The Ramen Queen Gets Even

I built my empire on stinky ramen. Im the Ramen Queen of social media, a micro-celebrity known for slurping down bowls of pungent, spicy, fermented pork broth for millions of followers. My husband, on the other hand, is the apex predator of the Manhattan financial circuit.

Before the wedding, we made a pact: church and state. He wouldnt touch my business, and I wouldnt interfere with his. In three years, he hasnt so much as liked a single post of mine, let alone dropped a "gift" in my livestream.

My frenemies love to whisper about us. They insist hes secretly pulling strings for me behind the scenes, mocking our pairing as "Street Cart Ramens paired with 30-year Macallan."

One night, fed up with the snide remarks, I decided to lean into the joke. "Hey, Dominic," I said, leaning against his mahogany desk. "Maybe you should actually pave a path for me. You know, make the rumors true?"

Dominic looked up, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He removed his gold-rimmed glasses and pulled me into his lap, the scent of expensive sandalwood and cold hard cash clinging to him.

"Our little internet star doesn't need my help to build an empire," he murmured. "If anything, the day I go bankrupt, Ill be the one begging to be your cameraman for a paycheck."

Wed been together for five years, and I was still a sucker for that charm. With one effortless, half-joking comment, he managed to smooth out all the wrinkled insecurities in my heart.

Until the day my follower count hit the one-million mark.

A rival influencer bought a smear campaign against me. Suddenly, the top trending topic was "Stinky Ramen Slut and Her Secret Sugar Daddy." The internet was tearing me apart.

Only one person spoke up for me: Camille Rossi, a visionary indie director. But her defense of me backfired, sparking a new wave of rumors claiming shed "slept her way through every venture capitalist in the city."

I was drowning in guilt until a verified corporate account dropped a bombshell comment on the trending thread.

@CamilleRossi is my most vital partner. Her professional integrity is beyond reproach. Our legal department will be pursuing every account involved in this defamation.

The handle looked familiar. Too familiar. I ended my livestream early and practically sprinted home.

I pushed open the study door and found him therethe man who claimed to have no social media, the man who always told me to "just ignore the trolls." Dominic was gripping his phone so hard the veins in his forearms were bulging.

He was personally operating his conglomerates official account, waging war in the comments section to defend Camille.

I walked right up to Dominic, but he didn't even notice me. His brow was furrowed, his eyes locked onto Camilles latest post on his private phone.

At that moment, his work phone on the desk lit up with a notification from his assistant: [Mr. Sterling, the situation regarding Miss Rossi has been handled.]

[Should we deal with the trending hashtags regarding your wife as well?]

My heart hammered against my ribs. I was suddenly, paralyzingly afraid of the answer.

Before he could reach for the work phone, I backed out of the room and closed the door, my breath hitching.

An hour passed. The "Sugar Daddy" hashtags about me were still climbing the charts, untouched.

There was my answer.

This was Dominics "consistent" attitude toward me. He always preached about "the truth speaking for itself," telling me to stay above the fray of public insults. I had been naive enough to believe that to a titan of industry like him, internet drama was simply beneath his dignity.

But now, every insulting post about Camille Rossi had vanished as if they never existed. I realized then that it wasn't that he was "above it." It wasn't that he was always calm.

It was just that I wasn't the woman he was willing to go to war for.

With a hollow ache in my chest, I went to the kitchen and cooked a bowl of my signature ramen, extra spicy, extra pungent. I ate them like a form of self-flagellation, scrolling through Camilles Instagramten years of history shed never deleted.

It was a roadmap of my husbands heart.

I saw the Dominic I knewthe neat freak who winced if I kissed him after Id brushed my teeth three timesholding a greasy takeout container for Camille, looking at her like she was the only thing in the world.

I saw Camille standing on his rare, limited-edition vinyl records to reach a high shelf, and he was just laughing, taking a photo and captioning it "Adorable." When I had once asked to listen to one of those records, hed locked the cabinet with a cold, stony expression.

I scrolled further back.

Hed once walked out of a billion-dollar cross-border negotiation just to make it to Camilles birthday dinner.

Meanwhile, I had waited at the courthouse three separate times for him to show up for our marriage license. The first time was an "emergency meeting." The second was an "unexpected business trip." The third time he actually showed up, he spent the entire ceremony on a work call he refused to hang up.

