Faking Disability: Two Years of Deceit for Revenge

"I'm serious," I said, prying her fingers off.

Turning around, I looked at the face that now repulsed me to my core.

"Two years of theater. Aren't you tired?" I spat. "The ring is gone, and so is any lingering affection. How much longer do you intend to string me along?"

Her eyes flickered, but she quickly donned her old, fragile mask.

"What are you talking about?" she sobbed. "My legs were genuinely impaired. Treatment has just started showing results. Are you ditching me now? You always resented me, eager to flee?"

Once again, she wielded her disability and fear of abandonment for sympathy. But now, her masterful act was just ridiculous.

I had no energy left to argue with her. Silently, I went back to retrieve the soiled, vacant delivery box.

Without sparing another glance at her or the gawking crowd, I pivoted and trudged into the deluge.

From behind, Mark's puzzled tone carried over. "The truth is out, so what? Scared he'll cry?"

Someone echoed, "An heiress falling for a delivery boy? No way."

Jessica's response eluded my ears.

With the relationship shattered, my delivery gig lost its purpose.

I called my supervisor to resign.

He was baffled. "What's up? You are killing it here. Why quit out of the blue? What about funding your girlfriend's recovery?"

"She's recovered," I smiled bitterly, "fully."

"That's good news," he said sincerely. "After all you've endured, she'll surely repay your kindness. Better days ahead, buddy."

"Better days?" I let out a silent, sardonic laugh.

Jessica was the one who had suggested this grueling job to share burdens. In truth, it was engineered to grind me down on Mark's behalf.

Thankfully, that chapter was closed.

I gathered my belongings and arrived at the city's most opulent hotel the next day.

In the lobby, I looked every bit the disheveled wanderer with my bags in tow.

My ragged appearance clashed with the elegant surroundings, drawing sidelong glances and whispers.

A shrill, venomous voice echoed from behind me. "Well, if it isn't our tireless delivery dynamo, Noah Lane."

Turning around, I saw Mark and his cronies standing there.

I pressed on without pause, lugging my gear deeper into the lobby, but Mark had no intention of letting me slip away.

He and his entourage encircled me, gawking as if I were a circus freak.

"Check this out." Mark theatrically pinched his nostrils, feigning offense at some imagined odor. "A grubby schmuck waltzing into Regal International? Security! What's this place coming to, letting in street scum? It's revolting!"

His cronies piled on.

"Hey, don't soil the rugs."

"Mark, remember? This guy is all principled, claiming money means nothing. Now that his gimpy girlfriend is history, he is here trolling for a rich benefactress?"

Their malicious cackles reverberated through the lobby.

Enduring their fabricated slander, I fixed Mark with a steely glare and ground my teeth. "Back off!"

Mark's expression soured. "Say that again!"

He lunged forward, shoving me with brutal strength.

Unprepared, I reeled backward, slamming into an enormous display cabinet of premium wines and spirits.