The "Fish Market Girl" Is Actually a Capital Tycoon

1
My long-distance boyfriend of several years went bankrupt.
Faye, they took my mothers house. Marks voice was a fragile, lost thing over the phone.
I hung up without another word.
That same night, I landed in Port Sterling with everything I owned. I found him, and together, we leased a small stall in the local fish market.
Dont worry, I told him, my voice steady. Ill buy it back for you.
Three years of my hands, perpetually raw and steeped in the stench of fish, earned us two million dollars in scattered bills.
The day I went to deposit the money, a guy next to me at the bank was scrolling through a livestream on his phone, the volume cranked way up.
Mark, my man, you coming back or what?
Whats the rush? Im not done playing with my little Fish Girl yet.
He must have left in a hurry. The phone, still streaming live, was propped up on the cutting board.

I recognized the voice in a heartbeat.
It was Mark.
That voice was a part of me. It had once traveled as a whisper across oceans, soothing me when my mentors critiques had brought me to tears. It had been a rough, breathless gasp in my ear, murmuring my name in the dark.
But now, the words he was speaking felt like a foreign language.
The sound from the phone was just too loud, a relentless, jarring noise that drilled into my ears. A buzzing started in my eardrums and spread, a tremor that seized my entire body until I was shaking uncontrollably.
I turned my head, my movements stiff, robotic. Through a blur of unshed tears, I saw the monotonous image on the screen. A yellow rubber hose lay draped over the wooden cutting board, water streaming from it in a ceaseless flow. A sharp filleting knife was stuck into the wood, its blade glinting with blood-streaked scales.
I had stood in that exact spot for three years.
The voices from the livestream continued, oblivious.
Hahaha, youve really got it made, Mark. By the way, wheres the Fish Girl? Shes usually glued to this place. Did the sun rise in the west today?
I told her the rent was going up. Shes probably at the bank right now, scraping together the deposit.
The crisp, expensive flick of a Zippo lighter crackled through the speaker. Someone was lighting a cigarette.
Seriously? You own this whole damn street. The fact that youre personally shaking her down for rent youre giving her way too much credit.
What can I say? The girls a machine when it comes to making money. I told her wed get married as soon as we bought the house, and she started selling fish like her life depended on it. If I didnt raise the rent, Id be losing out on my own investment, wouldnt I?
The two of them laughed for a moment. I heard a sound like a hand slapping a shoulder.
Alright, man, stop chatting with me. Your darling Chloe is waiting for you at the coffee shop. Here, take this necklace. You cant show up empty-handed every time, thats just rude. Oh, and dont forget to transfer me the money for it later. Its over a hundred grand.
Yeah, Ill wire it.
The unique, staccato rhythm of Marks typing on his phone danced a cruel rhythm on my shattering heart.
Whoa, Mark, you serious? You sent me two hundred thousand?
Yeah, its nothing. Pocket change. Go have fun. Im heading out, watch the stall for me.
The sound of rustling cash, crisp and fast, was amplified by the tellers microphone behind the glass.
It was everything I had earned. Three years of my life, without a single day off.
Just enough to cover a necklace Mark casually bought for another girl.
The heavy plastic curtain at the stalls entrance flapped open and shut. Just as Mark was leaving, the other man spoke again, his tone suddenly probing.
Hey, Mark. Its been three years. Are you really just messing with her?
The flapping of the curtain paused.
In two different places, Mark and I held our breath in shared silence.
Finally, I heard his voice, light and dismissive.
Of course. You think Id actually marry a fishmonger?
As the last word fell, my world, which had been held together by the quietest of hopes, didn't just crack. It imploded.
In an instant, all the strength drained from my body. I couldn't cry. I couldn't make a sound. All that was left was a broken heart, uselessly pumping pain through my veins.
The screen suddenly went dark. The guy next to me cursed. What the hell?
What the hell.
No four words could have described me better.
