Sentenced to Repay My Ex-Boyfriend

Three years after our breakup, the courts gavel fell. I owed my ex-boyfriend exactly one hundred thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three dollars.
Those extra twenty-three dollars? That was for a candied apple Id wanted on a street corner in LA, one that cost three bucks back when we had nothing. Id hesitated, but he just smiled and bought it for me.
Now, even that sweet memory had been sharpened into a blade aimed at my heart.
He didn't sue me for the money. He did it because his new wife was bored, and I was her new plaything.
He knew my health was failing.
He knew that after my parents died in a car crash, depression had swallowed me whole, and I depended on a cocktail of pills just to find the oblivion of sleep.
He knew Id already tried to end it all once, landing me in the hospital with a critical tag on my chart.
But he did it anyway.
What he didnt know was that the hundred thousand dollars was every last cent to my name. It was the money for my next round of chemotherapy.
1
After the verdict was read, I ran right into Alexander Armitage in the courthouse hallway.
Hed changed so much in the few years wed been apart. The broke student who had been scrambling to build a startup out of a cheap rental was now a titan in the green energy sector. He stood there, formidable in an immaculately tailored suit, his gaze landing on me with a cold, detached distance.
My feet froze. My first instinct was to pretend I hadnt seen him, to find another way around.
But he spoke first, his voice slow and deliberate. "So any regrets?"
I blinked, confused. "What?"
A cruel, mocking smile twisted his lips. "You must regret it now, right? Dumping me for money."
The late autumn wind cut through my thin clothes. I instinctively curled my fingers into a fist, but a deep, unshakable chill had already settled into my bones. After a moment, I took a deep breath and offered him a perfectly practiced smile. "Mr. Armitage, the debt is settled. We broke up years ago. Aren't you worried your wife might misunderstand a conversation like this?"
As if on cue, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Anabelle standing there, her face a mask of fury. The anger vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a saccharine smile that didnt quite hide the venom in her eyes.
Tapping forward on her stilettos, Anabelle looped her arm possessively through Alexanders. "Darling, what on earth should I do with this hundred thousand dollars? A new wardrobe? Shoes? Or that designer bag I saw last week?"
She shot a pointed look at me, her voice dripping with faux pity. "Actually, that's not nearly enough for any of those, is it? You're so stingy, Alexander. Couldn't you have been a little more generous with your ex? This pittance wouldn't even cover a new hair clip for me."
Alexander and I had been together for five years. While he was studying in the States, Id flown back and forth to LA every month. Most of the hundred thousand I now owed him was for the plane tickets hed paid for, money hed earned working grueling odd jobs day and night.
Now, he and Anabelle had used those transaction records, weaponized by their lawyers, to demand every penny back.
The hair clip Anabelle was wearing was from Chanel's latest collection. It cost twenty thousand dollars. The money shed just pried from my hands really wasn't enough.
The next moment, Alexander's expression softened as he looked at her. He tenderately brushed a stray hair from her face. "Hush. Keep it as pocket money. I'll add to it if it's not enough."
Anabelles face lit up. She leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Oh, darling, you're the best!"
Then, she turned back to me, her smile wide and triumphant. "Laura, I am so sorry. We obviously don't need the money, but Alexander and I made a little bet. He did this just to make me happy, you know?"
Her voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. "Ever since we got married, Alexander has insisted I stop working. He says its too stressful. So all I do is skincare, spa days, and travel. A girl has to find some way to pass the time, right?"
She reached out and grabbed my hand, her eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. "Thank you for making this so entertaining. And for proving just how much my husband adores me."
A sharp pain, like a thousand tiny needles, pierced my heart. To the wealthy, I was just a game. A tool to prove how doting a husband Alexander Armitage could be.
2
I forced my trembling hands to still and summoned another one of those perfect, empty smiles. "A debt is a debt. It's only right."
Anabelles grin widened. "I hope you always feel that way. My husband is a simple man, you see. He was tricked by someone greedy and superficial. I just wanted to help him get a little payback. No hard feelings, I hope."
Suddenly, her grip tightened, her nails digging viciously into my wrist.
I gasped, stumbling backward from the unexpected pain. My heel caught the edge of the top step, and I tumbled down the marble staircase. My knee slammed against a sharp edge, and a hot, wet rush of blood immediately soaked through my jeans.
Wincing, I fought back the tremor of pain and looked up at the two figures looming over me.
Anabelle covered her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand, her eyes wide with fake shock. "Oh, Laura, are you alright? It was only a hundred thousand. Surely you're not so devastated you can't even stand up straight? You look badly hurt. Should we give you a ride home?"
That proud smile returned. "Alexander just bought me a new sports car. The gas money to get you home should only cost about a hundred bucks or so."
Her sports car was Alexander's anniversary gift to her, a monstrosity covered in pink diamonds that perfectly matched her taste. She loved parading it around the city, causing a stir with the paparazzi and collecting the envy of thousands.
My gaze shifted to Alexander. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools of shadow. He looked down at me from his lofty height, his expression as cold as a winter storm.
Like a stray dog that had lost a fight, I scrambled to my feet, brushing myself off. I managed one last smile. "No, thank you. I can get home on my own."
Anabelle burst into a peal of laughter. "Well, we'll be on our way then." She turned to Alexander, her voice bright. "Darling, I know what to buy now."
"Lulu's dog bowl is broken. I want to get her one of those new smart-feeders."
Alexanders cold eyes remained locked on me, a flicker of some unreadable emotion crossing his face before it was extinguished.
After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice a low murmur. "Whatever you want."
Anabelle took his arm, and they walked away, giddy with their victory.
I watched as their dazzling sports car roared past me, disappearing down the street. It wasn't until a taxi pulled up to the curb that I remembered.
I didn't have any money left for the fare.
