Chapter 3 — Public Payback

Emilia

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was the mocking glint of sunlight bouncing off the unopened wedding gifts scattered around my apartment. They seemed to encroach on the space more every day, pastel wrapping paper and artfully tied bows transforming my sleek, minimalist living room into an ironic shrine to what should have been. A juicer I’d never use. A set of crystal glasses that would never clink in celebration. An espresso machine that had been on Matt’s registry suggestion, not mine—because, of course, he only drank espresso.

I stared at the espresso machine for a long moment, my breath catching in my throat. It sat there, pristine and untouched, as if mocking me for the life I thought I’d have. My fingers twitched with the urge to throw it across the room, to hear the satisfying crash of glass and metal shattering against the wall. But I didn’t. Instead, I turned away and inhaled sharply. Today wasn’t a day for wallowing. Today was a day for action.

I pushed the silk duvet off my legs and swung them over the edge of the bed, the hardwood floor cool against my bare feet. My gold fountain pen sat on the nightstand, gleaming in the morning light like a blade waiting to be drawn. I grabbed it, twisting off the cap with a satisfying snap, and opened my leather-bound notebook to the page where I’d started my revenge list.

The title at the top read: “How to Make Matt Lane Regret He Was Ever Born.”

Below it were bullet points, each one more vindictive than the last. I tapped the pen against my chin, scanning my handiwork. Social media was an easy starting point. Matt had always been so careful to cultivate his image—charitable, charming, and oh-so-relatable despite his old-money background. It was nauseating, really. And it gave me the perfect angle.

I set the pen to the paper and added a new bullet point: Leak the college photo of Matt in that hideous toga. The one where he’s holding the keg nozzle like it’s a trophy. Subtle, but effective.

I glanced at the next item on the list: Dig up dirt on Lane Industries charity gala. His family had hosted that event for years, claiming it supported underfunded schools. I smirked. It wouldn’t take much digging to expose how most of the funds ended up padding their board members’ wallets instead. Beneath it, another point was circled: Find that reporter who owes me a favor. I could already hear the headlines.

The thought brought a wicked smile to my lips as I padded into the kitchen. Naomi was perched on my counter, scrolling through her phone, a half-empty mug of coffee beside her. She looked up as I entered, her fiery red bob catching the sunlight. Her gold-and-onyx geometric earrings swayed as she tilted her head. “Morning, Bridezilla,” she greeted, popping a piece of gum into her mouth.

“Ex-Bridezilla,” I corrected, pouring myself a cup of coffee. The aroma of dark roast filled the air, but it couldn’t compete with the bitterness lingering in my chest.

Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me you’re not still working on that list of yours.”

I took a sip of coffee, savoring the sharp heat before answering. “Why wouldn’t I be? Matt deserves everything that’s coming to him.”

“Sure, but do you?” She slid off the counter, her tone light but her gaze piercing. “You’ve been running on rage fumes for days, Em. Maybe it’s time to hit the brakes before you crash.”

I waved her off. “I’m perfectly in control.”

Naomi snorted. “Control? You’re plotting a social media smear campaign while surrounded by unopened wedding gifts like some kind of rom-com villain.”

My stomach tightened, but I forced a smirk. “I’m not a villain,” I said, setting my coffee mug down with more force than necessary. “I’m... taking back my narrative.”

Her gaze softened slightly. “And what’s your endgame here, Em? Is this really going to fix anything?”

“It’s not about fixing. It’s about fairness. Matt gets to walk away unscathed while I’m left picking up the pieces of my life? No. Not happening.”

Naomi sighed, crossing her arms. “I get it. I really do. But don’t let him take more from you than he already has. You’re better than this.”

“Am I?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, laced with a vulnerability I wasn’t ready to face. I cleared my throat and turned back toward the notebook, closing it with a deliberate snap. “Thanks for the pep talk, but I’ve got work to do.”

Naomi watched me for a moment longer, her brown eyes searching mine. Then, she shook her head. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With that, she grabbed her bag and headed for the door, pausing only to toss a pointed glance at the pile of unopened gifts. “And maybe open one of those damn boxes. Might be therapeutic.”

The faint scent of her citrusy perfume lingered as the door clicked shut, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My gaze lingered on the espresso machine again, a pang of something uncomfortably close to regret bubbling in my chest. I shook my head and turned away.

I spent the next few hours diving into the digital trenches, combing through old photos and videos from Matt’s college days. It didn’t take long to find the toga shot, buried deep in the archives of a fraternity Facebook page. God bless the internet’s inability to forget.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I drafted the caption for the post. It had to be subtle enough to look organic but pointed enough to do damage.

“Throwback to our favorite frat bro, Matt Lane, rocking his toga like a true legend. #CollegeDays #NotSoPolishedNow”

Satisfied, I scheduled the post for peak engagement hours and leaned back in my chair, a rush of satisfaction washing over me. Matt’s meticulously crafted image was about to take its first hit.

The notification came faster than I expected. My phone buzzed on the desk, and I picked it up to see the post already gaining traction. Likes, shares, and comments flooded in, a mix of amusement and ridicule.

“Wow, didn’t see this side of Matt Lane before. Guess he’s not all charity galas and boardroom deals after all.”

“Is this who we’re supposed to look up to? Yikes.”

“Love a good toga party, but this is just... embarrassing.”

A small, triumphant smile tugged at my lips as I scrolled through the comments. Each one felt like a tiny victory, a reclamation of power I hadn’t realized I’d lost. But then, as the initial high began to fade, a creeping unease settled in. Naomi’s words echoed in my mind. What’s your endgame here, Em? Is this really going to fix anything?

I shook the thought away and stood, crossing the room to the window. The city skyline stretched out before me, its glass-and-steel towers gleaming in the afternoon sun. Somewhere out there, Matt was probably sitting in his polished office, blissfully unaware of the storm I’d just unleashed. The thought brought a flicker of satisfaction back, but it was fleeting.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Naomi.

Naomi: “Just saw the post. Hope you know what you’re doing. Call me if you need to talk.”

I stared at the screen, her words weighing heavier than I wanted to admit. Did I know what I was doing? Or was this just another way to avoid facing the mess of emotions I didn’t want to deal with?

The truth was, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I couldn’t stop now. Matt Lane had humiliated me in front of the world, and I wasn’t going to let him walk away without consequences. Even if it meant risking a piece of myself in the process.

I turned back to the desk, picking up my gold fountain pen. The ink gleamed as I scratched another item off my revenge list. One down. Too many to go.