For a single, pathetic plea from Mark, I had thrown away the Golden Cleaver, the symbol of my craft and honor. I had flown across the world, a fool on a mission to save my fallen hero.
And now, in a place where he couldn't see me, he had sentenced me to death with a single sentence.
A fishmonger.
If my mentor heard someone call me that, hed probably use his eighteen signature knife techniques to turn them into a gourmet feast.
But I had abandoned his protection, and for what? To happily take on that title.
Stupid.
So incredibly stupid.
Maam? The money has been counted. Are you sure you want to transfer twenty thousand to this account? the teller asked.
I blinked, reality crashing back in.
No. No transfer. Thank you.
I wasn't renting this stall anymore.
And I didn't want Mark anymore.
The bank card in my hand felt impossibly heavy, a dead weight of a thousand days and nights of my own foolishness.
Two million dollars. The price of my blind, idiotic devotion.
I didn't go back to the stall. I went to the shabby apartment we rented.
I started to pack.
Looking around, I realized there was almost nothing worth taking.
The matching bracelets Mark had bought me for 0-0.99, shipping included.
The buy-one-get-one-free boxes of breakfast pastries that cost 0-03.99.
A ring hed twisted for me out of a paper napkin.
My collection of foul-smelling rubber boots in various colors.
I pulled open the nightstand drawer. It was filled with boxes of condoms.
Opened ones, empty ones.
When we first opened the stall, business was slow. We had sunk every last penny into it.
We were so, so poor.
I never thought Id live like that.
Wed make a single bagel last for three meals. Cream cheese in the morning, half the bagel for lunch, the other half for dinner.
I used to cry all the time.
I cried when I was hungry. I cried when we didnt make enough money.
And every time I cried, Mark would pull me into bed.
Hey, my little crybaby, hed murmur. Lets do something to take your mind off it.
Surrendering to that raw, primal instinct was a drug, a way to numb the nerves. The 99-cent condoms were cheap and unreliable; theyd tear if we were too rough, or if the angle was wrong.
In the midst of crushing material poverty, we clung to each other as if for life itself. The constant creaking of the old wooden bed frame became a lullaby for my soul. Every morning, the floor was littered with used, torn wrappers.
I thought, back then, that all I had left was love.
Looking back now, I see I didn't even have that.
I dont know what I was even trying to pack. After an hour, my suitcase was still empty.
The trash can, however, was overflowing.
I scanned the room, a wave of emptiness washing over me.
There was nothing here.
Just worn-out furniture that screamed making do. A flickering lightbulb, a refrigerator that rattled like a machine on its last legs.
I had wanted to make this place a home.
But Mark always shut me down.
Dont bother.
Its not necessary.
I thought he was just being frugal, trying to save us money.
The truth was, he never saw this as a home.
A woman hed eventually get tired of.
A slum that was beneath his true status.
Of course, none of it was worth a single moment of his effort.
Id left my ID at the stall. I had to go back.
There was only one man there. Mark was probably still at the coffee shop, whispering sweet nothings to his perfectly matched, high-society darling.
The man was sitting in Marks chair, smoking. When he saw me, he didnt bother to get up.
Well, well, Fish Girl. Broad daylight and the stalls empty. Are you even in business anymore?
His voice was familiar. The other man from the livestream. If I hadnt heard the whole thing, I might have actually believed he was just an impatient customer.
I am. What are you buying?
My flat, indifferent tone seemed to catch him off guard. After a moment, a nasty smirk spread across his face.
I want twenty eels. Deboned. Skinned. And mince them, nice and fine.
I grabbed an eel. A nail hammered through its head, pinning it to the cutting board where it writhed in agony.
You know, Fish Girl, the man drawled, his voice thick with innuendo, eels can be useful for a woman.
I ignored him. My knife, an extension of my hand, made a deft, diagonal slice, sliding along the creatures length and pulling out a clean, white spine in a single motion.
