Revenge
Rodney grew up as a quiet, thoughtful boy. His parents spared no expense for their only child, enrolling him in clubs and lessons so he’d become well-rounded—karate, chess, drawing. As he got older, he picked up the guitar.
While his classmates flirted with girls, sneaked cheap wine and cigarettes, Rodney sat alone, strumming chords and humming rough melodies.
His parents dreamed of his success. Their little market town of fourteen thousand held no future. With his grades, he breezed into university in the county capital, landing a spot in the prestigious IT department.
A day before term began, his father drove him to stay with his aunt. Her husband had died a year prior, and her own children had moved on. Dorms were loud, full of distractions. His mother stayed home to avoid tearful goodbyes. His father left him with a new laptop and a wad of cash before driving off.
For the first time, Rodney was free. His aunt barely cared what he did—just that he ate meals and came home before midnight.
Freed from parental eyes, his classmates went wild, skipping lectures. Rodney kept to himself, unused to parties. Then he saw Vanessa—blonde, striking.
The lads joked she only enrolled in this male-dominated course to find a husband. She barely scraped by, yet professors never failed her. Who could? It was a pleasure just watching her, correcting her mistakes, brushing her shoulder.
But Vanessa had no shortage of admirers. She dismissed Rodney as a bore. What would they talk about? Music? Chess? Dull coding? He didn’t fit her world.
Still, he ached for her. He wanted to be near her every second—lectures, dorms. On his next trip home, he announced he’d move into halls. His aunt lived too far; the commute wasted time. His father shouted, his mother wept.
But Rodney swore it wouldn’t hurt his studies. “You can trust me,” he said. “I stick out like a sore thumb being the only one not in halls.” Reluctantly, they relented.
Rodney was overjoyed. Now he’d see Vanessa outside lectures (which she rarely attended). He invented excuses to visit her room. She still ignored him.
Even in group outings, she refused to dance with him, slipping outside to smoke. He took up cigarettes too, but it brought him no closer to her.
Summer break was torture—two months at home, no Vanessa. He counted the days until term resumed. Another year passed.
Rodney excelled. Lecturers praised him, predicting great things. Returning to campus on the 31st of August (his mother wouldn’t let him leave sooner), he learned Vanessa had married. The news gutted him. Her groom was a star athlete, the university’s pride.
Vanessa vanished from halls. They moved into his flat. Rodney only saw her in lectures, watching from afar. Before winter exams, he asked to borrow her notes.
“Ask someone else,” she said. “I need to study too.”
“The test’s in two days. I’ll return them tomorrow,” he pleaded, eyes desperate.
She hesitated, then handed them over.
The next day, Rodney skipped lectures—his first unexcused absence—just to return the notes in person. In the canteen, he’d overheard her complain her husband was off at another tournament. Exams? He got passes without trying.
Rodney pried her address from gossipy girls. He timed it perfectly—she’d be home after lectures. He just wanted to see her, confess his love. Heart pounding, he rang the bell.
The door swung open. Her hulking husband loomed in the frame.
“What?” he barked.
“Vanessa’s notes,” Rodney mumbled.
“Hand ’em over.” The man snatched them, slammed the door.
Rodney switched classes, moved back to his aunt’s.
***
Fifteen years later
The office buzzed, toasting Rodney Carter’s promotion to director. His predecessor had been promoted to London. Among the staff were old classmates—like Lydia Shaw, a meek, diligent mother of twins.
She pulled Rodney aside, thrilled for him. “I always knew you’d go far,” she said, adjusting her glasses, champagne flute in hand.
Rodney glanced at the framed photo on her desk—a happy family. *Plain Jane, but she married well.*
“I’m glad too,” he said smoothly. “I’ll move you to a role you deserve.”
“Thanks.” She fiddled with her glasses again. “But—you remember Vanessa? Vanessa Elwood? From our year?”
Of course he remembered. The unrequited love, her indifference. He pretended to search his memory.
