The Eliminating Vote in the Murder Mystery

For her birthday, I spent two months writing a custom immersive mystery game. The storyline traced our seven-year journey, from two broke nobodies building a startup together to the life we had now. Hidden in the final act was an Easter egg: a marriage proposal. If she recognized it was our story, the lights would come on, and I would walk out to get on one knee.

But throughout the entire game, she held the hand of her new assistant. She helped him solve puzzles, analyzed clues for him, and even handed over her most crucial survival items. Not once did she recognize the struggles we had endured or the promises we had whispered in the dark. In her mouth, our history was twisted into a joke. "The female lead is such a pathetic doormat," she scoffed. "Giving up so much for a guy? She is out of her mind." Her assistant covered his mouth, giggling in agreement.

During the final voting phase, the players had to choose which character to protect. She cast her vote for the secondary male lead. Her reasoning was brutal: "The main guy is way too much work. He isn't worth it." On the surveillance monitor, I watched the two of them laughing together, completely oblivious to the man sitting in the dark. No one knew the author of this script was quietly slipping a velvet ring box back into his pocket. I wiped my face, pulled out my phone, and sent a single message to the airline: "Cancel my return flight for the day after tomorrow. I won't be needing it."

The harsh overhead lights of the game parlor flickered on.

I sat in the surveillance room behind a one way mirror, burying the diamond ring that had cost me half a year's savings deep into my coat pocket.

On the screen, they were still laughing.

I looked down at my phone and officially canceled my return ticket from London.

When I pushed the door open and walked out into the lobby, Victoria was unscrewing the cap of a bottled water and handing it to Toby.

"You were running around looking for evidence. You must be thirsty," she said, her voice dripping with a gentleness I hadn't heard in years.

Toby took the water and let out a dramatic, childish sigh. "Victoria, the main guy in this script was so incredibly stupid. Splitting a single plain bagel in a freezing bus shelter just to save money for the girl's laptop? You don't see that kind of pathetic, broke romance in real life."

Victoria let out a soft chuckle. Her tone was completely dismissive.

"It is definitely melodramatic. If you are broke, you should just go make money. Brainwashing yourself into feeling loved over a stale bagel... that trick only works on naive little boys."

My footsteps faltered. I stopped dead in the shadows of the hallway.

That exact scenario happened during our very first winter in Chicago.

It was a massive blizzard. After paying our rent, we had exactly five dollars left to our names.

Victoria's hands were bright red from the cold as she tore that cheap bagel in half, giving me the softer, warmer center.

Her eyes had been red with tears as she made a vow to me. "Oliver, one day I am going to buy you the most expensive French tasting menus. I swear I will never let you suffer with me again."

Now, she took Toby out for thousand dollar Michelin dinners.

And the boy who shared that bagel with her in the freezing snow had just become a naive joke in her mouth.

"Oliver! Where did you wander off to?" Toby spotted me and called out.

"I had to take a call," I replied, walking over with a perfectly calm expression.

We headed down to the underground parking garage.

Out of sheer habit, I walked toward the passenger side of her car. Just as I reached for the handle, Toby smoothly slipped into the seat.

He even reached into the glove compartment with practiced ease and pulled out a pack of mango flavored fruit drops.

"Wow, Victoria! You actually bought this brand! I casually mentioned last week that these help with my car sickness, and you actually remembered."

Victoria pulled open the driver side door and shot me a brief glance.

"You sit in the back. Toby gets carsick easily."

I didn't say a single word. I quietly withdrew my hand and climbed into the backseat.

The engine roared to life, and the Bluetooth automatically connected.

But the playlist that popped up on the dashboard screen wasn't the one titled "Seven Years Together" from my phone.

It was Toby's phone.

Upbeat, obnoxiously loud pop music flooded the speakers.

My gaze drifted to the back of the driver's seat.

Victoria had terrible allergies. She always hated artificial scents in enclosed spaces. For seven years, her car had remained completely free of any air fresheners.

