My Ex Is Too Narcissistic

While scrolling on my phone to kill time during my lunch break, a post titled To My Ex abruptly caught my eye.

The post reeked of a condescending superiority complex: I know you're still hung up on me. Stop secretly stalking my stories. We're very happy now. The poster even had the audacity to write, "When I take her to see the guys, I never demand she wear a full face of makeup. I'll go out of my way to buy her favorite gift just because she took an extra bite of a certain dessert. Everything I didn't do with you, I've experienced with her."

At the very end of the post, he left a soul-crushing final thought: "Maybe you weren't wrong back then. I really never loved you."

Reading this wall of text, a wave of inexplicable anger rushed straight to my head. I thought to myself, why is everyone on the internet so full of themselves these days? I was just about to click into the comment section to leave a sarcastic remark.

But the next second, when I caught a glimpse of the initials "SW" in the pinned comment, my blood instantly ran cold.

Sierra Winters. Those were my initials!

My heart sank heavily. I immediately clicked on the poster's profile picture. It was unmistakably a back-facing solo portrait I had taken for my ex eight years ago.

Frowning deeply, I forced down the nausea churning in my stomach and typed out a harsh reply: "I've been married for five years, and my son is almost three. I had no idea I still had an ex I couldn't get over."

Before I could even hit send on that comment, a friend request popped up at the top of my screen.

Tapping into it, that familiar profile picture stung my eyes once again. It was a cartoon avatar I had hand-drawn based on a portrait I took for Nolan, back when my wrist was still intact.

My heartbeat inexplicably skipped a couple of beats.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed down the irritation building in my chest and hit accept. That old muscle memory of always replying to his messages instantly was apparently still lingering. But after all the toxic garbage we had been through, there was absolutely nothing left to say between us.

Still, out of basic human decency, I sent a message over.

[Please stop feeding the photos I took of you into AI generators to make your avatars. And take that picture off your main page so people don't get the wrong idea.]

The moment the message went through, a barrage of rapid-fire replies flooded the blank chat box.

[I knew you weren't over me. Nobody else would get the wrong idea but you.]

[I made that video specifically for you to see. Stop stalking all my socials like a ghost. My girl will get jealous if she sees it.]

It felt like an invisible hand had tightly gripped my heart. I had expected a rational conversation between two adults. Clearly, I was being too naive.

Flashing back to that malicious video, I gritted my teeth, my fingers flying across the keyboard to type "You're really overthinking this".

But before I could finish typing, his messages poured in like a flood again.

[I've been with her for years now, and she was never the awful person you made her out to be.]

[Can you stop acting like a bitter ex and badmouthing her behind her back?]

[I know you're still waiting for me, but no matter how many pointless things you do, we are never getting back together. She is the only woman I love now!]

Seeing that last line, my temples throbbed wildly. The sheer absurdity of it made me laugh out of pure anger. With trembling hands, I violently mashed a question mark.

[?]

[Who has the free time to care about your pathetic drama? I'm married. Get back together? Are you completely delusional?]

As soon as that last message was sent, a red exclamation mark popped up on the screen. He had blocked me.

I immediately switched back to the social media app. Sure enough, in the latest comment section, he had posted heavily censored screenshots of our chat, only revealing my message telling him to change his avatar.

He paired it with a highly inflammatory caption.

[I hope a certain someone knows when to stop.]

The comment section was instantly swarmed by netizens demanding justice for this "devoted ex."

[This guy has it so rough. Why is this woman using such underhanded tricks? All she did was look at his stories, it's not like she committed murder.]

[Have the people above never seen female jealousy in action? The poster was clearly forced to speak up by his current girlfriend. Otherwise, who would make a whole video calling out an ex just for looking at a few updates? This is just flexing their relationship and rubbing salt in the wound.]

[Tsk tsk, this ex-girlfriend is incredibly unlucky. Getting publicly executed years after a breakup. Bet this guy still has feelings for her, got caught by his current girl, and had to post a video to prove his innocence.]