Seeing this version of Dominicthis reckless, passionate boymade the bitterness Id been swallowing for years overflow.

I began to sob, the sound muffled by the documentary playing in the study.

He was watching The Flavor Trail again. Hed invested in it years ago. Only now did I see the directors credit at the end: Camille Rossi.

The irony was a knife to the gut. Dominic and I had started because of this film. Five years ago, when I was a struggling vlogger, my raw, unpolished review of that documentary had caught his eye. Hed told me he saw "true soul" in my work.

After we married, we watched it together often. Every time the credits rolled and the camera panned over the exhausted film crew, he would get this distant, longing look in his eyes.

I had been vain enough to think that look was a reflection of his pride in me, a nod to our shared beginning.

But I was wrong.

He wasn't reminiscing about how we met. He was staring at the screen, drowning in the memory of the woman he could never truly have.

...

I forced down a massive mouthful of spicy ramen, the chili oil burning my throat until tears streamed down my face.

Hearing me choke, Dominic walked out of the study. He saw my red, swollen eyes and the oil smeared on my lips, and his brow twitched with a familiar irritation.

He sighed, handing me a glass of lukewarm water. "If you can't handle the heat, Jade, don't force it."

His calm, condescending tone was the final straw.

"Dominic," I said, my voice thick. "Im trending again. Everyone is calling me a whore. Im tired of being the 'Ramen Queen.' I want to pivot. I want to go into production, to do something real. Can you help me?"

He looked at me with the cold, analytical gaze he usually reserved for a failing stock.

"Your brand is too 'street,' Jade. Its grounded in being relatable and a bit... unrefined. You can't just jump into high-end production. The market is cold right now. Me helping you wouldn't make a dent. Don't be impulsive."

I let out a sharp, jagged laugh.

I remembered Camilles post from years ago. Shed complained about being tired, and Dominic had replied: Then stop. Ill take care of you.

Like a woman possessed, I heard myself ask: "If I actually lose my career because I don't have your help, will you take care of me then?"

His face darkened immediately. "Jade, adults are responsible for their own choices. What Ive always admired about you is your independence."

Every word felt like a stone hitting my heart.

The truth was, I didn't even have the credentials to be his trophy wife. I was just an "independent" asset he didn't want to be bothered by.

"So what are we, Dominic?" I whispered, fighting back tears.

He looked genuinely confused. "What do you mean? Youre my wife. Youre Mrs. Sterling. Isn't that enough?"

"Its not."

I swiped my phone open and shoved Camilles post in his face.

"You can wipe the internet clean for her in a single night. You can dump millions into a documentary just to see her name in lights. Youll even get into a digital fistfight for her!" My voice was shaking uncontrollably. "And me? Your wife? Am I not worth a single resource? Not even one word of public support?"

He looked at the photo of Camille on the screenher holding an award, looking radiant. He was silent for a few beats. When he spoke, the calm was gone, replaced by a sharp, business-like edge.

"I do those things for her because she is worth the investment. Every dollar I put behind her yields a hundred-fold return in prestige and profit. Her talent, her visionthat is a premium asset."

His eyes snapped back to me, cold and dismissive.

"And if I help you? What do I get? A percentage of the 'donations' from your livestream? Two dollars for every pack of ramen you sell through a link? That wouldn't even cover the gas my driver uses to get me to work. Investment requires a return, Jade."

Finally, the mask of the "supportive husband" was ripped away. The truth left me pale and trembling.

Dominic saw my shattered expression and sighed. He stepped forward and pulled me into his arms, his voice softening slightly. "Jade, don't be like this. Lets be rational. Tell me what you need, and we can"

His phone let out a sharp, demanding ring.

He didn't even look at the caller ID. "Who is it?" he snapped.

A soft, feminine voice drifted through the speaker. "Dominic? Its Maddie... I mean, Camille."

He stiffened. His instinct was to let go of me and head for the study, but seeing my red eyes, he hesitated, frozen in place.

Camilles voice continued, laced with a familiar, practiced dependence. "Im at dinner with those investors you introduced me to. Theyre being difficult about the new studio project. They won't sign unless youre here to vouch for me..." She paused, her voice dropping to a soft plea. "Can you come? They only listen to you."

Dominic held the phone in one hand while the other continued to pat my back in a hollow gesture of comfort.

