She said she was at a yoga retreat in Lake Como—no phone, just “realignment.” Meanwhile, her Instagram showed sunsets, smoothies, and poolside shots. But one photo stopped me cold: the blue-and-white tiles, the lemon tree. I’d seen them before—at my boss Renzo’s house.
When she came back, glowing with new designer luggage, I stayed quiet. But a week later, I caught her walking straight into Renzo’s office after hours. No badge. No hesitation.
She admitted it when I confronted her: she was seeing him. My boss. My sister. Suddenly, my “career uncertainty” meetings with him made perfect sense—I was being pushed out.
I didn’t explode. I prepared. Applied for new jobs. Landed one at a women-led agency that valued loyalty. On my last day, I handed Renzo my resignation and casually mentioned Arden’s bracelet he left on my desk. The flinch on his face was enough.
Months later, Renzo was fired for “leadership complaints.” Arden moved back home. And me? I was thriving.
The truth is, I didn’t need revenge. I just needed to walk away and rebuild. Sometimes the best comeback is living so well, they don’t even recognize you anymore.
