Hey everyone, I didn’t expect to be sharing this, but after what happened last week, I just had to. I’m Audrey, a 25-year-old woman who was forced to take matters into my own hands when circumstances called for it. Stick around because you won’t want to miss this story!
For context, my mom is one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet. She used to have a great job, but unfortunately, she had to quit due to cancer treatment.
A cancer patient | Source: Midjourney
Even though she’s in remission now, she needed to find work quickly to help with the bills, so she got a job as a waitress at a local café. She never complains and always wears a smile, even on her toughest days.
Growing up, it was just Mom and me against the world. We’ve always been close, sharing everything from our favorite books to late-night movie marathons.
Her strength and positivity are contagious, and I can’t imagine having a better role model. Seeing her struggle but never lose her spirit has been both heartbreaking and inspiring.
A smiling mother-daughter duo | Source: Midjourney
Enter the entitled woman, Karen. She started coming to the café every day, making snide comments and belittling my mom for no reason. Here are a few examples of her nastiness:
One day, during my lunch break, I decided to visit Mom at the café. I found her serving Karen, who was, unsurprisingly, in full diva mode.
“Excuse me,” Karen called out loudly, waving her hand dramatically as if summoning a servant. “I dropped my napkin. Be a dear and get me another one.”
An entitled woman having coffee in a café | Source: Freepik
Mom, always patient, smiled and retrieved a fresh napkin, handing it to Karen with grace. But Karen wasn’t done.
“Marilyn, is it?” Karen eyed my mom’s name tag on her uniform. “Next time, try not to be so slow. I don’t have all day,” she sneered, her voice dripping with condescension.
I clenched my fists under the table, but Mom just nodded, still smiling. “Of course, ma’am. Is there anything else you need?”
Karen ignored her, turning to her phone with a dismissive wave.
A woman checking her phone while sitting in a café | Source: Midjourney
Another time, I was there when Karen decided to criticize every little thing about the service. “This coffee is too hot!” she snapped. “And this pastry is cold. Did you even bother to check? And look at this table! It’s filthy!”
Mom apologized, “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’ll get you a fresh pastry and clean the table right away.”
“Oh, and those flowers!” Karen continued. “They’re wilting. If you can’t keep fresh ones here, maybe you should bring some from your own garden.”
Mom’s face fell slightly, but she simply said, “I’ll see what I can do, ma’am.”
A vase with dried roses on a wooden table | Source: Pexels
The worst was when Karen made it personal. One afternoon, she looked Mom up and down and said loudly to a friend, “It’s such a shame when people don’t take care of themselves. Look at her, she looks exhausted all the time. I guess some people just aren’t cut out for success.”
Mom, being the angel she is, never wanted to complain or make a scene. But last week, things went too far.
A woman working as a waitress in a café | Source: Midjourney
Mom came home in tears, her uniform stained with coffee. It turned out Karen had thrown her coffee at my mom, claiming it was too cold. It broke my heart to see her like that.
“What happened?” I asked, gently wiping her tears.
“It’s nothing, Audrey. Just a bad day at work,” she tried to dismiss it, but I could see the pain in her eyes.
“Mom, please tell me,” I insisted.
She sighed. “Karen. She threw her coffee at me because it wasn’t hot enough. I tried to apologize, but she just screamed at me and stormed out.”
A waitress with coffee stains on her dress | Source: Midjourney
“Why does she hate you so much? What’s her problem?” I asked, my voice laced with both anger and concern.
“This isn’t just about a customer being mean to a waitress, Audrey. This goes way back,” Mom hesitated, then finally admitted, “Karen is a former classmate. She’s held a grudge against me ever since your father chose me over her back in the day.”
“That’s it!” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “I’m not letting her get away with this!”
“Audrey, please. I’ll handle it,” said my mom. Her tone was convincing, filled with pure love and concern for me.
A closeup shot of a pair of intertwined hands | Source: Pexels
I shook my head, trying not to worry my mom too much. But as we hugged, my mind immediately started plotting how to teach Karen a lesson she would never forget.
Having established that enough was enough, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Finding Karen online was easy peasy. A little stalking of her social media accounts revealed she was obsessed with her image. She bragged about her lavish lifestyle and her pristine appearance.
