PART 1: THE MAFIA BOSS REJECTED HER—UNTIL SHE STARTED DATING HIS FRIEND

THE MAFIA BOSS REJECTED HER—UNTIL SHE STARTED DATING HIS FRIEND — PART 1

I stared at my phone through a blur of tears, reading the message I had been writing in my head for the past 3 hours.

We’re done. I can’t do this anymore. You chose her, so stay with her. Don’t contact me again.

I signed it with my name.

Mia.

My finger hovered over the send button while Bailey sat across from me on the couch, one hand wrapped around a glass of wine, watching me with the grim patience of a woman who had already decided the right thing for me and was waiting for me to catch up.

Three years. That was how much of my life I had given to Derek Chen before I found him in the parking lot of our favorite restaurant, kissing the coworker he had always insisted was just a friend. It was the same restaurant where we had had our first date. The same place where he had told me he loved me for the first time.

The irony was clean enough to cut.

“Do it,” Bailey

said. “Send it. Rip off the Band-Aid. He doesn’t deserve an explanation, but you deserve closure.”

She was right.

I pressed send before I could lose my nerve, then threw the phone across the room as if it had burned me.

“There. Done,” I said, reaching for the wine bottle and pouring myself too much. “I never have to see Derek’s stupid face or hear his stupid excuses again. I’m done with men. Completely done. I’m going to become a nun. Do they accept nonreligious angry wine drinkers?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how nuns work,” Bailey said, retrieving my phone from where it had landed by the television. “But I support your journey into holy—”

She stopped.

I looked up from my aggressive wine drinking.

“What?”

“Mia,” she said carefully. “You sent it to the wrong number.”

She turned the screen toward me.

My stomach dropped.

The number was

one digit off from Derek’s.

One digit.

And someone had already responded.

Wrong number, but I’m intrigued. Who chose who over you? And more importantly, are you free tonight?

Unknown.

“Oh my God.” I grabbed the phone. “Oh my God, I sent my breakup text to a complete stranger.”

Bailey leaned over my shoulder and read the message again.

“A complete stranger who is apparently interested. That’s actually kind of smooth. ‘Are you free tonight?’ Bold move, mysterious wrong-number guy.”

“I can’t believe this.”

I was already typing.

I’m so sorry. That wasn’t meant for you. Please ignore.

His reply came almost immediately.

Why would I ignore the most interesting text I’ve gotten all year? Tell me about him. The guy who was stupid enough to lose you.

I showed Bailey.

“He’s either a serial killer or really bored,” she said. “Or actually interested. Come on. What’s the harm? You’re

never going to meet him. You might as well vent to a stranger. It’s basically therapy.”

She refilled both of our glasses.

“Plus, he called the mystery guy stupid for losing you. I like him already.”

Against my better judgment, I typed back.

Three years together. Caught him cheating tonight with his coworker who was “just a friend.”

Classic, he replied. Let me guess. He said you were overreacting, that it meant nothing, and that she came on to him.

I laughed through my tears.

All of the above. Plus, “it just happened” and “you’re not being fair.”

Men are predictable. Also idiots. You’re better off without him.

That’s what everyone keeps saying. It doesn’t make it hurt less.

No. But it makes the revenge fantasy more satisfying. What’s his name? I know people who know people. One call and his car mysteriously develops engine problems. Two calls and his credit score tanks. Three calls and he wakes up in a different state with no memory of how he got there.

I stared at the screen, unsure whether he was joking.

Bailey burst out laughing.

“Okay, he’s either actually dangerous or has a great sense of humor. Either way, I’m entertained.”

She topped off my wine again.

“Ask him which one.”

Are you serious or is this your version of cheering me up?

Little bit of both. But seriously, if you want him inconvenienced, I can make it happen. If you want him to suffer, that requires more planning. If you want him to disappear entirely, we’ll need to discuss payment options.

You’re insane.

I’m helpful. There’s a difference. So what will it be? Door number 1, 2, or 3?

Despite everything, I was smiling.

This complete stranger was ridiculous, possibly dangerous, and definitely not someone I should have been texting at midnight while wine-drunk and emotionally destroyed.

I just want him to regret it, I wrote. To realize what he lost. To see me happy without him and know he screwed up.

Boring, but healthy. Fine. We’ll do it the mature way. Step 1, stop crying over someone who doesn’t deserve your tears. Step 2, get dressed up and go somewhere you feel amazing. Step 3, post photos looking incredible and unbothered. Step 4, block him on everything so he can’t respond or grovel.

You’ve done this before.

I’ve seen it done correctly and incorrectly. Trust me, the revenge of living well beats car keying or social media drama. Plus, it’s legal, which is always a bonus.

Who are you?

Someone who appreciates a good wrong number. And someone who hates seeing people waste time on idiots who don’t value them. Now, have you eaten today?

The question caught me off guard.

What?

Food. Have you consumed any today, or have you been crying and drinking wine on an empty stomach?

I admitted it was the second one.

Terrible self-care. You need to eat. What’s nearby? I’ll have something delivered.

You can’t just order me food. I don’t even know you.

Which is exactly why you should let me. No ulterior motives. No expectations. Just one stranger making sure another stranger doesn’t make herself sick with grief and cheap wine.