But now, clipped to the air conditioning vent, was a bright yellow daisy diffuser.

It was emitting a sickeningly sweet peach scent. The exact kind of trendy fragrance a young boy in his early twenties would like.

"By the way, Victoria," I said softly, watching the city lights blur past the rainy window.

"Next Monday is our seventh anniversary. I booked that omakase place you like a month in advance."

The music in the car was deafening.

Victoria glanced at me through the rearview mirror, her brows pulling together in annoyance.

"Next Monday? That is the final day of the gaming expo. The sponsors are hosting an appreciation banquet. It is Toby's first time handling a major project like this. I need to take him to network."

She paused, her tone shifting into the patronizing voice one might use to soothe an unreasonable child.

"It is just a dinner, Oliver. We can eat sushi any day. Just cancel the reservation so we do not lose the deposit."

Toby turned his head, giving me an incredibly fake look of guilt. "Oliver, I am so sorry. My work schedule is ruining your anniversary."

"It's fine."

I pulled out my phone, opened the restaurant app, and hit the cancel button without a second thought.

The car rolled to a stop at a red light.

A notification popped up on Victoria's dashboard family calendar screen: [Oliver's Gastritis Reminder: Buy Stomach Medicine.]

She quickly scanned the words. Then, she reached out and casually swiped the alert away, hitting the delete permanently button.

It was past midnight by the time we returned to our shared apartment.

After washing up, I walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.

When I opened the refrigerator, I froze.

The entire shelf of lactose free milk I drank every morning was gone. In its place was a massive, fully stocked row of sparkling water and chilled sodas.

My stomach lining was severely damaged. I could not drink anything carbonated or ice cold.

Victoria walked out of the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel.

"Oh, Toby came over yesterday to grab some files," she said casually. "He said he was thirsty, but we didn't have any fizzy drinks in the fridge. I picked up a case on my way home today. You drink your milk too slowly anyway."

"But I just opened a brand new carton yesterday." I looked at her, my voice eerily calm.

"I threw it out. It doesn't stay fresh once it is open," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She walked over to the kitchen island and picked up the kettle.

Years ago, whenever I couldn't finish a glass of milk, she would gladly drink the rest, insisting we couldn't afford to waste a single drop.

Now, she thought a carton open for twenty four hours was trash.

I didn't argue with her. I just poured myself a glass of lukewarm water and walked back to the bedroom.

The next morning at the studio.

Our creative agency was small, barely a dozen people in total.

I was the core art director, and Victoria handled all the external business and client relations.

Right after I sat down at my desk, my phone buzzed with a bank notification.

The joint family credit card linked to Victoria had just been charged nearly four thousand dollars.

The purchase receipt listed a premium tactile mechanical keyboard and a high end ergonomic gaming chair.

I turned my head and looked through the glass partition into the main office area.

Toby was excitedly tearing open a massive shipping box. Victoria stood right next to him, helping him assemble the bright blue keyboard.

"Boys type with a heavier hand. These specific switches will make sure your fingers don't get tired," her voice drifted into my office.

I looked down at my own desk. My hand was resting on a generic, three year old mouse with a broken left click button.

Last year, I had asked to buy a basic ergonomic mouse for forty dollars.

Victoria had immediately shut it down. "Oliver, we just signed the lease for this new office space. Cash flow is incredibly tight right now. We have to save wherever we can. Once we get through this rough patch, I promise I will buy you the best top tier equipment on the market."

We survived the rough patch. She did buy the best top tier equipment.

But the person sitting in that chair was not me.

At noon, everyone decided to order lunch.

A massive thunderstorm had flooded the streets, so most places weren't delivering.

Victoria stood in the center of the room, waving her phone. "Lunch is on me today, guys! Let's just order a massive spread from that authentic Szechuan place."

Forty minutes later, the food arrived.

Every single plastic container was swimming in a thick layer of blood red chili oil. Spicy boiled beef, fiery chili chicken, mapo tofu.

