Chapter 8: Girlboss Moves

I don’t know which of them knocked on my door for a while, but I didn’t open it. I let the knocking go on, curled up on my couch, listening to the muffled voices arguing in the hallway.

After about half an hour, it was finally quiet outside. I waited a few more minutes, just to be sure. Then I peeked through the peephole, heart racing.

I peeked through the peephole, made sure no one was there, then tiptoed out and brought all the gifts inside. I piled the bags on my kitchen table, sorting through each one—some for keeps, some destined for eBay. Listing them was almost fun—hashtag ‘girlboss’ in every description, ready for the TikTok crowd.

I’d originally planned to leave it at that. I brewed myself some herbal tea, settled onto the couch, and let the exhaustion roll off my shoulders.

Seeing the two of them fall out put my mind at ease. Even their little bromance couldn’t survive this mess. Sweet justice.

After all, I was busy making money, getting my nails done, reading tarot, running my TikTok, updating my life as a bankrupt heiress returned home—I really didn’t have time for their drama. My phone buzzed with new followers, tarot requests, DMs from girls asking about my hustle. The world kept spinning, with or without Derek’s nonsense.

But just now, Derek had made me fall down. My hip still ached, a bruised reminder that I deserved better.

I’m a very vengeful person. I smiled to myself, plotting my next move.

Thinking this, I answered Marcus’s call. I let it ring twice before picking up, just to make him sweat.

“Are you okay?” Marcus sounded worried I might do something drastic. His voice was thick with concern, like he half-expected me to be on a rooftop somewhere.

I sniffled and was silent for a long time before saying, “I’m really tired, I want to sleep, but my heart doesn’t feel good today, I don’t want to take sleeping pills… Marcus, don’t hang up, keep me company, okay? Sorry for troubling you again.”

I curled into a ball, phone pressed to my ear, letting my voice go small and vulnerable.

Marcus was still basking in the joy of my ex’s downfall—how could he feel troubled?

I could almost hear him grinning through the phone, relieved to be my hero for a night.

Before sleeping, I mumbled, “Marcus, I’m going to sleep. Good night.”

My voice was soft, sleep heavy on my tongue. I let my breathing slow, just loud enough for him to hear.

On the other end came a low good night and a barely audible sigh. The silence stretched, and for a second, I thought he might cry too. He lingered, as if wanting to say more, then finally hung up. He was so anxious.

From that day on, Marcus started reaching out to me first. The texts came every morning, little check-ins: “How’s your day?” “Did you sleep well?” It was sweet, and I made sure to reply just often enough to keep him guessing.

And I—didn’t take the initiative, didn’t refuse, didn’t take responsibility. Let him do the chasing for once.

A week later, Derek called me from a new number. I let it ring to voicemail, then checked the transcript. Still the same stiff tone.

He spoke stiffly, saying he still had some of my things and wanted to give them to me in person. The subtext was clear—he missed me, but pride kept him from saying it out loud.

I didn’t even know which way his house faced—what could he possibly have of mine? It’s not like I left a toothbrush or a sweatshirt at his place. What could he possibly need to return? He just wanted an excuse to see me. His ego wouldn’t let him admit it, but it was written all over the message.

I didn’t say a word and blocked that number too. I pressed block and tossed my phone on the bed, grinning.

Sure enough, soon after, Derek came to my door and knocked. I heard his shoes scuffing the welcome mat, the knock sharp and insistent.

“Rachel, open up,” Derek said. “I have something to say to you.”

His voice was softer than before, but I let him stew a moment before finally opening the door.

I opened the door. He was obviously dressed up—fitted casual suit, hair styled, a faint men’s cologne. He looked like he’d stepped out of a GQ spread—trying way too hard for a simple handoff. Just on looks alone, he was pretty impressive. No wonder he’s so full of himself, thinking I fell for him at first sight. If only he’d put this much effort into our relationship.

He glanced at me, looked away, and said awkwardly, “Returning your things.” He couldn’t even meet my eyes as he held out the box, the sunglasses inside barely touched.

He took out a gift I’d given him before—a pair of sunglasses, pretty expensive. Back when my family wasn’t bankrupt, my brother was always buying random stuff. Once when I visited, I grabbed it and never used it, so I gave it to him.

I barely remembered the brand, but I took the box and tossed it in the trash by the door, then went to close the door. He watched the sunglasses hit the trash, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“…Wait.” Derek blocked the door with his arm. “Rachel, don’t you have anything to say to me?” He looked a little desperate, like he’d practiced a speech in the mirror and now couldn’t remember his lines.

Are you talking about your dad, you brat. I thought to myself.

I folded my arms, waiting for him to actually say something real. After a while, seeing I didn’t answer, Derek cleared his throat awkwardly. He looked everywhere but at me, voice strained.

“You’re just going to cut things off like this, not planning to give our parents an explanation? My mom mentioned you a few days ago. You’re really being immature about this.”

His words were sharp, but his eyes were pleading. The power dynamic had shifted, and he knew it. As if he’d finally found a reason to see me, he spoke confidently: “Come to my parents’ house for dinner tomorrow. Let’s talk things out face to face.” He was trying to regain control, using family as a safety net.

“Are you sure you want to say it face to face?” I tilted my head slightly at him. I wanted to see him squirm. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

Derek hesitated, then, as if thinking of something, said firmly, “Yes, face to face.” His jaw set, like this was some kind of final showdown.

I nodded, said okay, and closed the door before he could reply. I left him standing there, caught between pride and regret, door closing on whatever speech he’d prepared.