Faced with these cynical remarks, Nolan's reply was unusually calm and certain.

[Say whatever you want, it won't matter. I know her.]

Those simple words felt like an incredibly fine needle plunging into my chest without warning.

How long had it been since I heard someone talk about me with such unquestionable certainty?

Undeniably, he really was once the person who knew me best in this world, the person closest to me. But so what? The deepest understanding is no match for the fickle nature of the human heart.

Nolan and I met when we were eight. Until we went our separate ways, we had accompanied each other through sixteen long years.

Back then, because my features looked completely different from my wealthy adoptive parents, I was treated like a freak at school. The kids mocked me, calling me a feral child picked out of a dumpster.

Nolan, on the other hand, was a boy raised in a loving middle-class family, radiating a naive kind of heroism.

He would always show up when I was at my lowest yet stubbornly refusing pity, standing in front of me like a little adult to strike back at the bullies.

I actually told him many times that for a kid who grew up in the foster system, those empty insults meant absolutely nothing.

But he was paranoid, believing I was just scared and bottling it up. So he volunteered to be my personal guardian angel.

He even bugged his parents into transferring him to my class and shamelessly pestered the teacher to seat him next to me. Because our houses weren't on the same route and he couldn't walk me home easily, he threw massive tantrums until his parents actually moved to a neighborhood closer to mine.

I was completely bewildered by his exaggerated actions. In my mind, kids' enthusiasms always came and went in a flash. In the foster system, I had seen too many orphans unceremoniously returned because the adoptive family's biological kids decided they "weren't fun anymore."

I figured that once he lost interest in a boring playmate like me, he would naturally go find new friends.

But I never expected him to stick around like an unshakeable shadow for eleven solid years.

From elementary through high school, I went from intensely resenting someone breaking my isolation, to gradually getting used to seeing his bright smile whenever I turned my head.

A teenage girl's secret crush always takes root and sprouts quietly in those fragmented moments.

The year we graduated high school, I asked him a question with a probing smile.

If the girl being bullied back then had been someone else, would he still have followed her around like a fool every single day?

He sharply caught the extreme lack of security hidden behind my smile, and with an almost reverent posture, he firmly supported my vulnerability.

"Funny thing is, ever since I started hanging around you, I often felt that blindly protecting people just to play the hero was really stupid," he said, looking into my eyes. "It's like it was destined. All my heroism was meant just for waiting for you."

At that time, I carved those words deep into my soul.

So much so that later, when he ran off to play hero for another woman, that vow became the most ironic joke.

By the first year of my Master's program, we had been together for five years. Our parents had even started discussing the details of our post-graduation wedding.

Everything was running on a perfect trajectory, right up until our engagement dinner.

Gemma, a girl who came out of the same foster home as me, tore all that beauty to shreds with her own hands.

God knows what methods she used to drag the old director of the foster home out to give false testimony. In front of all the guests, she tearfully claimed that the person my wealthy parents were originally supposed to adopt was her.

She claimed the person who was supposed to be cherished by Nolan should have been her too.

She accused me, weeping bitterly, of sneaking sleeping pills into her milk on the day my adoptive parents came to choose a child, causing her to miss her chance to change her destiny. Back then, we were the only two girls who fit the criteria. By taking her out of the picture, I became the only choice.

She blamed my selfishness and cruelty for the hellish life she had endured when she turned sixteen.

I originally thought anyone with a brain would instantly see through such a clumsy lie born of extreme jealousy.

After all, in college, she used the banner of being my friend to stab me in the back countless times.

When she couldn't scrape together enough living expenses from her part-time jobs, I stepped up and fought to get her financial aid back from a rich kid pretending to be broke. But she turned around and spread rumors that I hated the rich and was intentionally targeting that student.

