“That asshole is dead,” I mutter as I storm inside the building.

My heart is racing, my hands are balled into fists, and my soul is boiling with rage. The smooth music coming from the speakers mounted on the walls seems in direct contract with how pissed off I am but, truth be told, I barely register it.

“Good morning, Ms. James,” the receptionist chirps happily as she sees me come in, but her smile fades away as she meets my gaze. “Uh, you arrived earlier. We...we weren’t expecting you till tomorrow,” she stammers, straightening her back and nervously drumming her fingers across the surface of her desk.

“Yeah, I know,” I reply through gritted teeth. “Where’s Hoyt?”

“Mr. Rivera is currently in room 7 getting a massage,” she whispers, running the tip of her tongue between her dry lips. I guess she already figured out that something’s very, very wrong.

Oh, she has no idea.

“Room 7 then,” I repeat after her and, with that, walk around the receptionist’s desk and march down the service corridor, my high-heels clicking loudly against the marble floor. When I finally find the door marked with the number 7, I have to use all of my willpower not to kick the door down.

I reach for the handle and, right before I turn it, I hear voices coming from the inside.

“Mm, that’s the spot,” I hear Hoyt groan, and then there’s the sound of lips smacking together and women giggling. “You girls sure know how to massage a lonely man.”

More giggles, and another of Hoyt’s groans.

My fingers are gripping the handle so tightly my knuckles have turned white. How could I have ever trusted a man with a name like Hoyt Rivera?

That was mistake number one.

Mistake number two was going into business with someone like him.

But that doesn’t really matter now, does it? What matters is that my sleaze ball boyfriend is about to learn the truth behind the saying ‘karma’s a bitch’.

As I finally turn the handle I realize that the door is locked. I could use the master key to get inside and kick his ass, but maybe there’s a more refined way to go about things.

Turning on my heels, I head straight to the control room. Filled with state-of-the-art electronics and the nerve center of the whole building, the control room is the place from where the technicians ensure operations are going as planned.

“Serena!” One of them exclaims, surprised as he sees me waltz inside the room. “Sorry, huh, Ms. James…you’re earlier.”

“Get. Out.” I hiss, holding the gaze of the three technicians sitting behind the controls. Slowly, almost as if I was a bear ready to pounce on them, they get up from their chairs and make their way out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“Let’s have some fun, Hoyt,” I whisper as I sit behind the controls. Tapping the keyboard a few times, I make the monitors light up, and my stomach lurches as I see the stream coming directly from room 7.

Hoyt, my soon to be ex-boyfriend, is lying down on the massage table completely naked. Flanking him are two naked brunettes—two of the masseurs I hired at his insistence—and their hands are all over him. Oh, right, and their tongues are running up and down the length of his three-inch cock.

Delightful.

I’m fucking done with this bullshit.

I always tried to be a good girlfriend, and this is how Hoyt decides to repay me? Well, screw this fucking asshole. Even though I always had an uneasy feeling whenever we were together, this is exactly what I needed to finally kick his ass to the curb.

It all started three years ago, on a classy bar in downtown Manhattan. Hoyt was his usual charming self, and I was nothing more than a wide-eyed girl ready to take on the world. What should’ve been nothing more than some harmless flirting somehow turned into a three-year relationship and a business partnership.

I never wanted to face it, but truth is...Hoyt took advantage of me.

I had big dreams, and the drive to make it happen, and he saw in me an opportunity to go further in life. Sure, he had a few connections that made it possible for me to finance our spa business, but I did all the heavy lifting.

Eventually, after operating out of New Jersey for two years, we made enough money to move Serene Spa to one of the most prestigious streets in New York, 30 Park Avenue. One year into this, and we’re already one of the most high-profile businesses in the city. Everyone that matters is our client, and that because we have the best facilities, the best masseurs, and the best damn service anyone could ever hope for.

From Hollywood stars to the wealthiest socialites, everyone flocks to Serene Spa.

Hoyt and Serena, New York’s newest power couple—that was how one the biggest periodicals in the city named us a few weeks ago. Hoyt was ecstatic about having his mug on the cover of a magazine, while I just kept my head down and did the usual: work my ass off. I know, I know...I should’ve seen it coming.

Hoyt loves the attention, the fame, and the money. Unfortunately, I guess I’m not one of the things he cares about.

But screw it, I’m not even sad. I’m done with having to work my ass off just so he can reap the rewards, live like some asshole baller, and cheat on me. See, my sixth sense always told me there was something off about Hoyt, but I just ignored that little voice on the back of my mind.