“She married in third year. Changed her name. Her husband graduated with us—Michael Donovan. The athlete? Ring any bells?”
Rodney shrugged.
How could he forget the humiliation when Donovan slammed the door?
“Bad business,” Lydia whispered. “Vanessa got pregnant right away. He talked her into an abortion. ‘Live a little first,’ he said. Then—no more kids. Last year, she found out he’s got a mistress, a son on the side. She filed for divorce. Stayed with me a week—flat was his.” She paused. “I always thought you fancied her.”
“Did I? Hardly recall.” Lie.
“Anyway, she needs work. I know she wasn’t top of the class, but I’ll help her.” Lydia waited, hopeful.
Rodney pretended to consider. His heart hammered. *She knows about me. She’ll see me now.* He drained Lydia’s glass.
“Thirsty,” he muttered, handing it back.
“So—shall I tell her to come in? You’ll help?”
“Remind me next week. I’ll squeeze her in.”
“Cheers, Rodney! Knew you were a mate.”
“Don’t thank me yet. If she underperforms, I’ll sack her.”
“She’ll work hard,” Lydia promised.
The party raged on. Rodney eyed the drunk crowd. *Time to shut this down.*
Driving home in his new Audi, he pictured Vanessa. *Divorced. Wonder what she looks like now? Still gorgeous?*
***
After graduation, a top firm headhunted Rodney. His software designs impressed. He married a sweet, dim girl—no interest in his work, just shopping and Instagram. Two years in, he divorced. Women came and went. None trapped him.
***
Monday. Lydia hovered in his doorway.
“Got a minute? About Vanessa. When should she come?”
Rodney leaned back. “If I’m busy, my deputy can—”
“No. I’ll see her. Thursday, 1 PM.”
“Cheers! I’ll ring her.”
On Thursday, Rodney delayed his return, making her wait.
In the lobby, he spotted her—nervous, desperate. He strode past, into his office. Five minutes later, he buzzed his secretary.
Vanessa stepped in, timid.
“Sit.”
He studied her. Her beauty had softened, aged. The spark was gone—replaced by weariness. She wore a prim dress, minimal makeup.
“Hello, Rodney. Recognise me?”
“How could I forget?”
She lowered her eyes.
“You’ve changed,” she murmured.
“Where’ve you worked? Why leave?” He took control.
She listed mediocre jobs—receptionist, clerk. Regaining composure, she met his gaze.
“I need work. Any role.”
“Any? Even cleaner?”
She flinched. He expected her to storm out. Instead, she gripped her handbag, knuckles white.
“Joking,” he said. “Lydia explained our work? You’ve no relevant experience. I can start you as secretary.”
Her eyes lit up. *She’s broke. Desperate.*
“Thank you.”
“Don’t rush. Think.”
She started the next day. He assigned his old secretary elsewhere. He nitpicked, made her redo reports, shifted meetings without warning. She bit her lip, near tears, but endured it.
He hated himself but couldn’t stop.
Once, he stole files from her desk. Next day, he watched her panic, searching wildly.
“They’re gone! I left them here—I don’t—”
“Maybe I’m punishing you,” he said coldly.
She burst into tears. “You are.”
“Thought I’d still be mad for you? Now I’m the boss, and you’ll take anything to keep this job. Right?”
Mascara streaked. Lipstick smudged. She looked broken. His chest ached.
“What’ll you do to keep this job?” he pressed.
She stared, baffled.
“Anything? For a secretary’s wage?”
“I’ve no choice,” she whispered.
“There’s always a choice.” His voice turned sharp. “You barely noticed me then. Why grovel now?”
“Dad’s dead. Mum’s ill. I’ve no money left.” She stood, fumbling with her blouse buttons.
“You’d sleep with me for a paycheck?” He grabbed her wrists. Her face was close—fine lines, tired eyes. “You stillHe let go of her hands, stepped back, and quietly said, “You’re hired as my personal assistant—no conditions, no games, just a fresh start,” and in that moment, the weight of fifteen years finally slipped away.
