It was the fifth birthday I’d spent with Rhys Carson, and just like the previous years, I was staring at a lavish, untouched dinner, the exquisite dishes growing cold on the table. Rhys had promised, as he always did, to celebrate with me, and as always, he broke his word. This year, the excuse was his childhood friend—his eternally perfect, untouchable muse—Blair. She needed a conceptual photoshoot, she said, and had invited Rhys and his three closest buddies to participate. Just like that, I was abandoned again, left alone while he eagerly rushed into her orbit. It was almost eleven p.m. when Blair posted a photo on her private Instagram, visible only to me. In the picture, four men in nothing but black boxer briefs and delicate Windsor bow ties knelt in worship around a woman draped in a single layer of sheer fabric. The caption read: "The little taste of cake some people beg for? I own the whole damn bakery." I took a screenshot. I saved it. Then, I sent it to the girlfriends of Rhys’s three best friends. Since you all look down on me so much, I hope you never have to kneel down and beg for anything. 1 I calmly observed the photo on my screen, sensing something inside me quietly shatter. In the picture, warm, yellow light poured down, making the four men—each wearing only black briefs and a sharply tied knot—look like arrogant gods. They were arranged in a semi-circle, kneeling, their eyes fixed on the woman in the center with expressions of total subjugation and loyalty, as if she were a high-born queen. The woman was covered by little more than black gossamer. The fabric was practically transparent, hinting at the provocative curves beneath and oozing an untamed, raw desire. She wore an air of icy superiority, radiating a force field that made her impossible to look away from. The caption above the photo was a pure, unadulterated taunt. "The little taste of cake some people beg for? I own the whole damn bakery." Looking at the dinner now fully cold on the table, and then at the sight of Rhys and his three buddies reduced to domesticated, almost cheap-looking pawns, I suddenly wasn't angry anymore. There was no point getting angry over something so clearly worthless. I first hit the 'Like' button on Blair’s post, and then dropped a comment: "A bitch and a dog—may your love last forever." After commenting, I saved the screenshot and sent it separately to the girlfriends of Connor, Brendan, and Declan. The moment I finished sending the last message, the post magically vanished from my feed. About ten minutes later, a flood of notifications erupted on my phone. I tapped the screen. The messages were from Rhys’s three loyal musketeers. Connor: "Sutton, what the hell is wrong with you? I was just doing Blair a favor by posing for a shoot! What business is it of yours? Why did you open your nasty mouth and tell my girlfriend? She’s flipping out! Are you satisfied, you petty, miserable cow?" Brendan: "Sutton, you crazy psycho! Did I do something to you? Why would you send that to my girl? If you're bored, go jump off a bridge, don’t spread your madness here!" Declan: "You trash! Your hands are getting too long! Did I murder your ancestors in a past life? I hope your whole damn family gets run over by a truck!" Staring at the stream of vile abuse, I opened a dialogue box to fire back, but Rhys’s call beat me to it. I hit 'Answer,' and his furious voice blasted through the speaker. "Sutton, what the hell are you doing, going crazy in the middle of the night?" "Because of your damn snitching, Connor, Brendan, and Declan's girls are all threatening to break up with them! Do you have any idea what a mess you’ve made? Are you psychologically warped, incapable of letting anyone else be happy?" "Now Blair is crying, blaming herself. And it’s all your fault!" "I don't care what you're doing right now, you need to get over here immediately, explain everything, and apologize to Blair. Otherwise, don't expect me to be gentle with you again." "Blair is crying?" I asked, my voice flat. "Duh! If you hadn't made Blair cry, why would I be so mad at you? I’ve spoiled you, Sutton! You are becoming completely irrational." "Well, when she’s crying right now, is she still wearing that sheer, barely-there fishing net that can’t even cover her two headlights? And are you boys still wearing your coordinated, cheap black briefs while comforting her?" Rhys’s voice became abruptly strained. "Sutton, stop being dramatic. I don't know what you're talking about." "Oh, really?" I sent him the screenshot directly. "Rhys, Blair is dressed like a cheap exhibitionist. When you and your buddies were taking those pictures, did any of you get a physiological reaction?" He hung up. 2 He probably never expected Blair to secretly post that photo just to spite me, and Blair certainly never expected me to screenshot it and send it to the other three