Alexander would never know.
The money he was going to spend on a dog bowl was the money that was supposed to save my life.
3
I dragged my battered body home.
My place was a tiny room under a corrugated tin roof, perched atop a tenement building in the city's forgotten corner. Whenever the wind blew or the rain fell, the metal would groan and screech, a symphony of decay that kept me awake all night. In the summer, it was an oven. There was no air conditioning, and I couldn't afford the electricity for a fan anyway. I'd suffered from heatstroke more than once.
I thought I had hidden myself well enough that Alexander would never find me. I never imagined our reunion would be in a courtroom.
My eyes fell on the wall, covered with articles Id carefully clipped from magazines and newspapers. I walked over and began to tear them down, one by one.
They all had pictures of Alexander. Alexander, the rising star of the green energy sector, giving his first major interview. Alexander, accepting an award as one of New York's Top Ten Young Entrepreneurs. And
Alexander, down on one knee, proposing to Anabelle, followed by photos of their lavish wedding, a spectacle for the media and the public to devour.
I took a deep, shaky breath and ripped the last page from the wall. I gathered the scraps and shoved them into a cardboard box I kept hidden under my bed.
My gaze caught on a photograph at the bottom of the box.
A wave of bitterness washed over me. In the photo, a younger Alexander had his arm wrapped around me, his smile so genuine, so full of shy, uncontainable joy. It was a world away from the icy stranger in the courthouse.
He was the CEO of a publicly traded company now. A powerful figure in New Yorks business world. A renowned philanthropist. The perfect husband who cherished Anabelle like a fragile treasure.
He was everything except my boyfriend.
With a final, humorless laugh, I closed the lid on the box, sealing away the photos and the memories along with them.
Then, I went to the mirror, began applying my makeup, and squeezed into a tight-fitting uniform.
"Hey, boss," I texted my manager. "Starting today, I want to work the night shift."
The bar at night was crawling with sleazy men with wandering hands, but the tips were much, much better.
I had no choice. To stay alive, I had to earn the money to pay for my own life.
But I never, ever expected to see Alexander there.
There he was, holding court in the center of a VIP booth, surrounded by his entourage. My fingers clenched into fists, and the exposed skin of my arms and shoulders began to prickle with a hot flush of shame.
Of course, he saw me too. A flicker of shock and disbelief crossed his face, quickly replaced by that familiar, sneering contempt.
"So this is where you work now."
My palms were slick with sweat, but I forced myself to remain calm. "Your drinks, sir."
Alexander looked at me with the kind of morbid curiosity one might reserve for a rat struggling in a sewer drain. "Makes sense, I suppose. Latch onto any of the rich guys in here and you'll be set for life. Right up your alley."
I took another deep breath. "Your drinks, sir."
He arched an eyebrow. "How long have you been working here? Don't you know how to serve a customer?"
He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, scribbled a number with a flourish, and tossed it onto the floor in front of me.
"Take good care of my friends tonight. Do that, and this is yours."
The check landed at my feet. I slowly bent to pick it up, a searing pain shooting through my injured knee.
When I saw the number written on the check, my breath hitched. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.
One hundred thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three dollars. The exact amount I had just been forced to pay him.
He was using it to humiliate me.
I stood there, my eyes locked with his. After a long, heavy silence, my lips parted.
"This is payment, Mr. Armitage? So I don't have to pay it back, right?"
4
My doctor had warned me about alcohol.
But I needed the money.
For the past few years, just to survive, I had swallowed my pride and done whatever it took. What were a few drinks compared to that?
The men with Alexander tonight were his friends. They knew our story. They knew that three years ago, when Alexander was on the brink of bankruptcy, frantically seeking investors and being hounded by banks, I was the one who walked away. They knew hed searched for me like a madman, gotten into a car accident because of it, and begged me from his hospital bed not to leave. And I still hadnt looked back.
They hated me. They wanted to defend Alexanders honor, and they werent going to show me any mercy.
They plied me with drink after drink until the world dissolved into a meaningless blur and I was nothing but a wreck, slumped over the table.
I reached for another bottle, but Alexanders hand shot out, his grip like iron on my wrist. "Is there truly nothing you won't do for money?" he snarled.
I blinked, trying to focus on his face. Like a beggar, I held out my other hand. "Alexander the money. You promised"
My voice was a slurred mess. "You said if I drank if I took care of your friends youd give me the money. And you wouldnt take it back"
His gaze on me grew even more complicated, his thumb brushing over my wrist, over the jagged, faded scars that marred the skin.
After my parents died, depression had claimed me. Id tried to end it more than once. It was always Alexander who pulled me back from the edge.
Back then, he would hold me and plead, "Laura, you still have me. Please, live for me. Okay?"
But now, he shoved my hand away as if my touch was filth.
An even more derisive sneer spread across his face. "I made a promise, yes. But look at my friends. Have you taken care of them?"
The circle of men stared down at me, their eyes filled with cold amusement, watching the clown perform.
The guests were still sober, but I was already gone. I had failed at my job.
Fighting back a wave of nausea, I gave him a weak, foolish smile. "I'll start over. I'll keep going until you're satisfied."
I reached for another bottle, but Alexander had finally had enough. With a roar of fury, he kicked the leg of the table.
The whole thing flipped over. Bottles shattered on the floor. I was thrown sideways, my hand landing directly on a shard of broken glass. The pain was sharp, immediate, and blood began to well up from the gash.
The door to the room burst open and my best friend, Mia, rushed in. She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around me. "Laura! Are you okay?"
She looked up, her eyes blazing with a righteous fury I hadn't seen in years.
"Alexander, are you even human?" she screamed. "After everything she did for you, you force-feed her alcohol like this?"
"She has stomach cancer, you bastard! It's killing her, don't you get it?"

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