A woman using her laptop in bed | Source: Pexels
After doing my research, I concocted a brilliant plan. First, I set up a fake Instagram account, posing as a high-end beauty influencer, Lila Sanders. With a few paid followers and some bought engagement, the account was as good as real.
Then came the next step. I started interacting with Karen’s posts, complimenting her and gradually getting her to trust the fake account.
After a week of friendly exchanges, I sent her a message about an exclusive, invite-only beauty event happening in town, claiming I had an extra VIP ticket.
A young woman smiling while using her phone | Source: Midjourney
“Hi, Karen!
I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been loving your recent posts – your style is just impeccable!
I’m reaching out because I have an extra VIP ticket to an exclusive, invite-only beauty event happening in town next week. It’s going to be a fantastic opportunity to network and enjoy some luxurious pampering. I thought you might be interested since you have such a passion for beauty and fashion.
Let me know if you’d like to join!
Best, Lila Sanders”
A happy woman using her smartphone | Source: Pexels
Karen jumped at the chance. “Oh my God, that sounds amazing! I’d love to go!” she texted back, her excitement practically jumping off the screen.
“The event’s at the Grand Hotel,” I told her. “The dress code is really strict, so make sure you look your best.”
She replied right away. “Absolutely! I can’t wait! Thanks so much for the invite!”
I smiled to myself, knowing that soon, Karen would regret ever messing with my mom.
A young woman smiling while holding her phone | Source: Midjourney
Karen showed up dressed to the nines, a smug smile on her face as she strutted into the hotel lobby. I watched from a distance as she approached the front desk, her confident demeanor slowly morphing into confusion.
The hotel manager, Mr. Daniels, was already waiting, looking rather displeased. I had called ahead, pretending to be Karen, and canceled her actual reservation for a spa day she had planned, explaining she was very ill and couldn’t make it.
“What do you mean my reservation is canceled?” Karen’s voice rose, attracting the attention of nearby guests. “I didn’t cancel anything!”
A very shocked and upset woman in an expensive dress | Source: Midjourney
Mr. Daniels shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the reservation was canceled by someone claiming to be you. We’ve already charged the cancellation fee and other costs.”
Karen’s face turned bright red as she tried to explain herself. “This is ridiculous! I demand a refund!”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mr. Daniels said firmly. “We had everything ready for your visit, and now it’s too late to rebook.”
A hotel manager | Source: Midjourney
Flustered and embarrassed, Karen had no choice but to pay up, drawing curious and judgmental looks from the other guests. I could see her eyes darting around, trying to avoid the stares as she fumbled for her credit card.
I couldn’t help but smile to myself. But I wasn’t done yet. Remember the fake beauty event? I had arranged for a delivery of cheap, sticky, glittery “beauty products” to be sent to Karen’s address, all packed in what looked like high-end packaging.
A woman holding a nicely-wrapped box | Source: Pexels
As I watched Karen leave the hotel, I imagined the scene unfolding at her home.
When Karen finally got home, she found the delivery waiting for her. Excited, she opened the packages, only to have glitter and sticky goo explode all over her expensive outfit and pristine living room.
“What the—?” she screamed, frantically trying to brush off the glitter that stuck to everything it touched. The mess was nearly impossible to clean up, and I knew it would take days to fully get rid of.
A mess caused by cheap, sticky, and glittery products spilled on the floor | Source: Midjourney
Karen’s social media posts took a nosedive as she frantically tried to salvage her image. Her once-perfect photos now showed a frazzled woman desperately trying to maintain her facade. She even had to take a break from her daily café visits, much to my mom’s relief.
But the final blow came when I decided to confront Karen directly. I walked into the café during one of her usual visits and calmly approached her table.
A woman in a café | Source: Midjourney
“Karen,” I began, my voice steady. “I know exactly who you are and what you’ve been doing. You think humiliating my mom makes you superior, but it only reveals your insecurities and bitterness. My mom survived cancer and continues to work hard every day, while you cling to petty grudges from high school. It’s time to grow up and move on because your actions are pathetic, and you’re only embarrassing yourself.”
An upset young woman talking to an older woman in a café | Source: Midjourney
Karen’s face turned beet red, and she was completely speechless. The other customers in the café, who had overheard our conversation, stared at her in silent judgment. She quickly gathered her things and left, her head bowed in shame. I haven’t seen her in the café since.
When my mom found out what I had done, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about the deceit. “Audrey, I appreciate you standing up for me, but was all that really necessary?” she asked, a blend of concern and amusement in her voice.
