The clinking of glasses mingles with the laughter and murmur of the restaurant. We're all gathered around the table, our voices competing with the soft background music, but nothing can dim the glow that emanates from Katy. She smiles from ear to ear, almost trembling with excitement as she raises her hand and lets the light catch the ring she just showed us.

"Oh my God, Katy, it's gorgeous!" Ana exclaims, bringing her hands to her face as if she had seen a museum jewel.

I smile too, my cheeks burning with pure excitement. The ring shines, yes, but what catches me is not the stone itself, but what it means. A promise, a future, a dream come true. Katy speaks breathlessly, telling us every detail of how Daniel knelt in the middle of the park, in front of the fountain that was always his favorite place, and I feel my heart beat to the same rhythm as hers as she recreates the scene.

"I couldn't stop crying," she says, laughing, while fiddling with the ring.

We all laugh, excited, and at that moment I find myself wondering what it would be like if I were the one showing off a ring.

I take a deep breath. The idea shakes me strongly, but it's not foreign to me. In fact, I've been thinking about it for weeks. I'm twenty-seven years old, I have a good job as a graphic designer in a company that inspires and challenges me, and next to me... is Stefan. The man I chose, with whom I have shared three years of my life and whom I still look at with the same fascination as the first time I saw him.

I remember that day as if it were a scene painted in oil: the gallery was full of modern paintings, intense colors and dramatic shadows, but everything disappeared when I saw him. So proper, polite, with a warm smile and a deep voice that seemed to want to wrap you in confidence. He spoke to me of art, of travel, of dreams, and he did it with such sweet detail — tucking a strand of hair behind my ear when it came loose while I leaned over to observe a painting — that I had no choice but to melt hopelessly.

What started with shy glances and long conversations ended, months later, in the most beautiful relationship I've ever had. Three years together, three years of details, of unexpected flowers, of notes in my purse with phrases that I still keep as treasures. He's handsome, yes, but what really made me fall in love was the way he made me feel unique, as if I were the most important thing in his world.

Now that we have both finished our studies, that he has joined his father's company and I have taken a great professional step, I feel that nothing stands in the way of the next great chapter of our lives. I'm dying to start a new life with him, to take our love to the next level.

"Maybe so, right Emma?" Laura says, nudging me. "You'll be next, right?"

I laugh, but my chest fills with a warmth that betrays me. What if she's right?

Because in the last few weeks I've noticed Stefan... strange. More quiet, more distant, as if he were hiding something. I've been worried ever since, but now, listening to Katy, everything makes another kind of sense. Maybe he's plotting a surprise, maybe something as big as a ring hidden in a small velvet box.

I glance at my phone, resting next to the wine glass. The screen remains off, with no messages or calls, and a pang of unease runs through me. He hasn't called or responded to anything since yesterday, which is rare for him.

I leave him another short message, almost casual, just to see if he's okay.

When I look up again, Katy is still talking about the preparations, how they told their parents, how happy she is. I smile too, and while I discreetly caress the cold surface of my glass, I think that maybe Stefan is, at this very moment, looking for a ring.

The idea gives me a sweet shiver, one of those that runs down the back like a secret too big to keep. I look at my cell phone again, smile to myself and leave it aside. Now I want to focus even more on what my friend is saying. After all, this could be the prelude to my own story.

The night feels warm when I close the door of my apartment and I still have the smile painted on my lips from the meeting with my friends; Katy's happiness is contagious and I keep imagining what it would be like if one day I were the one showing off a ring on my finger. I leave my purse on the table, take off my heels and, before I even change clothes, I check my cell phone. Nothing.

I sigh. I've been trying to talk to Stefan all day, and the silence is starting to make me uncomfortable. I dial again, convinced that this time he will answer. The ringing sounds... and then I hear his voice.

"Hello."

I stand motionless, relieved. "Finally! Are you okay? You had me worried, Stefan."

"Yes... I was busy." His voice sounds tired, as if he had been running with a thousand things on his mind all day. "My father returned to the country."

My eyes widen and a huge smile spreads across my face. "Really? That's wonderful! So... will I finally get to meet him?"

