**Revenge**
Rodney grew up as a quiet, bright boy. His parents spared no effort for their only child, enrolling him in every club and activity imaginable—just so he’d grow up well-rounded and educated. Rodney took up aikido, played chess, painted well. In his teens, he discovered the guitar.
While other lads his age took girls to the cinema, swigged cheap cider, and puffed on cigarettes behind the bike sheds, Rodney stayed home, strumming chords and rasping out songs in his untrained voice.
His parents dreamed of his future success. He had to keep studying. In their sleepy Devon town of fourteen thousand, there was nothing for him. After school, with his stellar grades, Rodney breezed into a prestigious IT course at a university in Manchester.
The day before lectures began, his father drove him to his aunt’s house—new, expensive laptop in tow. Her husband had passed a year ago, and her own kids had all moved out. The halls of residence were too rowdy, full of distractions. His mother wasn’t brought along—no need for a teary farewell. His dad left some cash for essentials and drove off.
For the first time, Rodney was on his own. His aunt took little interest in her nephew’s affairs, just made sure he was fed and home by curfew.
Freed from parental oversight, his course mates went wild, skipping lectures left and right. Rodney kept to himself—he’d never been one for parties. But from day one, he only had eyes for Vanessa, a stunning blonde.
The lads reckoned Vanessa had only enrolled in the male-dominated course to land herself a well-off husband. Her grades were dismal. Yet tutors rarely failed her. Who could blame them? It was a pleasure just to watch her, to explain concepts, to correct her mistakes with a brush of a hand on her shoulder.
But Vanessa had no shortage of admirers. She dismissed Rodney as a boring bookworm. What would they even talk about? Music? Chess? Dry computer science? By every measure, he wasn’t her type.
He pined for her anyway. He wanted to be near her every minute—in lectures, in halls. On his next trip home, Rodney announced he wanted to move into student housing. His aunt lived too far from campus. His father shouted; his mother cried.
But Rodney swore it wouldn’t affect his studies. He could be trusted. Besides, he stuck out like a sore thumb—almost the only one in his group not living on campus. Reluctantly, his parents gave in.
Rodney was over the moon. Now he’d see Vanessa not just in lectures (which she rarely attended) but in the evenings too. He invented any excuse to knock on her door. Yet Vanessa remained indifferent.
Even when they ended up in the same social circle, she refused to dance with him, slipping off to the balcony for a smoke. Rodney took up smoking too—but it didn’t bring him an inch closer to the golden-haired beauty.
Summer break was torture. Two months back in Devon, cut off from Vanessa. He suffered, counted the days, willed September to arrive. Another year passed.
Rodney excelled. His tutors sang his praises, predicting a brilliant future. Returning to halls on August 31st (his mother wouldn’t let him leave sooner), Rodney learned Vanessa had married. The news shattered him. Her new husband was a star athlete—older, the university’s pride and joy.
Vanessa vanished from halls, moving into his flat. Rodney only saw her in lectures, watching from afar. Just before winter exams, he asked to borrow her notes, claiming he’d missed a class.
“Ask someone else. I need to revise too,” she said.
“The test is tomorrow—I’ll bring them back by then, promise,” he pleaded, gazing at her with puppy-dog eyes.
Vanessa hesitated, then handed over the notebook.
The next day, Rodney skipped uni for the first time—just to return her notes in person. He’d overheard her complaining in the canteen that her husband was away at another competition. Tutors gave him automatic passes anyway.
He got her address from a gossipy mate. Timing his visit for when she’d be home, he went to her flat. He didn’t want anything—just to see her, talk, confess his love. Heart pounding, he rang the bell.
The door swung open. Her broad-shouldered husband loomed in the doorway.
“What d’you want?” he grunted.
“Returning Vanessa’s notes,” Rodney mumbled.
“Hand ’em over,” the man said, palm outstretched.
Rodney craned his neck, but the oaf blocked the entire doorway.
“I wanted to give them to her myself,” Rodney said, clutching the notebook.