A woman talking to her daughter outside | Source: Pexels
“Mom, you’ve always been there for me, making endless sacrifices to ensure my happiness. This was nothing compared to what you’ve done for me,” I replied, squeezing her hand.
She sighed but couldn’t help smiling a little. “Justice in the most glittery, sticky way possible, huh?”
“Exactly,” I grinned. “Karen needed a taste of her own medicine.”
So Karen, if you happen to see this, I hope you reconsider before lashing out at someone who only wants to brighten your day. And Mom, you truly are the strongest person I know.
A happy mother-daughter duo holding coffee cups | Source: Pexels
What would you have done differently if you were in my shoes?
My Boyfriend Proposed Right After Seeing My Luxury Apartment—He Had No Idea It Was a Test
When Sloane finally lets her boyfriend see her luxurious penthouse, he proposes the next day. But when a sudden “disaster” strikes, his loyalty crumbles. What he doesn’t know? It’s all a test… and she’s been watching closely. This is a story about power, love, and the moment a woman chooses herself.
I don’t usually play games, especially with people.
But something about Ryan’s timing felt too polished, too sudden… like he’d skipped a few pages in our story and jumped to the part where I say “yes” with stars in my eyes.
A pensive woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
Spoiler: I did say yes. Just not for the reason he thought.
We met eight months ago at a dive bar downtown, one of those dimly lit places where the cocktails are all whiskey-based and the bartenders wear suspenders like it’s a religion.
Ryan had an easy smile, a firm handshake, and eyes that lingered just long enough to be charming, not creepy. We talked about everything that night, late 20s burnout, startup dreams, childhood regrets.
The interior of a dive bar | Source: Midjourney
He was smart. Charismatic. Ambitious in a restless, surface-level kind of way. And when he kissed me outside under a busted neon sign that blinked like it couldn’t decide what mood it was in, I thought that maybe this could be something.
And it was. For a while.
But here’s the thing about charm, it can start to sound like a script.
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
By our third month together, I noticed the patterns. We always went to his apartment. A cramped one-bedroom in a building that smelled faintly of incense and despair.
He called it “charming.” I called it “no hot water after 10.”
Ryan always paid for dinner but only if we ate somewhere cheap. He talked about “tired gold-diggers” and “materialistic women” like it was a rehearsed speech he knew well. I started realizing that he spent a lot of time talking about what he didn’t want in a partner and very little time asking me what I wanted.
What Ryan didn’t know?
The interior of a fast food place | Source: Midjourney
Two years ago, I sold my AI-powered wellness startup to a tech giant for seven figures. I’d spent my early 20s living on instant ramen and building backend code between shifts at a co-writing space that smelled like ambition and burnt coffee.
The acquisition was clean, and I reinvested most of it. Between that, advisory roles, and a few early crypto plays I cashed out of just in time, I was more than fine. Now, I worked at another tech company, helping build them up and keep myself busy.
But I never dressed the part. I drove my old car because it had been my father’s and he had passed it down to me. I wore clothes that weren’t name brands but fit well on my body. And I hadn’t brought Ryan home because I needed to know who he was before he saw what I had.
A bowl of ramen | Source: Midjourney
By the sixth month, I invited him to my place.
“Finally, Sloane,” Ryan grinned as he stepped out of the car. “I was starting to think that you were hiding a secret family or something.”
The doorman, Joe, greeted me by name, smiling warmly.
“Sloane, welcome home,” he said, tipping his hat.
A smiling doorman | Source: Midjourney
Ryan glanced at him, then back to me, eyebrows raised. I didn’t say anything. I just tapped the button for the private elevator and stepped inside. The doors slid shut with a whisper.
When they opened again, we were in my apartment. My sanctuary. Light poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline glittered like it had dressed up for the occasion. My living room was clean and quiet, the kind of quiet that came with double-insulated glass and peace that money can buy.
He didn’t step in at first. He just stood there, staring.
An elevator in a foyer | Source: Midjourney
“This is… wow, Sloane,” he said finally. “You live here?!”
“Yeah,” I said, slipping off my heels and placing them on a mat I’d imported from Tokyo. “Not bad, right? Comfortable.”
He walked in slowly, like he was afraid to touch anything but couldn’t help himself. His fingertips dragged across the marble countertops. He opened the wine fridge, Sub-Zero, custom installed, and nodded to himself.