I have wanted that moment for a long time. In three years of relationship I never had the opportunity to see his father, he was always traveling and absent. I want to welcome him properly, let him know how important his son is to me.

"Stefan..." I say excitedly before he can say anything. "If your father is okay with it, I could prepare a dinner here, in my house. The three of us together. What do you say?"

Silence. I can barely hear his breathing on the other end of the line. Finally he responds with the same heaviness:

"I'll see you tonight at eight."

Nothing more. No emotion, no reproaches, no details. I stay with the phone glued to my ear even after he hangs up, but my heart is beating hard and anxiously, as if to overthink his curt attitude. Maybe he's exhausted, I think, maybe his mind is on a thousand things right now and it's better not to bother him. What matters now is that in a few hours I could be having dinner with the most important man in his life.

And I want everything to be perfect.

I get to work. I tidy up the apartment until every corner shines, place candles and prepare a menu that makes me feel proud. I cook as if each dish were a declaration of love, imagining the smiles I will see later, the approval of Stefan's father, the sparkle in my boyfriend's eyes as he feels proud.

When I get ready, I carefully choose an elegant but sober champagne-colored dress. Nothing tight, covered down to below the knees and with long sleeves. Stefan likes me to wear these kinds of outfits. I put on just the right amount of makeup and keep my hair tied back quite simply. I want my first impression to speak of respect, warmth and love.

The clock strikes five past eight when I hear the door open. It's Stefan. He has the key I gave him months ago and enters without announcing himself, as he always does. I leave my room and my heart skips a beat.

"Hello, love." I approach him and, as usual, try to kiss him.

But he turns his face and avoids it.

I stand paralyzed, with the kiss suspended in the air. My gaze shifts to the door, hoping to see someone else behind him.

"Where's your father?" I ask, still smiling.

Stefan looks at me expressionlessly.

"He's not coming."

I feel something break in my chest.

"What do you mean he's not coming? Why?"

He takes a deep, heavy breath.

"Because he's not... and I'm not staying either."

I frown, confused. I look at the immaculate table, the hot dishes, the lit candles. Everything becomes unreal to me.

"I don't understand," I whisper. "What do you mean? It's Friday, you always stay for the weekend."

Stefan runs a hand through his hair and fixes his eyes on me coldly. "I've come for two things. The first is that someone will come tomorrow to pick up the things I have in this place and the second..." He stops for a second, and at that moment I feel that I'm running out of air. "Is to tell you that I don't want to continue with this relationship anymore. I don't want to be with you anymore."

I freeze, unable to react. The sound of the candles crackling on the table is the only thing that reminds me that the world keeps turning.

"What?" The word breaks in my throat. "Are you... breaking up with me?"

He nods, without blinking.

Rage rises like fire.

"Tell me why! I deserve an explanation, Stefan!"

His lips curve into a bitter grimace.

"I got bored of you," is all he says.

Without a caress, without a kiss, without a single look of regret, he turns around and leaves, leaving me alone, standing in front of a table that now seems like a cruel monument to my illusions.

And I collapse in silence, sure that everything I thought was stable has just crumbled in the blink of an eye.

The days cease to make sense.

The alarm clock rings, but it doesn't drag me out of bed; it's my body that moves, out of inertia. I get up, get dressed, take the transport to work. I walk among people as if I were made of smoke, invisible, a ghost trapped in a routine that weighs on me more than ever.

I enter the office and smile automatically when someone greets me. My fingers fly over the keyboard, fulfilling what they must fulfill, but my mind is not there. It never is. I return home at dusk and, as soon as I close the door behind me, the mask falls.

I collapse on the sofa or in bed and cry until my throat burns and my eyes throb as if they were about to burst. Crying has become my only refuge, my only relief, even if it leaves me empty, with swollen and tired skin.

My friends text me, call me, invite me to go out. I make up excuses for them again and again. I don't want them to see me like this, broken, destroyed, turned into a shadow of what I was. I don't want to hear their words of comfort because nothing can comfort me. No one can give me back what Stefan snatched away from me.