Her husband sneered, snatched it, and slammed the door in his face.
Rodney switched courses and moved back to his aunt’s.
***
Fifteen years later
The office buzzed as Rodney Everett Carrington was toasted as the new director—his predecessor had been promoted to London. Among the staff were old uni mates, like quiet, dependable Lydia Potts, mother of twin boys.
She pulled Rodney aside, genuinely pleased for him.
“I always knew you’d go far,” she said, adjusting her thick-rimmed glasses, champagne flute in hand.
*”Plain Jane—and yet she married well,”* Rodney thought, recalling the framed photo on her desk: a happy family grinning at the camera.
“So did I,” he replied smoothly. “Now I can offer you a role you deserve.”
“Ta,” Lydia said, nudging her glasses again. “But that’s not why I brought it up. Remember Vicky? Vanessa Whitmore? She was in our year.”
Of course he remembered. The unrequited crush. Her indifference. But he pretended to rack his brains.
“She married in third year—changed her surname. Husband’s an alumnus too. You’d know him. Star footballer, uni’s golden boy. Surely you recall?” Rodney shrugged.
Oh, he remembered. The humiliation when that meathead had shut the door on him.
“Bad business, really. Vicky got pregnant straight off, and he talked her into an abortion. Said they weren’t ready, she should finish her degree first… Then no more kids came. A year ago, she found out he had a side-piece—a whole other family. Divorced him, of course. Stayed with me a week—flat was his.” Lydia paused, eyeing him. “I always thought you fancied her.”
“Did I?” Rodney lied.
“Anyway, she needs work. Not the sharpest, I know, but I’ll help her.” Lydia hesitated. “You could too?”
Rodney feigned contemplation. His heart hammered. *”She knows about my success. Asked for a favour. I’ll see her soon…”* He swiped Lydia’s champagne and downed it.
“Thirsty,” he said, handing back the empty glass.
“So, shall I call her? You’ll help?” Lydia pressed.
“Fine. Busy now—taking over, you know. Remind me next week, I’ll squeeze her in.”
“Ta, Rodney! Always knew you were decent.”
“Don’t thank me yet. If she slacks, she’s out.”
“She’ll work hard,” Lydia promised.
As the team celebrated, Rodney eyed the revelry. *”Best wrap this up before someone smashes the printer.”*
Driving home in his new Audi, he thought of Vanessa. *”Divorced. Wonder if she’s still pretty…”*
***
After uni, Rodney joined a top firm. His software designs stood out; he climbed fast.
He married a sweet but dim girl—no interest in tech, just social media and shopping. Bored, he divorced her in two years. Flings came and went. None pinned him down. Work became his life.
***
On Monday, Lydia appeared at his office door.
“Alright? Just reminding you—Vicky. When’s good?”
Rodney leaned back in his chair.
“Got a packed schedule. My deputy could—”
“No, I’ll handle it.” He flipped through his diary. He burned to see her—but wouldn’t rush.
“Thursday, one o’clock.”
Lydia beamed. “Cheers! I’ll ring her now.”
Come Thursday, Rodney scheduled a client meeting—deliberately late. Let her wait.
When he finally strode into reception, she was there. He nodded curtly, disappeared into his office, then summoned her five minutes later.
Vanessa stepped in timidly.
“Sit.”
He studied her. Still striking, but softer now. Her posture screamed defeat. She wore a plain dress, minimal makeup—the uniform of a job-seeker.
“Hi, Rodney,” she said shyly. “You recognised me?”
“How could I forget?”
She lowered her gaze.
“You’ve changed,” she murmured.
“Where’ve you worked? Why leave?” He took control.
She listed a few firms—receptionist, admin roles. Finding her footing, she met his eyes.
“I need work. Anything.”
“Anything? Even cleaning loos?” Rodney savoured her flinch. *Payback.*
She stiffened, cheeks flushing. For a second, he thought she’d boltAnd as they walked down the aisle a year later, Rodney realised that sometimes, the best revenge is simply living well—with the person who once never gave you a second glance.