Toby was obsessed with spicy food. He ate until his face was flushed, sweating happily.

Victoria stood next to him, gently handing him napkins.

I stood by the communal dining table, staring at the sea of red chili flakes.

"Victoria, my gastritis flared up again recently. I really can't eat spicy food," I reminded her quietly.

She paused, her chopsticks hovering in mid air.

It was obvious she had completely forgotten about me.

"Oh, my bad. I wasn't really thinking when I placed the order. Why don't you just rinse the beef slices in a cup of hot water before you eat them?"

She pointed her chin toward the water cooler. Her tone carried a distinct trace of annoyance, as if I was deliberately ruining the mood.

"If that doesn't work, just go down to the convenience store and grab a sandwich to hold you over. The rain is too heavy right now. Ordering a separate meal just for you is too much of a hassle for the delivery drivers."

Toby bit the end of his chopstick, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. "Oliver, do you want my bowl of rice? I haven't touched it yet."

"No thanks."

I turned around, walked back into my private office, and shut the door.

I booted up my computer and opened our shared studio cloud drive.

Inside were thousands of folders containing every travel photo and personal memory from our seven years together.

I didn't click open a single picture to reminisce.

Instead, I went straight to the administrative settings.

I permanently removed my account from the shared access list.

At three in the afternoon, a panicked gasp erupted from the main floor.

"Oh my god! Victoria, I think I just overwrote the master file for the Harrison project..."

Toby's eyes were rimmed with red. He looked like he was on the verge of a total breakdown.

The Harrison project was due first thing tomorrow morning. I had led the design team through three sleepless nights just to render those intricate layers.

Victoria practically sprinted to his desk. She leaned over his shoulder, her brows knitting together as she inspected the screen.

"Hey, don't cry. It is fine. It is not a big deal. You are new to this software, making a mistake is totally normal."

She coaxed him softly for a few moments before turning her sharp gaze toward my office.

"Oliver, Toby accidentally merged and saved over the layers. You drew the original concept. You need to stay late tonight and redraw the entire thing from scratch."

I stared blankly at the empty history log on my screen.

"Redrawing this will take a minimum of eight hours," I stated flatly. "And I wasn't even supposed to be the one handling tomorrow's pitch."

"You are the art director of this studio. If you don't draw it, who will?" Victoria's voice hardened.

"Toby is practically in tears. As his senior, what is the big deal about helping him clean up a tiny mess?"

"Fine. For the sake of the company."

I didn't look at Toby again. I simply opened a brand new, blank canvas.

Slowly, the rest of the studio packed up and went home.

By eleven at night, the only sound left on the entire floor was the rapid clicking of my mouse.

Victoria didn't leave. She sat on the velvet sofa in the lobby, playing a multiplayer mobile game with Toby.

"Ah! Victoria, come save me! I'm completely surrounded!" Toby's excited shouts echoed through the quiet office.

"Hold on, I am on my way," Victoria laughed, her voice light and entirely stress free.

I sat glued to my monitor, watching the intricate lines slowly form on the screen.

Sharp, stabbing pains radiated through my stomach. I dry swallowed two antacid pills and continued to move my mouse like a machine.

Three in the morning.

I added the final stroke of color and hit the save button.

The sounds of the video game outside had stopped hours ago.

When I walked out, I saw Victoria fast asleep on the sofa. Toby's designer jacket was draped carefully over her shoulders.

Toby was sitting nearby with his headphones on, watching a show on his tablet. When he saw me walk out, he quickly jumped to his feet.

"Oliver, are you finally done? Thanks for working so hard."

His tone carried a hint of artificial flattery, but there was absolutely no panic in his eyes.

Because he knew a fundamental truth. As long as Victoria was protecting him, he would never have to face any real consequences.

I completely ignored him and walked straight back to my desk.

I packaged the master files and emailed them directly to Victoria's inbox.

Then, I opened the company's internal HR portal and submitted a formal leave request.

