“No,” I replied with a cold smile. “I’m just done paying for people who enjoy humiliating me. If they want to stay in paradise, they can figure out how to fund it themselves.”
The revenge itself happened quietly.
Eli handled everything with almost cinematic efficiency, as though he understood exactly what kind of moment this was.
He transferred me into a penthouse suite on the twelfth floor overlooking the dark ocean. He canceled the master billing agreement and switched the remaining suites to “Pay on Departure.”
I sat at the edge of the enormous bed while the air conditioner hummed softly.
My phone exploded with notifications.
Linda: “Emma, where are you? The seafood here is amazing. Don’t tell me you’re sulking.”
Ashley: “Seriously? It was just a joke. Ryan said you’d probably go to bed early anyway.”
Ryan: “Stop making this awkward, Emma. Come upstairs and have a drink. I’ll even let you order the expensive wine.”
The expensive wine.
As though I hadn’t paid for every bottle he ever drank.
As though his clothes, his car, and his entire lifestyle weren’t funded by my eighty-hour workweeks as a business strategist.
Around midnight, they must have returned to what they assumed was still their suite. I imagined them laughing and slightly drunk, expecting to find me quietly waiting so they could tease me about being “too sensitive.”
Ryan finally called around twelve-thirty.
I ignored the first three calls.
On the fourth, I answered.
“Where the hell are you?” he snapped immediately. “Your stuff’s gone. Did you seriously check out? That’s pathetic, Emma.”
“I didn’t leave the resort,” I answered while staring at my reflection in the dark window. “I just realized I no longer want to share a bed with someone who treats me like entertainment.”
“Oh my God,” he groaned. “We’re still talking about that prank? It lasted five minutes. You’re so dramatic.”
“You weren’t laughing with me, Ryan. You were showing your family that I don’t matter.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No. What’s ridiculous is that you think you can humiliate me as long as I keep paying for everything.”
“There it is,” he snapped. “The money again. You think because you make more than me you get to control everyone? You’re cold, Emma. That’s why nobody feels comfortable around you.”
It was the same pattern he always used.
Insult.
Blame.
Then convince me my reaction was the real issue.
“You’re right,” I whispered. “I am cold now. Sleep well, Ryan. Tomorrow morning is going to be expensive for you.”
I hung up before he could answer.
I never slept.
Instead, I spent the night organizing my life.