Right before finals, she had neglected her studies for work. I not only organized all the review materials for her and stayed up until 3 AM helping her study, but during the exam, I even risked passing her notes so she wouldn't fail. Yet she turned right around and reported me to the professor for attempting to cheat.

Countless times when I complained to Nolan about this garbage, he would grind his teeth in anger, telling me to stay away from that ungrateful viper.

Yet at the engagement dinner, Nolan actually believed her nonsense, even announcing the cancellation of our engagement on the spot.

My adoptive parents stood by my side at first, gently comforting me, telling me to wait for Gemma to calm down and for the truth to come out.

But that wait lasted a full year.

During that year, terrified of being abandoned again, I walked on eggshells. I followed their arrangements, yielding to Gemma at every turn, only to watch helplessly as they drained the love they had for me drop by drop.

Until finally, I read it in their disgust-filled eyes: they had already convicted me in their hearts, deciding I was a scheming bitch who stole someone else's life.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp ping from my phone. It was a direct message from Gemma.

[I know you saw the post. Stop acting so high and mighty. We've been incredibly happy all these years. You better kill any thought of ruining our relationship right now!]

Staring at the provocative text on the screen, I let out a cold laugh, losing any desire to even reply.

I casually clicked into her profile. It was filled with so-called high-end photography, but her pathetic follower count and the kind of bogus photographer certification you could just buy with cash completely exposed her true colors.

I couldn't hold back and mockingly typed out a line.

[Back then, Nolan threw away his basic human decency to pave the way for you. How is it that after all these years, you're still a useless piece of trash that can't hold herself together?]

Back then, under their cold, indifferent gazes, I relied on my own merit to secure an exchange spot at a top art academy in Paris. I naively thought that as long as I was excellent enough, I could win back their approval.

But just a week before my flight to Paris, Nolan secretly took all my raw negatives and reported me to the competition committee under his real name, claiming I plagiarized Gemma's work.

The university and the organizers stripped me of my qualifications without hesitation.

Seeing Gemma trailing behind Nolan with that victor's smile mixed with hypocritical pity, I felt the blood in my veins freeze over.

"Why?" I heard my own dry voice ask.

The look in his eyes was a hundred times colder than the first time I rejected him when we were eight.

"Her talent really isn't as good as yours, but she works harder. She needs this chance to rise up more than you do. Besides, if you hadn't played dirty back then, all of this would have been hers today anyway."

"You're just giving back what you stole."

At that moment, every vow he made to me when we were eighteen crumbled into dust.

Overcome with violent rage and grief, I passed out on the spot and was rushed to the ER.

When I woke up, the air smelled of antiseptic. Nolan sat by the bed, letting out an incredibly hypocritical sigh.

"You didn't need to make such an ugly scene. She promised me she only wants a career; she won't take anything else from you. I will still keep my promise to marry you, but on one condition."

"From now on, you absolutely cannot publish any photography under your own name. But in private, whenever she needs it, you must fully cooperate with her."

The implication in his words wrapped around my neck like a venomous snake.

Trembling all over, I stared at him dead in the eye.

"You're telling me to be her ghostwriter?"

He gave a muffled hum of agreement.

"It's what you owe her. With her own skills, she could never shoot an award-winning piece like that in her lifetime. So as compensation, you're going to keep shooting for her until she gets bored of this industry."

That day, I acted like an absolute lunatic, smashing everything in sight inside that hospital room. Yet it still couldn't shake his cold heart.

The day before Gemma flew to Paris, holding my trophy, taking my spot, and even clutching the offer from the top magazine meant for me, she came in arm-in-arm with my boyfriend to look down on me and say thank you.

Taking advantage of the moment Nolan stepped out to take a call, I secretly turned on my phone's voice recorder and baited her into talking.

She was completely unguarded, even showing a flaunting smile.