[Applicant: Oliver]

[Leave Type: Accumulated PTO and Sick Leave. Total: 45 days.]

I didn't type a single word in the reason box.

Because we were never legally married, I didn't even have to go through the hassle of a divorce.

Before I left, I took the physical banking security token for the company's accounts and placed it quietly on her desk.

I took one final look around the office I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into for seven years.

I did not wake Victoria up.

This was the very last time I would ever clean up her mess.

From now on, whatever storms she faced had absolutely nothing to do with me.

By the time I walked back into the apartment, the sky outside was turning a pale grey.

I didn't go to sleep. Instead, I went to the deepest corner of the closet and dragged out my dusty twenty four inch suitcase.

I actually owned very little.

Over the years, almost every dollar I made went straight back into keeping the studio afloat.

I never bought expensive clothes. My entire wardrobe consisted of cheap, basic essentials.

I packed the few outfits I had organized over the last few days, along with my passport and legal documents.

When I walked into the bathroom to grab my toiletries, I stopped.

Sitting on the sink were two identical electric toothbrushes. But the brush head on one of them had just been swapped for a brand new one.

And resting perfectly between the two brushes was a bright pink tube of peach flavored toothpaste.

"Toby said this brand is amazing for teeth whitening, so I bought a tube for the house to try out."

That was the excuse Victoria gave me a few days ago.

I stared at the peach tube. Someone had squeezed it aggressively from the dead center. I calmly picked up my own tube of mint toothpaste and dropped it straight into the trash can.

At ten in the morning, the electronic lock on the front door beeped loudly.

Victoria pushed the door open, holding a cheap plastic bag with a convenience store breakfast inside.

When she saw the large suitcase sitting in the middle of the living room, she froze. A deep frown instantly formed on her face.

"Why is your luggage out? Are you going on a business trip?"

She walked over and tossed the cold, pre packaged sandwich onto the coffee table.

"Why didn't you wake me up last night when you finished the drawings? Toby feels so guilty that he practically begged for the day off today. He was too scared to even show his face at the office. Could you seriously stop throwing these massive tantrums?"

"I am not going on a business trip."

I pulled the zipper of the suitcase shut.

"I have forty five days of unused PTO. I am starting my vacation today."

The color completely drained from Victoria's face, replaced by a dark, simmering anger.

"Taking PTO? Right now? We are in the middle of our end of year sprint, and you are taking forty five days off?"

She marched right up to me, looking down her nose with that habitual, suffocating pressure she always used on her employees.

"Oliver, can you please act like an adult? All I asked you to do was fix a minor mistake for a new hire. Did you really have to make everyone so miserable?"

"Throwing a fit over something this trivial. You are being unbelievably selfish."

A second later, the front door slammed shut with a deafening crash.

I stared at the space where her self righteous face had just been. Inside my chest, there was nothing but a hollow, peaceful silence.

I picked up the trench coat draped over the sofa.

I sat in the quiet room for a few moments longer, then grabbed the handle of my suitcase, walked to the entryway, and opened the door.

I walked out of the home I had once loved so desperately.

A moment later, my phone vibrated with a new text message.

[You are required to attend the client dinner tonight. You do not have permission to take a vacation.]

[If you do not show up, you can forget about celebrating our seventh anniversary entirely.]

I didn't type a reply. I simply pressed her contact name and hit delete.

...

That evening, Victoria sat in the private dining room of an upscale restaurant.

Staring at the completely unresponsive chat log, a wave of intense irritation and creeping anxiety washed over her.

She sent me another angry message, but the screen instantly flashed a red exclamation point indicating she had been blocked.

Her brow furrowed deeply. She convinced herself I was just throwing another dramatic fit.

A moment later, her driver pushed open the door to the private room.

"Victoria, I couldn't get ahold of Mr. Oliver. But I went to the apartment and found this USB drive on the table."

Annoyed, Victoria plugged the drive into her laptop. When the file opened, her pupils contracted into tiny pinpricks of pure horror.