What I saw made my heart sink. Inside was a floral dress. But not just any dress.
It was the most hideous, gaudy dress I’d ever seen. And it was enormous—at least five sizes too large. “Oh, my,” I said, trying to sound grateful.
“This is… unexpected.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Giselle cooed, her eyes sparkling with smugness. “I saw it and thought of you right away. You should cut back on eating, or you’ll need this dress soon.
And if that happens, don’t be surprised if Declan leaves you.”
I felt like I’d been slapped. My cheeks flushed with shame, my pulse pounding. But I refused to let her see me break.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “Thank you so much,” I said, my voice cool but firm. “This is… kind of you.”
Her smile flickered briefly.
She hadn’t expected that. She wanted me to cry, to falter, to give her another reason to belittle me. But I was finished with her games.
This time, I’d be the one in control. If she wanted to play dirty, I’d show her how it’s done. That night, as I lay awake, I couldn’t stop thinking about how to get even with Giselle.
It had to be clever, something that wouldn’t tarnish my reputation but would strike her where it hurt. I needed her to realize I wasn’t someone to mess with, without sinking to her level of malice. Then, the idea hit me.
A gift card. Giselle loved to show off her supposed wealth and status, so I’d give her a gift card to the priciest restaurant in town, the kind where a meal could cost a month’s rent. But here’s the twist.
The card would have no balance. The next morning, I visited the restaurant and got a gift card. At home, I scribbled “$500” on the back with a marker and slid it into a fancy envelope.
Then, I waited for the right moment. A few days later, I called Giselle. “Hi, it’s me,” I said, sounding warm and remorseful.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant. I know we’ve had our differences, but I want us to get along. So, I got you a small gift.”
“Oh?” she replied, her voice laced with skepticism.
“What’s this about?”
“I just want to mend things,” I said. “To prove it, I got you a $500 gift card to that restaurant you adore. Maybe you could take someone special, like Juliette?”
There was a pause on the line.
I could almost sense her smirking. “Well, that’s thoughtful of you,” she said at last. “I suppose I could take Juliette.
She’s been such a good friend.”
I smiled to myself. “I’m glad you like it. I hope this brings us closer.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will,” she said with a laugh.
“Thank you, dear.”
I hung up, feeling a mix of glee and nervous anticipation. Now, I just had to wait. A week later, Giselle called, her voice trembling with anger.
“You! What have you done?!”
“What do you mean?” I asked, feigning innocence. “The gift card was empty!” she shouted.
“I took Juliette to that fancy restaurant, and when the bill came, they said there was no money on it! We had to call her parents to pay because we didn’t have enough cash! It was humiliating!”
“Oh no,” I gasped, pretending to be shocked.
“I’m so sorry. I must’ve messed up when I bought it. I thought I put $500 on it.
My mistake!”
“You did this on purpose!” she hissed. “You knew exactly what you were doing!”
“I really didn’t,” I said, keeping my tone even. “But if you’re that upset, maybe Juliette’s parents can cover it again next time.
She’s practically family, right?”
There was a long, tense silence. I could feel her fury through the phone. “You… you’ll pay for this,” she spat before hanging up.
I put the phone down and let out a long, satisfied sigh. The plan had worked better than I’d hoped. Not only was Giselle embarrassed in front of Juliette, but she now knew I wasn’t someone she could push around anymore.
In the days that followed, I noticed a change in Giselle. She didn’t call as often, and when she did, her tone was subdued. The snarky remarks and sly jabs stopped cold.
It was as if she finally realized her behavior had consequences, that I wouldn’t just sit back and take her cruelty anymore. I didn’t expect her to apologize. People like Giselle never admit they’re wrong.
But her silence was apology enough.
