Tit For Tat Chapter 01
The night before our engagement party, Adrian Cole personally sent an email titled “Mr. Cole’s Secondhand Goods” to all 327 guests.
The email contained old photos of me with my former fiancé. Someone had labeled me “Returned once. Still in decent condition.” At the bottom of the page, there was even a poll: “Would you marry a woman another man didn’t want? “
His childhood friend, Sloane Pierce, sat beside him, phone in hand, waiting to capture my reaction when I saw it.
On the ballroom’s giant screen, the open count ticked up in real time.
Board members from the bank, company employees, business partners, and two financial reporters were all on the recipient list.
Adrian called it a pre-engagement joke and blamed me for not having a sense of humor.
But you can’t unsend an email. Screenshots had already leaked to the media, and as a result, the Harbor Dock project I was managing was suspended by the investment committee.
I took off my ring, called off the engagement, and exported the backend logs.
Only later did Adrian finally understand that what everyone was laughing at that night was never just my past.
…
My car was pulling up to the Blue Pine Club when the email arrived.
The sender was our shared engagement website, but the subject line read:
“Mr. Cole’s Secondhand Goods—A Sneak Peek for Friends and Family”
At first, I thought the site had been hacked.
When I opened it, the first image was my engagement photo with Noah Bennett from three years ago.
The photo had to have come from the Hart family’s private cloud album. I was wearing the ivory dress my mother had left me, Noah standing beside me.
We were standing half a step apart, but it had been cropped to make us look intimate.
Beneath it was a yellow tag:
Return History: One.
Below that was a chart styled like a product page for a secondhand listing.
Name: Evelyn Hart.
Defects: Previously engaged, bad temper, high-maintenance.
Current Buyer: Adrian Cole.
Reason for Purchase: Buyer isn’t picky; convinced he found a treasure.
At the bottom of the page was a live poll.
“If you were Adrian, would you take her? “
“Yes. True love is priceless.”
“No. There’s always a reason something gets returned.”
The second option already had seventeen votes.
My fingers went so cold I could barely hold my phone.
At the bottom of the email, the number of recipients was listed: 327.
That was the full guest list for tomorrow’s engagement party.
The list included not only our families and friends, but also executives from Hart Real Estate and Cole Capital, bank representatives, project consultants, fund partners, and the financial reporters invited to cover the event.
This wasn’t just a few cruel comments in a private group chat.
Someone had used our engagement website to package my past—my old wounds, my identity, my private photos—like some secondhand product and broadcast it to every important person in my life.
The laughter died the moment I pushed open the door to the private room.
The image projected on the wall wasn’t a game or a movie.
It was that page.
The number in the top right corner kept climbing.
Opened: 143.
Opened: 146.
Around the long table sat Adrian’s friends, several business partners who would be at the party tomorrow, and Sloane.
Sloane was at Adrian’s right, her phone propped against a wine bottle, camera aimed at the door.
She fumbled with the screen the moment she saw me.
I walked over and snatched the phone off its stand.
It was still recording.
The video had captured the exact moment I walked in, and all the laughter that came with it.
Sloane looked up, her tone breezy.
“Evelyn, don’t be so serious. We were just warming up for the party tomorrow.”
I looked at Adrian.
“Did you send it?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Sloane answered for him. “The primary account had to approve it, or the email wouldn’t have gone out. But it was my idea. If you’re going to be mad, be mad at me.”
After she spoke, she picked up the whiskey in front of Adrian and took a sip.
Adrian frowned and took the glass from her.
“Your stomach can’t handle hard liquor.”
In that instant, I felt something inside me snap.
My humiliation had just been delivered to 327 inboxes.
And his first concern was Sloane’s stomach.
“The send page said ‘all guests,’” I said. “You didn’t see that when you hit confirm?”
Adrian met my eyes. His expression was a mix of fatigue from drinking and irritation at being questioned in front of everyone.
“I saw it.”
“Sloane said everyone already knew you were engaged before. She thought making a joke of it would give them less to gossip about. The page was supposed to be switched back in the morning.”
I stared at him.
“And the email?”
He was silent for a second.
“PR can send a follow-up. Say it was just a pre-engagement gag.”
“And the private photos?”
Sloane laughed softly.
“It’s an engagement photo, not some scandalous picture. Don’t tell me you can’t even own the fact that you were engaged before.”
Finally, people around the room started looking down.
Some reached for their drinks. Some pretended not to hear. Others were still watching the poll numbers, the smirks not yet wiped from their faces.
I walked to the screen and pulled up the backend log.
Sloane created the page.
Sloane uploaded the photos.
Adrian logged in with the primary account.
Adrian changed the recipients from “Wedding Party” to “All Guests.”
Adrian confirmed the send.
Time: 47 minutes ago.
The system had even displayed a warning:
“You are about to send an email to 327 contacts. This action cannot be undone. Continue? “
The record below it read:
“Administrator A. Cole selected: Continue. “
Sloane reached over to close the page.
“Do you really have to treat a joke like a crime scene investigation?”
I blocked her hand, downloaded the full log to my phone, and forwarded it to Hart Real Estate’s legal department.
Adrian’s expression finally changed.
“Evelyn, that’s enough.”
I turned to look at him.
“You think I’m making a scene?”
“I think you’re being emotional.” He rubbed his brow. “The page went too far, I admit. But your engagement to Noah isn’t a secret. Sloane didn’t make anything up.”
“She just made the truth ugly.”
Three years ago, when Noah called off our engagement, I stood outside the Bennett family home and let the rain soak me through.
Adrian had rushed over and smashed a window, his hands dripping blood.
He’d knelt in the rain and told me, “If they don’t want you, I do. If they look down on you, I’ll make them all see you deserve the best.”
The scene had shocked the entire Boston social circuit.
Later, I actually believed him.
And now he’d turned that scar into a webpage and broadcast it to everyone who was supposed to witness our engagement tomorrow.
I took off my ring and threw it at him.
It grazed his cheekbone before landing in the ice bucket on the table.
The sharp clink silenced the room.
Adrian froze.
Sloane was the first to lunge for his face.
“You’re bleeding! Evelyn, how could you throw your ring at him?”
Adrian ignored her.
He stared at me, his gaze darkening.
“Are you done?”
I picked up a bottle of champagne from the table and slowly poured it into the ice bucket.
The champagne washed over the diamond ring, a final gavel strike on an item that had failed to sell.
“Tomorrow’s engagement party is canceled.”
“The website is to be shut down.”
“As of this moment, all wedding-related arrangements between the Hart and Cole families are terminated.”
Adrian shot to his feet.
The chair legs scraped harshly against the floor.
“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”
I glanced at the screen.
Opened: 219.
“I do.”
“Adrian, your joke went out to everyone.”
“So does my answer.”
“I’m not marrying you.”