Taking Control: Resolve to Fight Back

“Mila!” my mom continued, her voice rising with frustration. “Do you even understand how embarrassing this is for me? Every time the doorbell rings, I dread another neighbor coming to gawk at me as if it’s their business!”

I cut through her relentless words, my tone firm but steady. “Mom, I get it. I really do,” I said, gripping the phone tightly. “I’ll handle this. Just give me a little time, alright?”

“You better do it fast,” she snapped, her anger not yet subsiding. “I can’t tolerate this humiliation on your behalf any longer. Do you know how it feels to have everyone pity me like I raised a fool?”

The sting of her words lingered, but I forced myself to stay calm. “I said I’ll take care of it, Mom. Trust me on this. I won’t let this go unchecked.”

Her silence on the other end told me she was either trying to compose herself or decide if she believed me. With a short humph, she muttered, “You’d better,” before abruptly hanging up.

I exhaled sharply, the weight of her words pressing down on me. I tossed the phone onto the desk and buried my face in my hands. Another problem to solve, another piece of chaos to unravel.

I scrolled through my contacts, my jaw tight with frustration as I tapped on a number I hadn’t dialed in a long time. The phone rang twice before a familiar, smooth voice answered, dripping with amusement.

“Well, well, Mila. Took you long enough to call—”

“I need the video gone. Now.” My words came out sharp and to the point, cutting through their greeting. “The one of me being slapped by Alex. Find it, wipe it off the internet, and track the source who first uploaded it.”

There was a pause, followed by a low chuckle. “Straight to business, huh? Not even a hello? Fine. But you realize something this big won’t just vanish overnight.”

I clenched my fist, keeping my voice steady. “That’s your problem, not mine. I don’t care how you do it. Just handle it. And you know what to do next when you find the source.”

The amusement in their tone disappeared, replaced with a seriousness I expected. “Understood. You’ll have an update soon.”

Without wasting another second, I ended the call and dropped my phone back onto the desk. A long sigh escaped me as I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. This wasn’t the first time I’d had to clean up someone else’s mess, and it wouldn’t be the last. But this? This wasn’t just a mess—it was an insult, a calculated move to humiliate me.

Not happening, Alex. Not on my watch.

Shaking off the lingering irritation, I forced myself to refocus. The open sketches and notes on my desk caught my eye, pulling me back into the project. I grabbed my pen and started reviewing my earlier ideas. The luxury redesign required a seamless blend of elegance and modernity, and I wasn’t about to let this distraction interfere with my work.

I sketched out a few layout ideas, jotting down notes about materials, color schemes, and customer flow. I flipped through reference images for inspiration, letting myself get lost in the creative process. Slowly, the tension in my chest eased as I threw myself into designing something that could truly shine.

Work was my sanctuary, and for now, it was exactly where I needed to be. Alex and his games could wait—because when I fought back, I made sure to win.