Twenty-five days had passed since I initiated my cunning scheme - meticulously fabricating an online persona hinting at a romantic involvement with a mysterious new man.

The plan was simple enough - a carefully staged "romantic" dinner photo here, a sprinkle of flirtatious texts there, and most importantly, strategically cropped images suggesting passionate encounters with an unidentified male figure. Just enough to ignite Brad's curiosity and insecurity without arousing suspicion among my colleagues. I had to play this absolutely perfectly to get rid of that leech once and for all.

Initially, I reveled in each small victory as Brad's incessant calls and texts gradually waned. Mission accomplished, right? Maintain this charade for a few more weeks, and that sad sap would finally be ancient history. Or so I thought...

I should have known better than to underestimate Brad's sheer desperation and cluelessness. That clingy loser had turned being my persistent ex-fiancé from hell into a full-time occupation.

Things reached a climax one gloomy Wednesday evening as I wrapped up my work, feeling accomplished. My digital facade had been expertly maintained - a few carefully curated posts here, a cascade of faux romantic musings on my Instagram story there. The perfect illusion - Houdini and Copperfield would be in awe of my act.

Lost in my own smug deviousness, I barely noticed the unmistakable sound of Brad's nasal whine drifting down the hallway toward my desk.

"Happy Anniversary, pookie bear!" he exclaimed with a sickening grin, presenting me with a box of chocolates like a damn puppy.

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly sprained them. "Anniversary? Are you kidding me right now, Brad!?" I scoffed, unable to hide my disgust. Seriously, this loser was more committed to being my ex than he ever was to actually being my fiancé.

"C'monnnnn, Charlie! Can you at least hear me out?" He tried deploying those dopey basset hound eyes, clearly expecting me to melt.

I sucked in a deep, steadying breath through my nostrils, squaring up to face this pathetic man-child. I could feel my left eye twitching with annoyance already. "What is there possibly left to hear, Bradley?"

He shuffled up entirely too close, eyes downcast in what I assume was meant to be a contrite expression. So help me, if he tried any of his manipulative crying BS...

"I know, I know, I really screwed things up," he admitted, daring to meet my withering glare. "But you have to give me another chance, Charlie! I learned my lesson! I swear!" His bottom lip started that repulsive quivering thing it always did when he was gearing up to be a blubbering mess.

I snorted indelicately at the sheer audacity of this man. Seven years I stood by his side, cleaning up his messes and making excuses - first as his college sweetheart, then his fiancée putting my entire life on hold to take care of him and my family. Burning the candle at both ends, working myself to the bone just to keep us afloat while Brad "found himself."

And how did he repay my love and devotion? By repeatedly ramming his mediocre dick into my former best friend over and over again.

"One more chance?" I shook my head slowly in disbelief. "After you cheated on me with Marisa for months? That's a new low, even for you, Bradley."

"Babe, you know I was just confused and stupid. I love you so much. Please, I'm begging you..." He reached out, trying to grab my hand, but I immediately recoiled. How did I ever fall for this pathetic loser in the first place?

I backed away, jaw clenched as my stomach threatened to rebel against the cheap microwavable dinner I'd eaten not long ago. "Don't you dare 'babe' me right now, Bradley James Crawford. We are so far beyond ridiculous nicknames, it's not even funny."

Sensing he was quickly losing what little ground he had, Brad switched tactics, his expression turning accusatory. "Well, maybe if you hadn't kept putting off our wedding for months, I wouldn't have felt so insecure!"

My perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched of its own accord as I stood up straight, sending him a deathly glare that could freeze vodka. "Excuse me? Are you saying it's my fault you cheated?"

"I was ready to get married and you just kept delaying! I got lonely and vulnerable and..." His voice rose in desperation, reverberating off the marble tiles. A few wide-eyed coworkers poked their heads out from surrounding offices to gawk at the spectacle.

Well wasn't that just precious? The bar had been lowered to subterranean depths, yet Brad still found a way to limbo right under it with his audacious bullshit. I opened my mouth to let him have it with both barrels -

"And you decided to start screwing my best friend behind my back for months?" I shot back acidly, making sure to keep my voice low. The last thing I needed was to become the water cooler gossip of the week. "Did you ever even consider that maybe I was feeling lonely and vulnerable after burying my mom? Or finding out about my dad's diagnosis?"

"Maybe I should've been there more, b-but... I said I'm sorry a million times!" he sputtered desperately, casting about for a way to turn the tables around. "And besides, you're one to talk! I saw those pictures online - who's the new guy you're parading around with?"

I allowed myself a tight, vindicated smile. "Wouldn't you like to know? Let's just say he's an actual man who respects and values me. Not a sniveling little boy who can't keep his boyhoood out of my best friend's mouth!"

As expected, that lit a fresh fire of impotent rage in Brad's eyes, his brow furrowing like a neanderthal. "Oh yeah? Well what's his name then? I want to meet this asshat!"

"Pfft, like I'd sully his amazing name by speaking it in front of someone like you," I scoffed. "As far as you're concerned, I'm turning over a new leaf and am blissfully in love with a real man who makes me deliriously happy in ways you could never-"

I was gearing up to unleash the full, scorched-earth fury of a woman scorned upon Brad when the unmistakable cadence of costly Italian loafers clacking against the tile made me freeze.

Oh shit. Of course, only my boss would make a surprise cameo at the worst possible moment, like a bad sitcom plot twist.

I whirled around to see Maximilian "Pure Nitrogen" Pemberton observing the spectacle before him, forearms like titanium pillars crossed over his broad chest, forehead creased in disapproving consternation...