Chapter 3: Breaking Point

But Rachel was still furious. “But today is my birthday, and you give me something like this? And in front of my friends? Have you even thought about my feelings?”

Her voice cracked and rose. She dabbed at her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup, but the tears were real now.

“Don’t think I don’t know. The birthday gifts you gave your ex were a Louis Vuitton bag, a Cartier bracelet, and 999 red roses.”

Her words hit hard—I’d told her about those gifts in a different context, never thinking they’d come back like this.

“But what about me? Am I only worth this worthless stuff?” Her voice trembled, every word heavy with resentment. She looked at me like I was the villain in her story. “Am I some kind of cheap girl to you?”

Her sobs came in waves, quiet at first, then louder. The table hushed, all eyes on her like a live soap opera.

Seeing her cry, her friends glared at me like they wanted to throw me out the window.

Jessica’s glare was sharp as a switchblade. Brittany’s nostrils flared. Melissa whispered to Erica, shaking her head in over-the-top disgust.

Jessica snorted, “Mike, are you even a man? What normal guy gives his girlfriend something like this? Only Rachel is soft-hearted. If it were me, I’d have slapped you already.”

Melissa waved her fork like a gavel. Erica whispered furiously to Rachel. Brittany snapped a photo of the jar, probably already prepping it for a group chat roast.

“Rachel is so pretty—how is she not as good as your ex?” Melissa said, flashing her phone for emphasis.

“Are you still hung up on your ex or what?” Brittany added, eyes locked on me.

I felt like I was on trial, every move scrutinized. My cheeks flushed, not just with anger but shame. I’d always tried to show Rachel she was special, but none of it seemed to matter.

“Rachel, I never meant to compare you to my ex, and I don’t think you’re worse than her. Besides…” I reached out, voice barely above a whisper, but she pulled away, shutting down.

Melissa cut me off: “Stop with the useless talk. Right now, send Rachel a birthday Venmo and maybe you can make up for your mistake. Let’s say… $800.”

Her suggestion was so specific it felt rehearsed. She grinned, daring me to refuse.

“$800 isn’t enough,” Jessica shot back. “I say it has to be $8,000. What do you all think?”

They all started chiming in, voices overlapping, the whole scene turning surreal, like a reality TV ambush. “Right, $8,000!” Melissa cheered, pumping her fist. “It’s not like you can’t afford it,” Erica added. Brittany’s eyes sparkled, clearly loving the chaos.

My face went cold. My jaw clenched, fists curling in my lap. I could afford $8,000, but not like this—not forced by a pack of mean girls.

Even if today’s gift really was just a jar of paper stars, that’s no reason for them to treat me like this.

My voice shook with disbelief. “Can’t we just have a nice meal together? Do you have to do this?”

Melissa jabbed her finger for emphasis, her voice rising so loud people at the bar turned to stare. “Don’t change the subject. We’ve already told you, it’s not about the money. What girls want is your attitude.”

I tried to understand, but their logic twisted in my mind. No matter what I did, it would never be enough.

They kept saying it wasn’t about the money, but every word out of their mouths was about how the gift wasn’t valuable enough.

I looked around, hoping for help, but the rest of the restaurant just watched, eager for more drama.

So what exactly is ‘attitude’ to them? I thought about all the times I’d supported Rachel, made her laugh, gone out of my way to make her feel loved. Apparently, that didn’t count—not unless it was posted online with a price tag.

A fire rose in my chest. I kept my face blank and said, “Sorry, I’m not sending a Venmo.” My words were calm, but inside, I was shaking. I looked Rachel in the eyes, hoping she’d see the real me.

That set off a bomb at the table. Jessica’s chair screeched as she jumped up, fists pounding the table. The air turned heavy, everyone holding their breath for what would happen next.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jessica stared at me in disbelief. “We’re giving you a way out, and you actually refuse?”

Melissa faked a gasp, playing to the audience. “My girl’s as pretty as a movie star. If she asks for the stars or the moon, you go get them, got it?”

Brittany gestured to Rachel like a pageant queen, voice dripping with mock admiration. “See, girls? Just eight grand and we’ve exposed the jerk.” Erica smirked, clearly pleased with the chaos.

Rachel blinked, her anger replaced by confusion. She looked lost, like she was rethinking everything she knew about me.

Ever since we started dating, I’d almost always agreed to her every request, never embarrassing her in public. But tonight, something had snapped.

Seeing her red eyes and hurt expression, I felt my resolve start to crack. The sight of her near tears made me want to fix everything. But I knew I couldn’t.

Though Rachel can be a bit spoiled, she’s not a bad person. Usually, we get along fine—binge-watching sitcoms, swapping playlists, inside jokes only we understood. There were good times. It was hard to reconcile those memories with tonight’s disaster.

Maybe she really was disappointed not to get the gift she wanted. Maybe this was just a misunderstanding spiraling out of control. I tried to remind myself as I swallowed my pride.

And it’s always her friends stirring the pot, so I couldn’t blame her entirely. I glanced at Jessica, Brittany, and Melissa—professional pot-stirrers. They’d always been quick to find drama where there wasn’t any.

The words were on the tip of my tongue—an apology, maybe a joke. Anything to reset the night.

Then, suddenly, someone splashed a full glass of wine in my face.

The cold shock of red wine snapped me to reality. It hit my lips, stung my eyes. Time slowed as everyone stared. Jessica stood up, holding the empty glass and cursing at me, her face twisted in fury.

She jabbed her finger at me, daring me to react. The wine dripped down my face, soaking into my shirt, staining it deep burgundy. “Is eight grand enough to kill you?” she spat. Somewhere, a waiter gasped and fumbled his tray.

“What I hate most is stingy men. If you don’t have money, why are you dating?” Her words echoed, and phones started recording.

A hush fell over the room, broken only by someone’s phone camera clicking.

Red wine dripped down my hair and chin, soaking my new shirt. The chill seeped into my skin, my cheeks burning with humiliation and anger. I pawed at the table for napkins, but the dispenser was empty. I grabbed paper towels from the bar, my hands shaking as I dabbed at my face, feeling every eye in the room on me.

Rachel watched me get splashed and did nothing. She just sat there, staring at the puddle of wine spreading across the table. My heart sank further.

Their voices blended together, a chorus of condemnation. Each word hit like a slap—"stingy," "pathetic," "loser." I was getting roasted alive, every insult piling on like hot coals.

Melissa muttered about karma. Jessica hissed that I’d get what was coming. It was like a witch trial in a cocktail bar.

I couldn’t take it anymore and finally exploded, shouting, “Haven’t you had enough?” My voice cracked, louder than I meant, and I slammed my hand on the table. Plates rattled, the room fell silent, even the kitchen staff pausing mid-chop.

Rachel was startled, and immediately complained, “My friends were just standing up for me out of concern. Why are you being so aggressive? Aren’t you embarrassed enough?”

Her voice was cold, her words sharp as broken glass. She looked at me with a mixture of hurt and disdain.

I stood up, my chair scraping back, and for the first time all night, nobody tried to stop me.