“Not too shabby,” he said.
A wine fridge in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
Ryan continued to walk around, stopping at one of the abstract canvases hanging over the fireplace.
“How much is that one worth?” he asked.
I shrugged but I was watching him now. Closely.
He didn’t ask to sit down. He just kept moving. His eyes lingered on the custom couch, on the Eames chair in the corner, the fridge that synced with my sommelier app to suggest pairings based on what I had chilled.
A chair in the living room of a penthouse | Source: Midjourney
He didn’t kiss me that night. He barely touched my arm or leg, something that he had done all the time. Instead, he just kept smiling that dazed, boyish smile… like he’d stumbled into a fairytale and didn’t want to wake up.
And one week later, he proposed.
Ryan and I hadn’t really talked about marriage. Not in the way you do when you’re building a future. No deep conversations about kids or biological clocks or timelines, no dreamy what-if scenarios over wine.
A close up of a man | Source: Midjourney
Just vague nods to “someday” and offhand comments about “building something together.”
It always felt like a placeholder, not a plan.
So when he showed up a week later, standing in my living room with a ring box in one hand and nervous energy leaking from every pore, I blinked.
Unaware. But also… not surprised.
A ring box on a coffee table | Source: Midjourney
Ryan launched into a speech. He went on about knowing when you’ve found the one. About how life’s too short to wait or waste time. Something about seizing the moment when the universe gives you a sign.
I smiled. I pretended to be surprised. I said yes. I even kissed him.
But something inside me stayed still.
A smiling woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
Because what he didn’t know was that Jules, my best friend, had seen him the day after his jaw dropped when he saw my penthouse.
She’d called me from the mall.
“He’s at the jewelry counter,” she said, whispering. “Sloane, he’s literally pointing at rings like he’s late for something. He’s not even looking at them properly! Girl, are you sure about him? He’s going to propose soon. I can feel it from his energy.”
A ring display at a jewelry store | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t know how to answer her. I cared for Ryan, sure. But did I love him?
Knowing what I knew, the proposal wasn’t romantic at all.
It was strategic. So yeah, I said yes. But not because I was in love. Because I needed to know if he was.
Did Ryan want a life with me? Or did he want a lifestyle that came with a marble kitchen and a fridge smarter than most people?
I needed to be sure.
A romantic table setting | Source: Midjourney
So I smiled, slid the ring on, and started planning the trap.
One week later, I called him in tears.
“Ryan?” I sniffled, letting just enough panic bleed into my voice. “I got fired. They said it was restructuring but I don’t know… Everything’s just… falling apart.”
A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
There was a pause. Just a beat too long.
“Oh… wow. That’s… unexpected,” he said slowly, like his brain was trying to pull the words out of sludge.
“I know,” I whispered. “And to make it worse… the apartment? My goodness! A pipe burst. There’s water damage everywhere. The wooden floors are ruined in the guest room. It’s unlivable.”
A close up of a burst pipe | Source: Midjourney
More silence. Thick, heavy silence. And then a throat clearing.
“Unlivable?” he repeated. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what you think it means, Ryan. I’m staying with Jules for now. Just until I figure things out.”
This time, the silence stretched.
A man talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
I sat cross-legged on my leather sofa, bone dry, of course, twisting my hair into a loose, anxious knot for effect. I imagined him on the other end, blinking stupidly, recalculating.
The ring.
The “forever” speech.
The skyline he’d mentally moved into.
“I… I didn’t expect this, Sloane,” he finally said, his voice having lost all its lustre. “Maybe we should… slow things down. Rebuild. You know, get stable before we move forward.”
A woman sitting on a couch wearing a fluffy sweater | Source: Midjourney
“Right,” I murmured, just above a whisper, letting my breath hitch like I was trying not to cry. This was it… this was Ryan refusing to see me. This was Ryan blatantly showing me that he didn’t care.
“I get it,” I said.
The next morning, he texted me.
“I think we moved too fast. Let’s take some space, Sloane.”
No calls. No offers to help. He was just… gone.
A cellphone on a table | Source: Midjourney
I waited three days.
And then I called him. It was a video call this time because some truths deserve a front-row seat.
Ryan answered the phone, looking like he hadn’t shaved or slept well. His hoodie was wrinkled and his voice came out rough.