girlfriends. Seeing he’d hung up, I messaged him: "Why did you hang up? Why aren't you interrogating me anymore?" The 'typing...' indicator flashed, but no message arrived. Fine. I took the screenshot and the vile chat logs from Connor, Brendan, and Declan, and posted them all on my own social media. The caption: "Even if no one else is here, I wish myself a happy birthday." It was past midnight now—my birthday was officially over—but the photo instantly lit up my feed. My friends immediately started liking and commenting. "Whoa! Rhys ditched you on your birthday for that? Sutton, you've got a walking red flag!" "Don’t be upset, Sutton. If he won't celebrate, we will." "Rhys looks like such a golden boy usually. How trashy is he playing? Is this like four twos and a wild card?" "OMG! She has the guts to wear that? And post it? Is she trying to solicit customers?" Ten minutes after my post, Connor's girlfriend (Tess) entered the arena. She also posted the screenshot, immediately announcing her breakup. "Connor can wear one pair of boxers for her photoshoot today, and tomorrow he'll be naked and rolling around with her. Trash belongs with trash. You lapdog, go back to licking your diseased, rotten mistress." My already crowded comments section became even more chaotic due to Tess’s public declaration. Within five minutes, her post had well over a hundred likes. Yet, through all the chaos, Rhys still hadn't replied to me. But I wasn't the kind of silent heroine in a novel who never speaks her mind. So, in the dead of the night, I sent the screenshot to Rhys’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Carson. That finally forced Rhys to stick his entitled head out of his turtle shell. The next morning, I got a call from Mrs. Carson. "Sutton, darling, could you come over?" "Rhys’s father and I saw the photo. I'm sure there’s some misunderstanding. Please, come over, and let's talk this through." "You two have been together for years, and you’re about to be married! Why make things so difficult and messy?" "Mrs. Carson, you saw the photo. I don't believe there’s any misunderstanding." "You've seen how dedicated I’ve been to Rhys all these years. I haven't done anything to let him down. I love him, but that doesn't mean he gets to use my feelings to hurt me without consequence." Since she was an elder, I didn't want to be completely disrespectful. "I’ll get ready. I’ll be over shortly." I hung up, did a quick, simple makeup application, and drove out. When I reached the Carson family estate, Rhys’s parents were already waiting by the front door. Rhys was standing behind them, head bowed, looking like a wilted flower. I got out of the car and had just closed the door when a black sports car suddenly swerved from the side road, heading straight for me. "Sutton, look out!" Seeing the car about to hit me, Rhys charged forward and, with a desperate dive, pushed me out of the way. CRASH! I tumbled onto the ground, looking up just in time to see Rhys’s body fly into the air. 3 The sports car fled. Rhys was rushed to the emergency room. In that split second, he had managed to shove me to safety, but the black car had slammed into his legs. Both were fractured, but he was out of immediate danger. I stood over him, watching him lie on the hospital bed, his legs encased in plaster casts, and felt utterly calm. Before yesterday, if I had seen him this hurt—especially if he was hurt because of me—I would have been devastated by remorse and guilt. The old me would have collapsed onto his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, wishing I could trade places with him. But now, I was only grateful that he had pushed me away, leaving me with nothing more than a few minor bruises. Rhys was still weak from the surgery, his face frighteningly pale. His eyes found mine, and a faint, weak light appeared in them. "Sutton... you're okay. That’s all that matters." I didn’t take the bait. "Rhys, do you know what day yesterday was?" A hint of impatience entered his voice. "Sutton, I’m injured. I got injured for you. Can’t you see that?" "I’m lying here like this—if it hadn't been for me, it would be you! How can you be so cold-blooded? You're still obsessing over your damn birthday at a time like this? You are unbelievably selfish!" Mrs. Carson looked at me with an expression of gentle rebuke. "Yes, Sutton. Our Rhys was hurt because of you. He’s your lifesaver, and your fiancé! How can you speak to him like that?" "You still think of me as your future daughter-in-law? I thought you’d already decided on a replacement." I looked back at the man on the bed. "Answer my question. What day was yesterday?" Rhys sighed, like a deflated balloon. "It was your birthday, alright?" "Sutton, I just missed your birthday. Is that really worth tearing us apart over? I promise you, I will celebrate with you next year. Does that