"Honestly, I just couldn't stand the sight of you, so I made up a story. Who knew that bunch of idiots would swallow it whole."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted the rusty flavor of blood in my mouth. After she left, I immediately took the recording to appeal to the university and leaked the audio on the campus forum.

I thought the truth would finally come to light.

But what I got wasn't my adoptive parents coming to their senses. Instead, Nolan hired someone to produce a technical report accusing my recording of being an AI-generated forgery.

He even spread rumors that I suffered from severe paranoia.

He thoroughly wiped thousands of gigabytes of precious raw files I had accumulated since I started photography. Included in them were every single moment I had captured of him.

He said that as long as those files existed, they were a ticking time bomb threatening Gemma's future.

I became a rat crossing the street, spat on by professors and classmates alike.

When the university handed down my expulsion notice, he spoke to me in a tone reeking of charity.

"She's too pitiful, her mental state has always been unstable. I couldn't just watch her last hope get shattered, so I had to sacrifice you."

My throat was as hoarse as if I had swallowed crushed glass when I desperately asked him:

"Did you forget how she bit the hand that fed her? So, you don't love me anymore, do you?"

He reacted like a cat getting its tail stepped on, instantly raising his voice.

"Of course I love you! But can you stop dragging up the past? Who hasn't made mistakes when they were young? It's not like she's some unforgivable murderer!"

It wasn't until that moment that I completely woke up.

The boy who once kept claiming he would be my personal hero had long since draped his cape over someone else's shoulders.

An hour before Gemma boarded her flight, I was locked inside a psychiatric ward, watching her being interviewed on the TV screen.

She smiled so radiantly, without a trace of that gloomy girl from the orphanage. And the man standing next to her, looking at her with eyes full of deep affection, was Nolan.

The picture-perfect couple they made slashed me into a thousand pieces like sharp blades.

Even my adoptive parents came to the hospital, earnestly pleading with me to let go, telling me to stop being evil and just consider it building up some good karma for myself.

I lay despairingly on the cold hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. In my mind appeared the seven-year-old girl who had nothing but could run wildly under the sun.

Using every ounce of strength I had left, I smashed the window and jumped from the fourth floor.

Maybe I just wasn't meant to die. As I fell, I snapped several thick branches, which cushioned the fatal impact. I didn't die.

But the severe abdominal trauma led the doctors to conclude that it would be incredibly difficult for me to ever have children of my own.

During the days I spent drifting in and out of consciousness, I groggily heard my adoptive parents in the hallway urging Nolan to stop tying himself to a lunatic like me and just get together with Gemma.

He rejected the idea extremely harshly.

"Absolutely not. The only way I can completely control her is by marrying her and tying her to my side, forcing her to be Gemma's stepping stone for the rest of her life."

The moment I heard those words, I didn't shed a single tear.

The very first thing I did when I was fully awake was find an opening, grab a sharp shard of glass, and without hesitation, slash the tendons in my right hand.

That was the hand I used to press the shutter. Since they wanted to squeeze out every last drop of my value, I would rather destroy it with my own hands than let them get what they wanted.

After realizing I had become completely useless, they avoided me like the plague, never appearing in my hospital room again.

And after I recovered, I unilaterally severed all ties with my past and bought a one-way ticket to the East Coast alone.

The second year after I left, I heard they finally got together without any reservations.

And it was there that I met Justin.

Sunlight finally pierced back into my life.

As for the so-called "stalking" Nolan accused me of online, I had just randomly seen a post on my feed, thought the back profile looked familiar, and clicked in for a glance.

Who would have thought these people were like unshakeable parasites? No matter how many times you block them, they still crawl through the internet to make you sick.

I gripped my phone tightly, my brows locked in a dead knot.

Suddenly, a tiny hand carrying the scent of baby lotion gently smoothed out my frown.

"Mommy! What are you thinking about?"

Before I could answer, another warm, broad palm covered my forehead.

"What are you zoning out for? Finn's been calling you forever and you didn't even blink."

