Chapter 9: Phase Two Goes Hard
"Explain Phase Two," I demanded that night.
"Certainly, Host. Now that you've officially divorced, humiliation from Derek, Amber, and societal judgment carries a 3x multiplier.
"Additionally, a new category has unlocked: 'Success Revenge.' Each time your visible success causes emotional distress to those who wronged you, bonus deposits apply."
"Wait." I sat up straight. "So if Derek sees me thriving and it bothers him—I get PAID?"
"Correct. Their jealousy, regret, and anger toward your success are all monetizable events."
This was absolutely unhinged.
And I was absolutely here for it.
The next week, I went apartment hunting—and found a luxury one-bedroom in downtown, twice the size of Derek's place. I paid six months upfront in cash.
I also enrolled in online courses. Business management. Digital marketing. Things I'd never had time or money for.
And I posted about it.
Not vengefully. Not tagging Derek. Just... living my best life, publicly.
A photo of my new apartment view. A coffee cup next to my course materials. A candid shot Ethan took of me laughing in the park.
Within days, the mutual friends who'd dragged me online started going quiet.
Some unfollowed me. Some—the honest ones—sent private messages.
"Sophia, I'm sorry I believed Derek's post."
"You look amazing. Are you okay?"
"I should have reached out sooner."
The system cataloged every piece of regret from Derek's circle.
"Ex-spouse's social circle experiencing cognitive dissonance. Cumulative bonus: $22,000."
But the real jackpot came when Derek saw my apartment.
I hadn't planned it. Truly.
I'd gone back to our old building to pick up the last of my boxes—books, photo albums, things Derek hadn't bothered to throw out.
He was there.
With Amber.
They'd moved her IN.
Into MY old apartment, wearing MY old robe.
Amber opened the door, looking smug. "Oh! Sophia! I thought the landlord was coming—"
She stopped. Stared. Her mouth opened and closed.
Because the woman standing in front of her was no longer the mousy wife who'd shrunk into wallpaper.
I was a 9.1. In a designer coat. With flawless skin and the posture of someone who owned the world.
"Just here for my boxes." I brushed past her.
Derek emerged from the bedroom. When he saw me, he froze.
I watched his pupils dilate. Watched his throat bob with a hard swallow.
"Sophia..." His voice cracked.
"$25,000 deposited. Ex-spouse experiencing acute regret. Maximum payout triggered."
I picked up my two boxes, smiled politely at both of them, and said, "Love what you've done with the place. The robe suits you, Amber."
Then I left.
In the car, Ethan was waiting. He took one look at my face and burst out laughing.
"That good?"
"Twenty-five thousand dollars good."
He shook his head in disbelief. "Your system has no chill."
"Zero chill." I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Take me home."
His ears went red. "Your place or mine?"
I grinned wickedly. "Mine. I want to break in that new couch."
"Certainly, Host. Now that you've officially divorced, humiliation from Derek, Amber, and societal judgment carries a 3x multiplier.
"Additionally, a new category has unlocked: 'Success Revenge.' Each time your visible success causes emotional distress to those who wronged you, bonus deposits apply."
"Wait." I sat up straight. "So if Derek sees me thriving and it bothers him—I get PAID?"
"Correct. Their jealousy, regret, and anger toward your success are all monetizable events."
This was absolutely unhinged.
And I was absolutely here for it.
The next week, I went apartment hunting—and found a luxury one-bedroom in downtown, twice the size of Derek's place. I paid six months upfront in cash.
I also enrolled in online courses. Business management. Digital marketing. Things I'd never had time or money for.
And I posted about it.
Not vengefully. Not tagging Derek. Just... living my best life, publicly.
A photo of my new apartment view. A coffee cup next to my course materials. A candid shot Ethan took of me laughing in the park.
Within days, the mutual friends who'd dragged me online started going quiet.
Some unfollowed me. Some—the honest ones—sent private messages.
"Sophia, I'm sorry I believed Derek's post."
"You look amazing. Are you okay?"
"I should have reached out sooner."
The system cataloged every piece of regret from Derek's circle.
"Ex-spouse's social circle experiencing cognitive dissonance. Cumulative bonus: $22,000."
But the real jackpot came when Derek saw my apartment.
I hadn't planned it. Truly.
I'd gone back to our old building to pick up the last of my boxes—books, photo albums, things Derek hadn't bothered to throw out.
He was there.
With Amber.
They'd moved her IN.
Into MY old apartment, wearing MY old robe.
Amber opened the door, looking smug. "Oh! Sophia! I thought the landlord was coming—"
She stopped. Stared. Her mouth opened and closed.
Because the woman standing in front of her was no longer the mousy wife who'd shrunk into wallpaper.
I was a 9.1. In a designer coat. With flawless skin and the posture of someone who owned the world.
"Just here for my boxes." I brushed past her.
Derek emerged from the bedroom. When he saw me, he froze.
I watched his pupils dilate. Watched his throat bob with a hard swallow.
"Sophia..." His voice cracked.
"$25,000 deposited. Ex-spouse experiencing acute regret. Maximum payout triggered."
I picked up my two boxes, smiled politely at both of them, and said, "Love what you've done with the place. The robe suits you, Amber."
Then I left.
In the car, Ethan was waiting. He took one look at my face and burst out laughing.
"That good?"
"Twenty-five thousand dollars good."
He shook his head in disbelief. "Your system has no chill."
"Zero chill." I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Take me home."
His ears went red. "Your place or mine?"
I grinned wickedly. "Mine. I want to break in that new couch."