“Sloane, hey…”
A close up of a tired man in a grey hoodie | Source: Midjourney
I was standing on the balcony, wearing my silk pajamas, barefoot against the warm stone tiles. I had a chilled glass of champagne on the side table next to me, and I was ready to put my heartache on hold.
And to teach Ryan a lesson, of course.
I didn’t smile. I just tilted the phone slightly.
A glass of champagne on a table | Source: Midjourney
“You’re back home?” he asked, hope sparking his eyes.
“I’m home,” I said simply. “But it’s funny, isn’t it?”
“What is, Sloane?” he asked, sighing like he was just so tired.
“That you vanished faster than the so-called flood in my apartment. Well, everything is fine. There was nothing wrong with my apartment. I just wanted to know if you truly cared about me… but I guess not, huh?”
A woman standing on a penthouse balcony | Source: Midjourney
His mouth opened, then closed.
“I got promoted too, by the way,” I added. My voice was steady, but my heart was hammering.
This was it.
This was the moment I ended it with Ryan. All those months of us getting to know each other, spending time together… all of that was over.
“Anyway,” I continued. “The CEO offered me the European expansion. I’ll have Paris on my doorstep. Big win for me, Ryan.”
A view of the Eiffel tower | Source: Midjourney
A flicker of shame crossed his face. Or maybe it was guilt. They often wear the same skin, don’t they?
“But thank you,” I continued, lifting the glass to my lips. “For showing me what ‘forever’ means to you. We clearly have different definitions of the word.”
“Sloane, wait… I…”
“No,” I said, my voice cracking on that word. I didn’t cover it. I let him hear the pain in my voice. “You don’t get to speak to me. Not now, not ever.”
A tired man with his eyes closed | Source: Midjourney
He blinked.
“You had your chance, Ryan. You had me. Before the skyline, before the stories, before the rushed proposal… And you let go the second it didn’t look easy for you.”
I held his gaze, just long enough to make it sting.
Then I ended the call.
Blocked. Deleted. Gone.
A side profile of a woman standing on a balcony | Source: Midjourney
Jules came over that night with Thai food and zero judgment.
She didn’t ask questions. She just kicked off her shoes, handed me a container of spring rolls, and flopped onto the couch like she’d lived there in another life.
“He really thought he played you,” she said, unwrapping her chopsticks. “Meanwhile, you were three steps ahead, glass in hand.”
Thai food takeout on a coffee table | Source: Midjourney
I gave her a half-smile, eyes still pulled toward the skyline. It looked the same as it always had, endless and glowing, but somehow… brighter. Maybe it was just me, finally seeing clearly.
“It’s weird,” I murmured. “I’m not even heartbroken, maybe a little bit. But I am… disappointed. Like I wanted him to pass the test, Jules. I really did. I was rooting for Ryan.”
“Girl,” she said, mouth full of noodles. “He didn’t even bring an umbrella to the storm. You made one phone call and he bailed like you were on fire. That man was in it for the perks, not the person.”
A carton of noodles | Source: Midjourney
I laughed, really laughed, but there was a lump in my throat anyway. Not for Ryan.
Rather for what I thought we could’ve been. For who I thought he might be.
“I think the worst part,” I said slowly. “Is knowing that he wouldn’t have survived the real storms. Like… if things actually got hard.”
Jules put her carton down and looked me dead in the eye.
“He’s not your storm shelter, babe,” she said. “He was just the weak roof you hadn’t tested yet.”
A pensive woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
And somehow, that landed harder than anything else.
People love to say, “You’ll know it’s real when things get hard.”
So, I made things look hard.
And what did he do?
A glum woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
Ghosted me. Ran.
Because it was clear that Ryan wasn’t in love with me. He was in love with the idea of me, the lifestyle, the convenience, the curated illusion. But the second that cracked, even just a little, he folded.
Not everyone can handle the truth behind the shine.
But me? I’d rather be alone in a penthouse with my peace than hand over the keys to someone who only wanted the view.
A close up of a man | Source: Midjourney
Real love isn’t about who stays when the lights are on. It’s about who holds you through the flicker. Ryan left before the first rumble of thunder.
And now?
I still have the view. The job that promises to take me places and the fridge that talks.
And most importantly?
I have the lesson.
So here’s to champagne, closure, and never again confusing potential with promise.
A glass of champagne | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
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