked at the storm clouds gathering outside. Then I looked at the man in front of me. This was the first time I suspected his jawline might be made of titanium, because his nerve was incredible. I grabbed my purse and stood up. “I’m sorry, but I’m not signing up to be your bang-maid, your ATM, or your chauffeur.” “Matt, we’re done. Break up.” I turned to leave. He grabbed my wrist, hard. “Olivia, what the hell does that mean? ‘Break up’?” He glanced at my keys and his face contorted into a sneer. “Oh, I get it. Land the big corporate job and the first thing you do is dump the poor boyfriend, right? I knew there was a reason you were ignoring me. You planned this!” “And here I was, working my ass off for you, going to interviews in this disgusting heat, and you’re this cold? You can’t see any of my sacrifices?” It was the dinner rush. The restaurant was packed. I could feel people staring. My disappointment crystallized into pure, cold anger. I always thought he was just lazy. I never realized he was a manipulative, parasitic leech. As my expression hardened, he must have sensed he was losing. So he switched tactics, playing the victim for the audience. He took a deep breath, and his eyes weltered up. “Babe... I don’t want to break up,” he said, his voice cracking. “To buy you that house... I’m willing to commute four hours every day. I’ll do anything. Just... just don’t leave me. We’re family. I love you so much.” The restaurant, already quiet, went dead silent. The whispers started immediately. “Wow, she looks like a bitch. He’s willing to do that for her and she’s just staring at him?” The girl at the next table nudged her boyfriend. “If I were him, I’d dump her. He’s trying to save for a house and she’s going to dump him after she gets a good job? Disgusting.” Someone was filming me on their phone. Matt held his hand out, his eyes shining with fake tears. “Babe, don’t listen to them. Only I know how much I love you. Let’s not break up, okay?” 4 His words were like a slap. Suddenly, all the little red flags I’d ignored for years snapped into focus. The time I spent half my student loan refund on new Nikes for him because his were falling apart. He’d "refused" to take them. “Babe, you can't spend this much on me. I’m not worth it. I’m used to having nothing...” I’d practically begged him to accept them, my heart aching for him. I didn't notice how his eyes were glued to the box the entire time. He used my pity against me then, just like he was using public opinion now. He was weaponizing my success to keep me under his thumb. I was done. I looked straight at him and, in a clear, carrying voice, I said: “I’m sorry, but I am not your chauffeur or your maid.” “Move out of my own apartment to pay you rent, hand-wash your clothes, and drive you to work? I’d have to be brain-dead.” “And that house? We both agreed the down payment and the title would be in your name only. So how, exactly, are you 'buying it for me'? Or are you planning to put my name on the deed now?” He was speechless. His face turned purple. “I… I was being sincere,” he stammered. “Why do you have to be so... so petty?” Petty? I just laughed, turned, and walked out. When I got home, I told my parents everything. My dad slammed his fist on the table. “I knew that kid was a user! I could smell the calculation on him!” My mom just hugged me. “Good thing we bought that car. It just saved you from a lifetime of misery.” My dad sighed. “It’s not over. A guy like that, who’s willing to make a public scene? He won't let this go easily.” My mom scoffed. “What’s he going to do? Show up here? I’ll call the cops.” But she was wrong. He didn't come to the house. He came to my new job. 5 It was my first day. My new manager was showing me and two other trainees the systems. Suddenly, Matt walked into the bank lobby, holding a comically large bouquet of flowers. He shoved them at me. “Babe, I’ve thought about it. I was wrong.” “You’ve been pampered your whole life. I shouldn't have said all that crap about laundry and cooking. I’ll do it. I’ll do everything. Just please, don’t break up with me.” I froze. My manager’s face went from professional-and-pleasant to ice-cold. She looked at me with pure annoyance. “You need to go handle your personal business. Then you can come back to work.” The humiliation and anger were so thick I could barely breathe. I tried to drag him outside, but he planted his feet. “Babe, I know you love me,” he said, his voice getting louder. “If this new job is what’s stopping us from being together, I’ll talk to your manager right now! We’ll quit! I can support you!” “Is that her? Is she the one forcing you to break up with me?” He pointed at my manager. Her face turned to stone. “Ms. Hayes,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “I’m saying this one more time. Handle this, or I’m calling security.” He was doing this on purpose. He was trying to get me fired. The rage exploded in my chest. I shoved him, hard. “Matt, get the hell out of here! Stop this!” He just stood there. I was about to scream for security myself when a new voice cut through the lobby. “Mr. Davis? What are you doing here? You know the company's policy for new hires. You’re not allowed to take personal days in your first month unless it’s a funeral.”
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