Want me to teach you how, Fish Girl?
When I continued to ignore him, he got up and reached for my face. I instinctively blocked his hand.
The next thing I knew, he was on his knees, clutching his wrist and howling.
You dare touch me? Do you have any idea who I am? he snarled.
Who are you? I asked, my voice calm. I truly didnt care.
Im He was about to reveal himself, but caught his tongue. He still had to play his part in Marks little drama.
The plastic curtain swished open, and a clean, well-manicured hand pushed it aside.
Mark was back.
He saw the man kneeling on the floor.
Caleb? What happened?
Mark, this psycho just attacked me for no reason! Caleb yelled.
I crossed my arms and looked at Mark. Oh? You two know each other?
Marks expression flickered. Not really. Hes been here before. Faye, did you hit him?
I raised an eyebrow. You could say that.
His face hardened with disapproval. Faye. Apologize to him.
No questions asked. Just an order to apologize. Such deep brotherly love.
My heart was already too numb to feel any more pain. All I wanted to do was laugh.
Not a chance.
My refusal was a slap in the face. Marks expression turned ugly. Before today, I would have smiled and charmed even the most difficult customer for the sake of the business.
Faye, dont make me force you. Apologize to Caleb.
Caleb smirked, a vicious, triumphant look on his face. Mark, you cant even control your own woman? What, she wont apologize? Fine. Then you can pay up!
His arrogance was astounding.
How much? I asked.
Caleb scrambled to his feet, pointing at a smudge on his sleeve. Two hundred thousand! This shirt was custom-made last week. Its ruined now, reeks of fish. And you touched me with your filthy hands. Its disgusting.
Whats the account number?
Talking big, arent we? Can you even afford it?
Caleb rattled off a string of numbers.
Sent, I said, not even blinking.
He checked his phone, a flash of surprise in his eyes, quickly replaced by a look of malicious amusement. Thats just for the shirt! You injured me! You owe me for lost wages!
Is eight hundred thousand enough?
Faye! Mark roared, grabbing my arm to stop me from making another transfer. Faye! He just wants an apology! Why are you giving him so much money? Get on your knees! Apologize to him, and hell let it go!
Mark shoved me, and I stumbled, catching myself on one knee. He tried to force my head down, but I refused to bow, my hand clutching my phone.
Oh, right. And for pain and suffering, emotional distress is a million enough for that? There. Ive sent it all.
In less than a minute, I had emptied the bank account. Not a single cent was left.
Are you insane? Marks face was ashen, his eyes looking at me like I was a complete madwoman.
What are you yelling about? You think its not enough? Fine! You can have it all!
I grabbed the metal cash box from the counter and smashed it on the ground. Coins and bills scattered everywhere, sticking to the wet, grimy floor.
A sharp, jarring pain shot up my arm. In that moment, I realized I hated him. I hated Mark with a rage so pure I wanted to tear him limb from limb.
Faye, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you know how much money you just gave him? That was everything we had! Marks voice was shaking. His eyes were daggers, ready to kill me.
My own eyes burned. I met his furious gaze, a silent war waging between us.
I pointed to the phone still streaming on the cutting board. I didnt have to look at the blood draining from Marks face.
Dont worry about it, I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. A mere two million. Pocket change. Let your good buddy have fun with it.
I snatched my ID from the counter and walked out to the street to hail a cab.
Mark chased after me.
Faye, wait. Listen to me. I can explain. His expression was desperate, all traces of his earlier anger gone.
Was it fun, Mark? Was it fun making a fool of me? A deep, cold wound hed carved inside me was finally beginning to bleed.
Dont worry, Mark. I can take a joke. You dont have to wait until youre tired of me. Ill leave on my own. Just give me back my ring.
The ring. My mentors wife had given it to me before she passed away. Give this to the man who loves you most, shed said.
I gave it to Mark.
But he didnt love me.