Sometimes, in the midst of silence, I plead. I cling to the pillow and beg like a child that all this is not real, that it has all been a nightmare, a bad dream from which I will wake up at any moment. I implore a God who I don't even know if he listens to me to give me back what I had, to give me back Stefan, the man who for three years I swore loved me.

But nothing changes. The house remains empty, the corners feel colder and the table in my small living room still reminds me of that night, with the melted candles and the food that no one ever tasted and that I ended up throwing away out of anger.

I repeat to myself again and again that everything was a cruel game, a twisted joke on the part of the man I trusted, and those words shatter me even more. Because if it was a game, then I was never loved. I was never enough.

I look in the mirror and barely recognize myself. My reflection is that of a broken woman, with her heart in tatters and her life stopped. A woman who still hopes, deep down, that he will come back and say that it was all a mistake.

The bed is the only thing that comforts me after work. The bread sticks in my throat and the peanut butter leaves my mouth pasty, but I still force myself to take another bite. It's the third sandwich of the night and I'm not hungry, just an emptiness that I try to fill in any way I can. I'm lying in bed, with my cell phone in my hand, aimlessly swiping across the screen. Silly memes, funny phrases… they get a brief chuckle out of me here and there, but it disappears right away. I don't really laugh, I can't.

I adjust the pillow behind my back, lick a bit of butter from my fingers and continue to slide my finger across the screen. Then, among the profile suggestions, an unknown one appears. A smiling girl, one of those who seem to live in an eternal spring. Out of simple curiosity I enter her profile.

There is a pinned, recent post. She showing an engagement ring, her eyes shining with emotion, and several more photos. I slide my finger… and I feel the world stop.

Part of the butter falls on my sheets when I am absorbed by what I see.

In the second photo, next to her, is Stefan.

My Stefan.

The cell phone trembles in my hands. I rub my eyes, thinking that maybe I'm confused, that it's someone who looks alike. But no. It's him. His wide smile, that dimple on his right cheek, his arm around the girl's waist as if she were a treasure.

My heart beats in my chest so hard that it almost leaves me breathless.

I read the description, feeling each word pierce my trachea.

"I'm happy to take this big step in our lives after a wonderful year together."

One year.

A damn year.

Tears blur my vision, but I keep looking, unable to take my eyes off those images that seem like a cruel mockery. He… he looks happy. Radiant. Like he once was with me.

A stifled scream escapes me. I squeeze the cell phone tightly. The pain and sadness that have consumed me these days suddenly transform into something darker, more seething. Rage.

Everything fits, every silence, every excuse, every distant look. He didn't just leave me. He cheated on me. For months, maybe for all this time, I was the other woman.

Shame burns me from the inside, but above all, hatred. I can't breathe, I can't think clearly, I just feel the fury growing and growing, filling me with a bitter energy.

His nervousness when we went out together on the street, his excuses to prefer staying at home, his reluctance to post photos together. It all fits, he didn't want to do any of that because his lies could be discovered.

The fury burns me from within, devouring me. I feel the blood hammering in my temples as I continue to swipe through the photos one after another, unable to stop. Each image is a direct hit to my chest: Stefan hugging her, Stefan kissing her forehead, Stefan looking at her as he once looked at me… or maybe he never did it with such devotion.

—Bastard!— I spit through my teeth, with a broken voice, while I squeeze the cell phone so hard that I fear breaking it in two.

He played with me. All this time. He made me believe that I was his future, that one day I would become his wife. And while I dreamed of white dresses and promises, he already had another life, another woman, another love.

No. I'm not going to allow it.

The pain turns into poison, into a dark energy that shakes me from head to toe. I don't want to cry anymore, I don't want to beg in the solitude of my room. I want Stefan to suffer, to pay for every tear I have shed for him, every night I spent thinking about a non-existent future. The time I wasted on him.

I keep sliding through the photos, with my heart burning, and then something stops me. An image captured at a party, full of laughter and raised glasses. Behind the radiant couple, in the background, a man catches my attention. Tall, elegant, imposing. With some white streaks in his hair, and eyes, as clear as steel that look straight at the camera although he seems not to have posed for it.

