Late that night, I came across a post online.

[I've been with my boyfriend for seven months. Out of nowhere, he dumped me, saying I got eliminated from the girlfriend selection. That's when I found out that in their rich social circle, it's normal to date a dozen girls at the same time, score them regularly, kick out the lowest, and pick the best one to marry.]

It sounded so ridiculous. I couldn't help but jump into the comments and tear into the guy.

Then I saw a reply from my boyfriend's secretary, Ayla Butler.

[Well, considering his status, it's only fair. For high-value men like him, a selection process makes sense.]

I rolled my eyes so hard that it almost hurt. I was just about to fire back when I heard the front door open.

Fred Thompson and I had been together for five years. He had always been attentive, gentle, and endlessly patient. I had already made up my mind that the moment he proposed, I would tell him the truth about who I really was, the daughter of the richest man in the country.

I never expected to catch a glimpse of his phone lighting up with a message.

[You hooked up with Ayla again today? Gave her such a high score, too. Keep this up, and Hannah's gonna lose!]

Before I could stop myself, I tapped the message.

It opened to a group chat filled with Fred Thompson's usual circle of friends.

My hands shook as I scrolled up.

[Everyone else is out. There are just Hannah and Ayla left. One's your official girlfriend, while the other's your new favorite secretary. Final round, man.]

[I'm betting on Hannah. She's been with you five years; she's sweet, obedient, and yeah, she's got a great body. Perfect wife material.]

[But Ayla's not bad, either. You've only known her for five months, and you've already been ditching Hannah to go see her every day. Damn, with a body like hers, no wonder you're hooked.]

The messages got worse from there, all crude and disgusting. A cold chill spread up my spine.

Then I saw Fred's reply.

[Hannah's definitely marriage material, but Ayla's got her perks, too. She's more fun, knows how to keep me entertained in bed.

[I'll see how they perform. Whoever scores higher, that's who I'll marry.

[And make sure you act normal around Hannah. Don't let her find out. With her personality, she'd lose it.]

The fork slipped from my hand and clattered onto the floor.

Hearing Fred's hurried footsteps, I quickly put his phone back where it was.

"You okay, babe? You should be more careful."

He picked up the fork, swapped it out for a clean one, and wiped the floor as if nothing had happened.

But I had already lost my appetite. My stomach churned.

I asked, "Fred, if you had to rate our relationship, what score would you give it?"

He chuckled. "Full marks, obviously. We've been together five years. When have we ever had a problem? What's this about, babe? Why ask that all of a sudden?"

I drove my fork hard into the slice of cake in front of me.

"Nothing. Just saw something online."

I pulled up the post and showed him. He glanced at it and immediately put on an innocent expression.

"Babe, how could I ever be that kind of guy? We've been together for five years. Don't you know how I feel about you? I've always loved you with my whole heart. I've never once had any other thoughts."

I didn't respond. I just stared into his eyes, searching for something. Anything.

But even while lying, he looked the same as always: calm, gentle, and reassuring. There wasn't a single crack.

I was about to speak when his phone rang.

Fred glanced at it and stood up. "I need to take this."

When he came back, he ruffled my hair, his voice soft with apology.

"Babe, something urgent came up at work. I've gotta head out. I'll be back later, okay?"

He left in a rush.

The moment the door closed, I broke. Tears spilled out before I could stop them.

So the love he had shown me for five whole years was nothing but an act.

To him, I was just another contestant in his twisted little selection game. Just something to score, compare, and rank with his disgusting friends.

They had turned my body, my personality, and even my skills in bed into numbers on a scale.

It made me sick.

I didn't even know when he had gotten involved with that secretary of his.

I grabbed the half-eaten cake and dumped it straight into the trash, then called my father.

"Dad, I'm coming home."

On the other end, his voice lit up with joy.

"My sweet girl, what brought this on? But that's perfect timing. You've been away for five years. It's about time you came back and took over the business. Oh, and do you remember? That kid is still waiting for you."

I froze. His words pulled a familiar figure into my mind.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

"Yeah. When I get back, I'll agree to marry him."

But before I left the country, I still had a score to settle with Fred.

I didn't pack up and leave right away. I acted as if nothing had happened.

If Fred wanted to play games, then fine. I would play along and see this whole twisted competition through.

I had already made up my mind. I was going to drag everything they had done out into the open.

