CONFRONTATION

Last night was lit. I hit the play button for the video attached.

At first, the few seconds of the video didn’t make much sense, but as I continued watching, everything started falling into place.

I collapsed on a nearby couch, my heart completely shattered as the realization hit me. The video was from a group chat, and although I couldn’t quite remember when or how I got on this app group—and for some reason, I had kept it archived—I knew it was created by Elan and his clique.

The same clique we went partying with last night.

The same clique that was giggling hysterically in the video.

The same group that had caused me to end up in the bed of a blonde.

Slowly, my memories started coming back, and they brought the most unbearable pain. The pain of loss, betrayal, heartbreak. I felt like dying.

I stared at the video for the 100th time, completely lost. I read the chats that followed and felt like there was no purpose left to live. It was filled with lewd comments from Elan and his friends. I wasn’t sure if they had posted the video on purpose to ridicule me or if they were oblivious to the fact that I was in the group chat.

I wasn’t really the social type, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, I had never said anything in the group. Maybe that’s why they hadn’t remembered or even realized I would see the video.

I didn’t know how to react to this. I felt numb in all parts of my body.

Should I call Elan and demand an explanation, or should I just take matters into my own hands? I was bitter with anger, pain, and frustration.

But could I really confront Elan about all of this?

Ever since my parents died in a car accident when I was 18, it had been Elan.

When my parents passed, everything was claimed by the bank. My dad had used all his properties as collateral to take out loans for his business, which was failing at the time. As the only child with no contact with any relatives, I tried to oversee what was left of the company my dad had built, but it didn’t last long. The bank claimed everything due to overdue payments on my dad’s huge debts.

I had no one. I was barely surviving.

It wasn’t until my dad’s funeral that I met Elan. He introduced himself as one of the stakeholders in my dad’s company. We got talking, and one thing led to another—we started dating, and I moved in with him.

Elan was controlling. He never allowed me to work or try to rebuild my father’s business, which was what I badly wanted. I wasn’t even allowed to have savings of my own. He often acted like he owned me.

It didn’t sit well with me, but I could do little about it. Anytime I tried convincing him to let me own something, he would boast that he was a millionaire who could afford anything I wanted.

But that wasn’t the point. I wasn’t raised like this. My parents taught me to be an independent woman, but Elan wouldn’t let me live that life.

I loved him, yes, but I wasn’t truly happy.

He was three years older than me, a millionaire (half of his wealth inherited from his dad), and a hedonist who enjoyed the celebrity lifestyle and loved partying.

I, on the other hand, was his complete opposite. I liked staying indoors, investing in myself by reading books and learning.

Now, as I sat staring at the video, I didn’t know how to face the betrayal. Should I confront him? Could I even handle his reaction? Or should I quietly walk away?

The pain was unbearable, and the bitterness in my chest grew heavier with every passing second.

My fingers hovered over my phone, unsure of what to do. The group chat was still active, with more messages rolling in—comments, laughter, and emojis that made my stomach churn. They thought it was funny. They thought my humiliation was a joke.

I gripped my phone tightly, my vision blurring with tears. Memories of last night kept flashing in my mind like a broken reel. I couldn’t piece it all together yet, but I remembered the laughter, the drinks, and the sly smiles exchanged between Elan and his friends. I’d trusted him—I always did—but now it felt like I’d been a pawn in some cruel game.

The video played again in my head, even though I’d stopped watching it hours ago. The blonde. The bed. My body sprawled out like I didn’t even belong to myself. It was as if they had stripped me of all dignity and left me bare for their entertainment.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to destroy something—anything—but instead, I sat frozen, overwhelmed by the weight of my emotions. My mind kept circling back to the same question: Why would Elan do this to me?

He had been my savior, hadn’t he? The one who pulled me out of the darkness when I had nowhere else to turn. When my parents’ death left me utterly alone, he stepped in, promising stability and care. He made me believe I could rely on him, that he’d always have my back. And now?

I felt like a fool.

I thought about confronting him, but my stomach tightened at the idea. Elan was a smooth talker—he always had a way of twisting things to make me doubt myself. Anytime I raised concerns about his behavior or the way he controlled every aspect of my life, he dismissed me. He called me ungrateful. He reminded me of everything he had done for me, as if I owed him my very existence.

But this was different. This wasn’t just about control or his suffocating need to keep me under his thumb. This was betrayal on a level I couldn’t comprehend.

I wiped my face, trying to steady my breathing. I needed to think clearly, but the pain was too raw, too overwhelming. The memories of last night were coming back in fragments now—Elan handing me drink after drink, his friends whispering and giggling in the corner, the way the room spun as I tried to stay on my feet.

I had trusted him to take care of me.

Instead, he had handed me over to his friends like some sort of joke.

A fresh wave of anger surged through me, and I stood up, pacing the room. I couldn’t let this slide. I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing while they laughed at my expense.

But what could I do?

My mind raced with possibilities. Should I call him? Demand an explanation? But what would he say? He’d probably deny it, twist the narrative to make me seem like the unreasonable one. Or worse, he’d laugh it off, like it was no big deal.

I clenched my fists, the frustration bubbling inside me. No. I couldn’t let him manipulate me again

"We need to talk now, Elan. I mean right now!" I texted him hurriedly.

"What's up with the attitude?" he replied. "Alright, I'll send my current location. Meet me, and we’ll talk about anything you want to say."

I got dressed and drove to the address Elan sent me. When I got there, it was a house party in a luxurious estate, hosted by one of his friends, I guess. I was boiling. Didn’t he say he was busy with work? I was out here planning my suicide in my head, and here he was partying.

He came out to usher me in, his hands open to hug me. By now, I could see some of his friends just hanging around, watching us, very oblivious to the fact that I knew the dirty things they had said and done to me.

"Hey, baby—"

TWAK!! I slapped him hard across his face

“You are an asshole, and I hate you! I almost died because of you and your cunt friends. I’m so done with this hell you call a relationship!”

I screamed, throwing our engagement ring in his face.

Elan didn’t react as I expected him to. I thought he’d get furious, hit me back, or do something worse for slapping him in public. Instead, he just rubbed his cheek and gave me an evil smirk, staring angrily at me. I looked around and saw those assholes he called friends—they looked shocked.

As I turned to leave, I heard Elan smash the champagne glass in his hand on the floor.

“You good-for-nothing bitch!” he shouted. “I know you’ll come crawling back on those two fragile knees, begging. You’re just a nobody with nobody!” He laughed maniacally. “Be sure to get ready to spread those legs when you come running back!”

I heard his friends and some others laugh along with him.

I felt humiliated to the brink, but one thing was sure—I was not going to give Elan the satisfaction he wanted. I was going to move on without him.