After a moment of silence, he spoke into the receiver. "Tell them Im in for two hundred million. Their portion is guaranteed. If theres a profit, its theirs. If theres a loss, Ill cover it."

"Send me the address," he added. "Im on my way."

The world went silent.

I gripped the hem of his expensive suit jacket with a desperate, manic strength.

"Don't go."

"Dominic, what happened to your principles? What happened to 'Return on Investment'?"

One second ago, I was "not worth the gas money." The next, he was throwing two hundred million at Camille because she made one phone call. He was taking all the risk and giving others the reward, just to clear a path for her.

The slap in the face was so violent I started laughing through my tears.

Dominics face shifted into blatant impatience. "Camille just got back to the States. Starting over is hard for her. Helping her is a matter of loyalty. Jade, youre my wife. Cant you show a little grace?"

"So, you won't help your wife, but you'll burn the world for her?" My voice was a ghost of itself. "She has it hard? Do you have any idea how hard Ive worked?"

I had built my brand from nothing. I had swallowed every insult, every spicy bite that burned my stomach, every lonely night while he worked. He knew none of it. He had never asked.

"Dominic, if you go, were done. Ill file for divorce."

He brushed my hand off his jacket as if I were a nagging child. "Stop being dramatic. Ill have someone look into your hashtags. Get some sleep. Im going."

The door clicked shut. I collapsed onto the floor.

I had tried. I had bet the only thing I thought I hadour marriageand I had lost. To Dominic, I was so insignificant that he didn't even believe my threat was real.

I sat there for a long time. My manager sent me a text: [Hey, I know you want to move behind the scenes. Theres an investor, Mr. Miller, whos willing to talk tonight. Hes at the Grande.]

Dominic wouldn't build a road for me, so Id have to walk through the mud myself.

I washed my face, put on my fiercest heels, and left.

At the hotel bar, Mr. Miller was already waiting. He was oily, his hand lingering too long on my waist as he guided me toward a private booth. Id dealt with men like him before, but as I was scanning for an exit strategy, I saw a familiar figure at the end of the hallway.

Dominic.

He saw me being led away by Miller. His face darkened into a mask of pure contempt.

Just then, Camilles voice rang out. "Dominic! Why are you still out here? The board is waiting!"

She spotted me and a flicker of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a smirk. She tucked her arm through Dominics and began pulling him toward the ballroom.

"Honestly," I heard her whisper as they walked away, "I thought Jade was a hard-working, decent girl. Thats why I tried to defend her. I didn't realize... this was how she 'networked.' I shouldn't have gotten involved. Its a bad look for both of us."

Dominic didn't defend me. He let her lead him away.

That was the moment the last spark of love in me died.

Back in the booth, Miller and his cronies were pressuring me to drink. After three glasses, a strange, terrifying heat began to bloom in my chest. I realized something was wrong. Theyd spiked the drink.

I lunged out of the booth, stumbled into the hallway, and kicked open the door to the VIP lounge where I knew Dominic was.

The drug was hitting me hard. I looked at the man at the head of the tablethe man Id shared a bed with for three years. "Dominic," I rasped, "Please... they did something to me. I don't feel right. Take me home."

The room went silent.

Camille looked up, annoyed. "Miss Jade, I think you have the wrong room. This isn't one of your... low-rent parties."

I looked at Dominic. He sat there like a king on a throne, cold and unmoved.

The other investors at the table caught the vibe immediately.

"Who let her in?" one of them laughed. "Is this some wannabe trying to 'stumble' into a high-stakes room?"

Another chimed in. "Never seen her. Probably some social climber looking for a billionaire to save her."

I wanted to scream, Im his wife!

But Dominic got up and walked over to me. He looked at my flushed face, my trembling hands, and my disheveled hair. He didn't even touch me.

"When you decided to go looking for other 'investors,' did you not consider the consequences?"

He stood tall, looking down at me with nothing but disgust. "You made this mess. Clean it up yourself. And don't bring your filth near me again."

He turned around, put his hand on Camilles shoulder, and walked out.

The rejection felt like a bucket of ice water. I stood there, frozen, as Miller came up behind me and grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the elevators. Fear and the drug made me weak. I struggled, screaming at the silhouette disappearing down the hall.

"Dominic! I was wrong! Help me! Please!"

The footsteps stopped.