The staff was confused.
The illusion was gone.
But the house was only the beginning.
Because once the truth came out, so did everything else.
He had been using that house to impress investors… listing it as his asset… building a fake image of success on something he didn’t own.
And without it?
Everything started falling apart.
That night, he showed up at my apartment.
Angry. Desperate.
“What is wrong with you?” he demanded.
I looked at him calmly.
“You hit me thirty times,” I said.
“And you think I’m the problem?”
He tried to justify it.
Said I provoked him.
That’s when something inside me finally died for good.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I looked him straight in the eyes.
“I want you out by Friday. I want you to face everything you’ve done. And I want you to remember every number from one to thirty… before you ever raise your hand again.”
A week later, his life was in ruins.
His job suspended him.
His wife left.
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