I recognize him immediately. The father of the ungrateful man I once called my boyfriend.

I had seen him before in several photographs on Stefan's phone, besides, a face like his would be impossible to forget. He is 45 years old and they have suited him like wine.

I can't help it and I remain motionless, holding my breath. It's him, no doubt. The man I had heard named so many times, whom I could never meet because he was always out of the country. And now, suddenly, there he is, in the background of a photo, as if fate were putting him in front of me.

An idea ignites in my mind, first like a flash, then like an unstoppable fire. If Stefan admires someone in this world, it is his father. He always mentioned him with respect, with pride, as if he were an example to follow and that is why I am clear.

The best way to get revenge on him will not be with shouts or reproaches, nor with tears. It will be by hitting him right where it hurts the most: in that blind pride he feels for his father.

Because if I achieve what I am thinking, if I manage to conquer the man he respects the most… then I will not only destroy him. I will humiliate him. And I will end up becoming something he never imagined.

His stepmother.

I smile for the first time in days and this smile tastes sweet to me. Sweet revenge.

Today I feel different. With renewed energy, as if a dangerous spark has awakened me from the emotional tomb in which I found myself. I spent the whole weekend in front of the computer, cell phone in hand, researching, investigating, observing every post of the soon-to-be wife of Stefan. So naive and presumptuous, that without realizing it she gave me the most valuable clue of all: the adored gym she usually goes to and which her father-in-law has coincidentally started frequenting.

In more than five photos, I have seen Stefan's father, right in the background of the images. Always at the same time, always in the same place. A man who seems not to belong to this world of lights and social media, someone serious, powerful, reserved. Almost a mystery.

And I have already found a way to get closer to him.

The membership cost half of my savings. Crazy, yes, but nothing is too expensive when it comes to revenge, plus, the faster I manage to catch him, the sooner I can cancel the membership and recover some of what I paid.

Right now I'm in the gym bathroom, in front of the mirror illuminated with overly white lights. I carefully retouch my lipstick, a discreet and shiny pink with a cherry flavor, enough to give strength to my smile without it looking vulgar at this time of the morning. I retouch my eyeliner and loosen my hair a little, letting it fall naturally over my shoulders. I want to look carefree, fresh, and not show that behind this image there is a plan calculated down to the last detail.

I know it for sure: I'm not going to catch him with my body alone. He must be surrounded by beautiful women, exuberant beauties who probably offer him everything without asking for anything. If I want him to look at me, I must give him more. I must intrigue him, make him laugh, make him think of me when he is not near.

I lean towards the mirror and give myself a last smile. It's not the smile of the broken Emma who cried herself to sleep. No. It is the smile of a woman who is about to move her first piece in a dangerous game.

I take a deep breath, arrange the towel over my shoulder and leave the bathroom. The gym is full, the sound of machines and pop music envelop everything. My eyes move fast, searching among the sweaty bodies, among the weights that go up and down.

And then I see him.

There he is. Tall, imposing, completely focused on his routine as if the world around him did not exist. His mere presence imposes, gives off a magnetism that makes my skin crawl.

I smile to myself. Now the game begins.

The gym smells of effort, sweat, and expensive perfume. The metallic noise of the machines mixes with the background music, too loud for my taste. I move calmly, pretending that I am here just to train.

I see him out of the corner of my eye. He's in his world, focused on his routine, as if nothing and nobody could distract him. At first glance he looks so different from Stefan... he doesn't waste time showing off, he just moves with precision, with the strength of someone who knows what he's doing.

I decide it's the moment. I walk towards the weight rack, right next to him. My heart beats fast, but my expression is cold, almost bored. I reach out and choose a dumbbell. I pull and pretend I can't move it. I make a second attempt, exaggerating a little, as if it really costs me. Nothing.

I then feel his presence behind me. A shadow that covers me and a deep voice that brushes against my skin.

"Do you need help?"

I turn around just enough to give him a quick glance. His face is serene, his blue eyes observe me calmly, without the slightest effort to seem sympathetic.