Im so sorry, Amelia. I was wrong about him. Ive tarnished your gift.
Faye, its not what you think
Dont say another word. Just give me the ring. After this, I never want to see you again. You make me sick.
A flicker of anger finally crossed his face. Faye, thats enough. Just listen to my explanation, and Ill forgive you for what you said. Youre a fishmonger. There are obstacles for us, real ones. But I can give you money, enough to set you up for life. Just tell me what you want.
The clouds overhead gathered, greedily swallowing the daylight.
I want my ring.
Youre being ridiculous! You think anyone actually wants this cheap piece of junk?
He ripped the red cord from his neck and threw it at me with all his might.
The ring hit a tree and bounced onto the grimy pavement. It rolled, a tiny, glittering circle in the filth, and disappeared down the narrow slit of a sewer grate.
My eyes flew wide, feeling as if they might tear at the corners. I scrambled toward the grate like a madwoman.
I plunged my hand in without a seconds hesitation.
The foul water swirled below, a putrid mix of fish guts, scales, and God knows what else. My fingers scrabbled through the sludge. I was becoming one with the filth on the ground, the stench filling my lungs with every ragged breath.
Faye, its just a ring! Are you serious?! Look at yourself! Have you no shame?! Mark ran over, trying to pull me back.
And then the sky opened up. A torrential downpour crashed down on us.
Mark, darling, is this the woman whos had you so bewitched? Your standards seem to have slipped.
A perfectly dressed woman holding an umbrella emerged from the coffee shop next door. The diamond necklace at her throat glittered, each facet reflecting my own pathetic, drenched form.
Chloe, shes just some girl I was messing with. I didnt know she was crazy. Dont worry, theres no way in hell I would ever marry her. Mark looked at me as if I were a piece of trash he couldnt get rid of. Thats enough, Faye! What is wrong with you today? How much more are you going to embarrass me?
I tasted blood in my mouth. I couldnt hear anything they were saying. I just kept reaching, my fingers clawing through the muck, searching for that tiny, precious circle of metal.
It was the only thing my mentors wife, the woman who was more of a mother to me than anyone, had left me.
Marks patience finally snapped. He raised his hand and slapped me, hard, across the face.
Faye, stop it! Ill buy you a new one! A better one! That piece of crap isnt worth anything! Get up!
Chloe giggled, her hand covering her mouth. Leave her be, Mark. Shes just a fishmonger. Shes never seen anything nice. A little ring is probably the most valuable thing shes ever owned. Shes really not in your league.
Mark raised his hand to hit me again.
But I finally gave up. I slowly pulled my hand from the sewer, letting the rain wash the filth away.
The raindrops pelted my skin, a cold, familiar stinging. I looked up at Mark, a deep sadness welling inside me.
Mark, that night when you held me were you thinking about the future we were building together, or were you laughing at how stupid I was?
His expression wavered. I knew he understood which night I meant.
My birthday.
Hed bought me a cheap strawberry shortcake. The plastic fork it came with bent when you tried to use it. But we sat on the floor, eating it with a six-dollar bottle of cheap whiskey, and we were happy.
Then a pipe burst in the living room, spraying us with rusty water, a sudden downpour we couldnt escape.
We were helpless. So we just sat there on the floor, soaked to the bone, laughing like idiots.
Mark! One day, were going to buy a huge, beautiful house! Itll have a massive, soft bed, at least a king-size! And a giant kitchen, so I can cook you all kinds of amazing food. You know, Im an amazing cook. I was almost a world-class chef.
Why did he nod his head back then?
Why did he let me believe in a dream he had already been living his whole life?
The rain seemed to stop, or maybe it never did. Marks face was slick with water.
Faye, Ill say it again. I cant marry a fishmonger. But I can give you money. A lot of money.
I hope you dont regret this.
I flagged down a taxi.
Mark didnt know.
I wasnt a fishmonger.
I was going to the airport.
I was going home.

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