SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL, J.HUGHES

FORTY THREE

I'm screaming. I'm screaming loud into my pillow, my veins on the side of my throat about to explode. Once I'm out of breath, I hurl my phone onto the bed. I fucking hate him. Who, you may ask?

Twenty minutes ago, I got a link from Eva with a message that simply read, "Wow, what a jerk."

Curiosity got the better of me. I opened the link, and it was from a podcast that had blown up on TikTok just yesterday. A podcast known for gossip and spilling the tea, or whatever you want to call it, and it was starring my ex-fiancé, Hunter.

You know, it's one of those podcasts where they're lounging on plush chairs, all cozy with mics in hand, pretending they're all unfiltered and real. But seriously—fuck off—they're just trashing people's lives.

There he is, front and center, sitting and acting like he's the shit. For God's sake, you're 33 years old and newly married. His buzz-cut hair makes me hate him even more. The camera zooms in on his blue eyes as he smirks, as if he's about to drop some earth-shattering wisdom.

The first few minutes are filled with the usual fluff about Hunter's career and gossip in the professional baseball world—blah, blah, blah. I roll my eyes as they drone on, pretending to be besties when it's obvious they just met five minutes ago.

Then, there's this weird, awkward silence. One of the hosts breaks it with a knowing smirk. "Have you seen it?" he asks, leaning in like they're sharing some juicy secret.

"Seen what?" Hunter replies, sliding further down into his chair, looking all too smug.

"Well..." They both laugh like they're in on some private joke, clearly loving the suspense. "Your ex, Morgan."

Hunter tilts his head back and laughs, his voice dripping with fake nonchalance. "Oh yeah, I saw it," he says, his chuckle making my skin crawl.

My heart pounds in my chest. I knew this was coming, but nothing could have prepared me for the actual moment. The camera zooms in on Hunter's face, capturing every detail of his smug expression.

I can't take it anymore. I grab my phone and rewind the video, needing to make sure I heard him right. The way he says my name—Morgan—like it's a punchline to some inside joke. I want to reach through the screen and slap that smirk off his face.

"I mean, why the fuck is she always getting into those relationships with athletes?" one of the hosts sneers, the malice barely hidden.

Hunter crosses his arms, shaking his head with a pitying smile. "I don't know, man, she's just a mess."

"Yeah, isn't Jack Hughes her ex? I heard they were screwing around for years, and now they were spotted like two days ago at some club," the host adds, clearly relishing the gossip.

"That's typical Morgan," Hunter says, leaning back with a cruel smirk. "Oh, and remember, she totally cheated on that guy from the Rangers. What a—"

A what, Hunter? A what, uh? His words got cut off, meaning he probably didn't call me an angel.

"Oh yeah, that's so true," the other host chimes in, nodding eagerly.

I can feel my blood boiling. The lies are bad enough, but the venom in their words, the way they say it with such casual cruelty, makes me want to scream all over again.

"You know, I wanted to marry that girl," my ex says, his voice dripping with false pity. "And thank God I didn't. Dodged a bullet there."

They burst out laughing. "That's deep, bro," one of the hosts comments, shaking his head.