"It's not necessary, thank you," I reply with a hint of disinterest, I give him a polite smile, nothing more, turning my eyes back to the rack.

I make one last pull and the dumbbell is released with a dry thud. I take it in my hand naturally, as if I had always known that I could do it. He says nothing, simply returns to his training.

I, with all the calm in the world, occupy a nearby space. Far enough away to seem casual, but close enough for him to see me. I start to exercise, but I have no real idea what I'm doing. Right at that moment, an instructor approaches.

"First time here?" He asks me with a friendly smile.

I nod with a gesture and let him guide me. He puts his hands on me, indicates the posture and counts the repetitions. I feign concentration, although every now and then I look away towards him, towards my objective. And I realize something: he's watching me.

The instructor makes a correction and I, taking advantage of the moment, make a funny comment, one of those that sound spontaneous. The trainer laughs, shaking his head, and I smile satisfied to see that my target does not lose sight of us.

Suddenly, the trainer leaves me alone.

"Keep going, I'll be right back," he says before walking away.

I see him leave and I want to scream at him no, hit me with something on the head that makes me regain my senses and give up the idea of ​​wanting to seduce a man who is almost twice my age.

I take a deep breath, take the weight and continue the exercise as best I can.

Then I hear that deep voice again.

"The back," he says, without looking at me directly. "It must be straighter when going down."

I pretend not to have heard. I lower it again clumsily, as if I were absorbed in the effort.

He gets up. I feel him getting closer, so close that his shadow covers me again.

"Straighter or you'll hurt yourself," he repeats calmly. He shows me how to do it, lowering a little and marking the movement with his own body.

I take advantage of the moment. I straighten my back, turn my head towards him and smile mischievously.

"Is this okay, professor?" I ask in a light, almost mocking tone.

He barely tilts his lips, a shadow of a smile that doesn't quite come together, but that in him is powerful.

"Better," he replies with simplicity.

I decide to raise the stakes a bit. Between repetitions, I let out a feigned sigh.

"I didn't know that coming to the gym included physical and psychological torture..." I murmur theatrically, looking at him out of the corner of my eye.

He looks at me, and for the first time I notice a change. His attention slides to my lips, just an instant, fleeting, but enough to electrify me. He returns to my eyes quickly, as if nothing had happened, but I already saw it.

He leans in a little towards me.

"Nobody forced you to come," he replies, in a calm voice.

"What if I tell you yes?" I launch, raising an eyebrow, while observing the drops of sweat sliding down his chest.

Damn, how can he look like that at his age?

"Who?" He asks curiously.

"I don't know... maybe a very serious guy who looks more like a KGB trainer than a gym buddy."

He lets out a brief, unexpected laugh. It is deep and completely innocent that there is some truth in my comment.

"I'm not a trainer."

"Oh, what a disappointment," I reply with false sorrow. "Then I'll have to keep risking my life alone with these weights."

He looks at me, and for the first time I notice a change. His attention slides to my lips, just an instant, fleeting, but enough to electrify me. He returns to my eyes quickly, as if nothing had happened, but I already saw it.

I drop the dumbbell gently, run my hand over my neck and tilt my head, stretching my body naturally. I don't need to look at him to know that he is watching me.

"You don't seem to be from here," he blurts out, directly.

"And what am I supposed to look like? A lost tourist?" I reply, raising an eyebrow.

"More like someone who doesn't come to the gym to train," he says in a neutral tone, but there's a glint in his eyes.

"Oh, of course. And what do I come for then?" I ask, smiling amused.

"That… I don't know yet."

I'm about to laugh, to let that spark grow, when my virtual watch vibrates on my wrist. It's the perfect excuse. I feign surprise, as if I had remembered something important.

"God... I have to go," I say in a hurried voice.

I gather my things with studied calm and turn towards him, giving him one last smile.

"Thanks for the impromptu class, professor. See you."

He opens his mouth, as if he were going to say something else, but I don't give him the opportunity. I turn around and walk towards the exit, leaving him with the word in his mouth.