I looked up, meeting the man's deep, gentle eyes, and handed him the chat logs on my phone directly.

He scanned it rapidly, letting out a cold, oppressive laugh.

"The world really has changed. Any random piece of trash dares to label themselves a 'devoted ex' now. Wait for it, baby. Tomorrow night, your husband is personally going to get your payback."

Justin directly contacted my old class president under my name, had his assistant book out a top-tier restaurant, and set up a so-called "class reunion."

He even specifically instructed the class president to ensure that Nolan and Gemma would definitely attend.

In the private dining room the next evening, I sat in the seat of honor, casually making small talk with my old classmates.

Suddenly, suppressed sounds of arguing drifted in from outside the door.

I stood up and pulled the door open.

Gemma, who had a face full of hostility a second ago, instantly switched to a fragile expression the moment the door opened. She was clinging tightly to Nolan, whose face looked stiff.

"Long time no see, Sierra. Where's this legendary husband of yours? Weren't you supposed to bring him out to meet us today?"

I opened the door fully and made a "please" gesture.

"He had a last-minute overseas conference call. He'll be here shortly."

The words had barely left my mouth when Gemma let out an ear-piercing sneer.

"Sierra, you really don't have to invent a fake husband just to save face in front of us. Even if you never get married in your life, for old times' sake, we wouldn't laugh at you."

She paused, her eyes turning venomous. "But you better pack up those dirty, shady thoughts. My fianc already made it perfectly clear to you online yesterday, you two are over. The only reason we took pity on you and showed up tonight was to crush your hopes for good!"

The air in the room instantly froze. A few classmates awkwardly exchanged glances. Nolan's face looked absolutely terrible.

He looked at me with a condescending mix of charity and guilt.

"She just speaks her mind. Don't take it to heart."

"She's just worried that you're still living in the shadows of the past and ruining yourself just to prove a point. She's kindly reminding you, there's no malice."

"Marriage isn't a game, and it's certainly not a tool for you to act out of spite. You don't have to settle for just anyone just to act tough in front of us. If you haven't met the right one, take your time."

"Please don't make a joke out of the rest of your life."

His earnest, patronizing tone was truly nauseating.

I curled my lips into a faint smile.

"Haven't seen you in years, and your habit of lecturing people has only gotten worse. But thanks for your 'good intentions' anyway. My head is perfectly clear. I know exactly what I'm doing."

I picked up the wine glass in front of me and toasted him from across the massive dining table.

Nolan's Adam's apple bobbed violently. He picked up his glass and downed the red wine in one gulp. When he looked at me again, his reddened eyes surged with some incredibly complex, even slightly fanatic emotion.

I was just about to say something to end this disgusting segment.

BANG!

Gemma suddenly grabbed the heavy glass water pitcher from the table and hurled it violently at me.

"You shameless bitch! I'm standing right here, and you dare make eyes at my fianc right in front of me!"

"And you dare say you don't have feelings for him? This hard-to-get act of yours is sickening! You just want to ruin us and steal him away from me!"

"Keep dreaming! He's mine!"

The shattered glass shards ruthlessly slashed across my forehead.

A warm liquid with a strong metallic scent instantly flowed down my brow bone and into my eye.

I winced in pain, Nolan's near-hysterical roar ringing in my ears.

"Sierra! Are you okay?!"

He tried to rush over like a madman to check my injuries.

But before he could even touch me, a tall, commanding figure brought a blast of cold air, stepping ahead of him and pulling me tightly into a protective embrace.

"Baby, what happened? Let me see!"

Justin's voice suppressed a terrifying fury as he wiped the blood from my face with gentle but trembling hands.

Leaning against his solid chest, I shook my head slightly to show I was holding up.

But when I raised my head, I caught sight of Nolan's face, drained of all color, veins popping.

He stared dead at us holding each other so tightly, his voice trembling beyond recognition.

"You... you really got married?"