satisfy you?" I let out a soft, almost cruel laugh. "Then tell me, what were you doing the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that?" "I..." Seeing him speechless, I helped him recall. "Last year, Blair claimed she needed someone to watch the sunset with her, so you hiked with her all day, leaving me alone at a couples’ restaurant until they closed." "The year before that, you swore you'd be with me, but I had already decorated the yacht, and you bailed at the last minute to help Blair move apartments—and you took my car, leaving me stranded at the pier." "The year before that, when Blair returned to the country, you and your buddies rented out the five-star hotel I own and partied for an entire week. You not only forgot my birthday completely, but you never paid the bill. I had to cover the six-figure loss myself." "And this year? I won't even mention the others. You dressed up like a runaway slave in cheap underwear to do a photoshoot with her. Even a streetwalker wears more decent clothes. If I had done a photo like that with another man, how would you feel?" Rhys’s eyes flashed with anger. "Sutton, stop using such ugly language!" "Blair was doing that photoshoot to document her most beautiful self! It was an artistic endeavor, a pursuit of sexiness and charm! She wore that to explore her body and break through conventional ideas. You don't understand, so don't talk nonsense." He scoffed, rolling his eyes at me. "I was sacrificing for art. You think it’s scandalous because you have no artistic appreciation and you have a filthy mind. You can’t handle other people’s excellence." "Yes, you're right," I nodded slowly. "My boyfriend doesn't celebrate my birthday, and I should be generous enough to forgive him and support his pursuit of art without complaint. Is that what you mean?" "Of course! Your birthday can be missed this year and celebrated next year, but Blair is losing her youth, which, once gone, is gone forever. She just wanted to document her peak. What is wrong with me helping my friend achieve her dream?" "Right," I agreed, nodding again. "You are absolutely correct." I leaned in, meeting his eyes. "Since you are so committed to the pursuit of art, I won't hold you back any longer. We're done. We’re breaking up." 4 Hearing the word "breakup," Rhys finally panicked. "Break up? Over such a trivial issue, you want to break up?" "Sutton, are you insane? Blair is alone. I helped her as a friend. What did I do wrong? Can you stop being so unreasonable? I’m lying here like this! I was injured for you! How much longer are you going to drag this fight out?" "I'm not fighting. You only remember that Blair is alone, but my parents aren't here either." "Before they left the country, they held your hand and asked you to look after me. What exactly did you promise them? Are you keeping that promise now?" Rhys defiantly turned his head away. "The point is, you’re still in the wrong here!" "Fine. Since you are so convinced that I am the one at fault, I have nothing left to say." I stood up. "Take care of your injury. I’ll make sure your medical bills are covered." As I turned to leave, Mr. Carson, who had been silent, shot up and delivered a hard, stinging slap across Rhys’s face. SMACK! Rhys stared up in shock. "Dad, why did you hit me?" Mrs. Carson immediately pushed her husband away, shielding Rhys. "Are you sick? Why would you hit our son?" "I hit him because he deserved it!" Mr. Carson roared. "He's supposed to be getting married! And he's still running around with other women! Shouldn't he be hit?" "If he hadn't run off to that woman, would he have been hit like this? He brought this entirely on himself! He deserves it!" Mr. Carson turned to me, his face full of apology. "Sutton, please don’t be angry. I promise I will punish this idiot thoroughly for you. I guarantee this will never happen again." "No need for a punishment." I held up a hand to stop him. "I can forgive him, but I have a condition." Rhys’s eyes lit up. "What condition? Just say it! I’ll do whatever you want!" "Call the police." I looked directly into his eyes. "Call the police, press charges against the driver for attempted murder, and pursue it to the fullest extent of the law." "No way!" If his legs hadn't been broken, he would have leaped off the bed. "Connor wasn't trying to hit me! It was a mistake! He’s my brother! If I sue him, we won't be friends anymore!" "Absolutely not! I won't do it!" "Suit yourself." I couldn't be bothered with any more futile arguments and turned to leave. I paused at the door of the hospital room. "Starting today, your so-called brothers should stop expecting any kind of benefit from the Fairchild Corporation." "Rhys, since you believe the 'brother' who tried to kill your fiancée is more important, I guess I’ll handle things on my own."
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