Not just for myself, but for every girl they had lied to and tossed aside. I wanted the whole world to see what they really were behind those polished, fake smiles.

I reopened that post and messaged the girl who wrote it.

She replied not long after.

We agreed to meet at a small coffee shop downtown.

She was tiny, thin, and dressed in simple clothes. She looked like she was still in school. I could see the grievance, mixed with quiet anger, in her gaze.

After getting her permission, I asked her to walk me through everything: how her ex had lied to her and how she found out about the whole selection game.

She had already gathered a stack of evidence.

I recognized her ex right away. He was one of the guys in Fred's group chat. I had met him before; he was polite and soft-spoken, the kind of guy people trusted at first glance.

As it turned out, he was just as disgusting as the rest of them.

I asked if she knew any other girls who had been through the same thing. She nodded and sent me a few contacts.

Over the next few days, I worked quietly, collecting proof and reaching out to more girls who had been used and discarded by that group.

Most of them were willing to speak up.

Only one kept hesitating.

No matter how I tried to reassure her, she wouldn't agree.

"Even if we expose them, what changes? Their families are powerful. We don't have anything. They'll come after us. I tried posting about them before. It got taken down. After that, they harassed me for months. I even got death threats. I had to move three times…"

Her voice made my chest tighten.

I softened my tone. "Hey. It's okay. I'll take the heat. You won't have to face them alone."

I knew exactly who Fred and his friends were.

To most people, they were untouchable.

But to my family, they were nothing.

Still, she hesitated.

I didn't push her. I just told her to think about it and let me know.

When I got home, I heard low, breathy sounds drifting out from the kitchen.

I stopped in my tracks.

The door was slightly open. Through the gap, I could see two figures pressed together, moving in a way that made my stomach turn.

I thought about all the meals I had cooked in there, day after day. It made me feel sick.

I pulled out my phone, turned on the camera, and aimed it quietly at them.

Once I had what I needed, I stepped back, slipped my phone away, and raised my voice as if I'd just walked in.

"Fred, I'm home!"

The noise inside stopped instantly.

After a brief rustling, I pushed the kitchen door open.

Fred's shirt was still unbuttoned, his chest half exposed, panic written all over his face. Ayla Butler was wrapped in his jacket, her clothes a mess and her cheeks flushed.

Fred forced himself to sound calm. "Hannah? Didn't you say you had plans today? Why are you back early?"

I didn't even look at him. I walked straight up to Ayla and slapped her across the face.

"Get out."

She froze, one hand covering her cheek while staring at me in disbelief.

Fred immediately pulled her behind him, his expression dark as he snapped at me.

"What the hell is wrong with you? I just asked her to come over and cook for you. Didn't you say you've been craving creamy mushroom soup? I can't make it, so I had her help. Why are you hitting people for no reason? Apologize right now!"

I almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded.

"Do you think I'm deaf? Does cooking sound like that?"

Ayla's eyes turned red, her voice soft and shaky. "I just got splashed by the soup. We were really just cooking. Please don't misunderstand…"

As she spoke, she picked up the pot from the stove and held it out toward me.

"If you don't believe me, try it yourself…ah!"

Before she could finish, her foot slipped. Her whole body pitched forward.

The pot of boiling soup tipped straight toward me.

I jerked back on instinct, but it wasn't enough. The scalding liquid splashed across my legs, heat exploding over my skin.

Both of us cried out and fell to the floor.

But the next second, Fred rushed to Ayla and scooped her up, panic filling his eyes.

"Are you okay? Did you get burned?"

He glanced at me once, then carried her straight out the door.

"Babe, wait for me to get back."

I bit down against the pain, forcing myself up. I turned on the sink and ran cold water over my legs again and again.

The skin was an angry red, the pain so sharp that it made my vision blur. Sweat soaked through me.

I called an ambulance myself.

At the hospital, even as they treated the burns, I couldn't stop shaking. Every touch made me grit my teeth.

I checked my phone.

Ayla had posted.

[Ugh, burned my hand, but it's okay. He stayed with me the whole time, so it doesn't even hurt.]

In the photo, her hand had a small patch of redness. Compared to the burns across my legs, it was nothing.

And the hand holding hers belonged to Fred.

Right then, another message popped up. It was the girl who had been hesitating before.

[I've decided. I'll join you. I'll help expose them.]