Hon, listen to me: when it comes to men, never ignore your sixth sense.

For the first time in years, I decided to follow my instincts and, lo and behold, I caught the bastard red-handed. I flew to the East Coast a few days ago, on business, and was only supposed to return tomorrow. But something told me I should come sooner.

And that’s exactly what I did. And, of course, I didn’t tell anyone.

For a moment, I thought I was just being paranoid, and so decided to Skype my lovely boyfriend the moment I stepped out of the plane. Hidden in one of the stalls in the airport’s bathroom, I chatted with him for a few minutes before he excused himself and hung up on me.

Or thought he did.

The bastard forgot to hang up and left his phone on. And that’s how I saw him invite the new masseurs we hired inside the room and get busy tearing the clothes off their bodies. Leaving the airport in a hurry, I slipped $100 to my driver just so he could get me to the spa faster.

And now here I am, watching as my boyfriend and business partner cheats on me with two big-breasted brunettes he got on payroll. So, yeah, forgive me if I’m a little pissed and didn’t even introduce myself properly. It’s just that right now my priority is teaching this bastard a lesson he won’t forget anytime soon.

Tapping the keyboard a few more times, I activate the aromatic sprinklers in room 7 and select the fragrance I want to spray the room with. I don’t even hesitate before selecting the Cucumber option. Why? Well, let’s just say that a certain someone is somewhat allergic to cucumbers.

“And here we go,” I whisper again, turning on the sprinklers. In a matter of just a few seconds, I watch as a light drizzle sprays over Hoyt and the girls in room 7. He doesn’t react at first, but then he sits up straight on the table, pushing the girls to the side. He looks up at the ceiling, takes a deep breath, and a horrified expression takes over his face as he realizes the sprinklers are drenching the room with our special cucumber spray.

“What’s wrong?” I hear one of the girls say, looking at Hoyt surprised. Then, she covers her mouth with one hand as she watches the transformation taking place in front of her.

Hoyt’s lips start swelling, his face gets puffier and puffier by the second, and a violent rash spreads over his skin fast. And, best of all, his tiny cock becomes puffier as well, almost as if a swarm of angry wasps had stung it over and over again.

Stumbling out of the massage table, Hoyt tries to move for the door.

“FUCK!” He bellows as he walks head first against the wall. By now, his eyelids have swollen as well, and he can’t see shit. Fat, blind, and smelling of cucumber—the ideal man, wouldn’t you say?

When he finally manages to find the door, he ambles outside, his hands in front of him. Smiling to myself, I take a deep breath and finally get up from the chair. I leave the control room and head straight to room 7, right in time to see Hoyt make his way toward the reception.

You know, I wanted to play it cool, but seeing him right in front of me...it kind of awakens that angry goddess inside of me. “Hoyt, you bastard!” I scream out, and he turns around to face me.

“Sewena? Whatta you wuing heww?” He asks me, trying to articulate the words with his swollen tongue. I appreciate the effort, but hearing his voice...it just makes me angrier.

“Oh my God!” A woman shrieks as she steps out of room 5, wearing nothing but a white cotton robe. Her face turns pale as she meets Hoyt, the Naked Hunchback of Serene Spa. “A MONSTER!” The woman cries out, and then she runs down the corridor as if the whole building was on fire. As people start coming over to see what’s happening, more and more screams start filling the spa.

“You’re making quite the impression, Hoyt,” I say, walking over to him. I’m not even being snarky right now—he’s really making an impression. Completely naked, as red as a lobster that enjoys sunbathing, and swollen to the point of looking like he could star in a Michelin ad, my now ex-boyfriend is quite the sight.

“Sewena! Yuh bish!” He tries to yell, pointing his sausage fingers at me. I guess he has already figured out I was the one behind the cucumber incident.

Oops.

“How dare you?” I explode, bending over and taking off one of my high-heels. Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I aim the damn thing at his head and just throw it. I watch as the spike on my heel flies straight to between his eyes but, somehow, he manages to dodge it at the last second.

By the time I start taking off my other shoe, Hoyt is already running toward the exit like a madman, screaming something completely unintelligible.

“Don’t you run away!” I yell as I run after him, already cocking my arm back and aiming my second shoe at his head. He escapes outside right before my shoe hits him, but he ends up walking straight into a car parked on the curb.

Falling flat on his back, he starts flapping his arms around like a drowning seagull; that, combined with the sounds coming out from his mouth...well, let’s just run with it and say that he looks like an X-rated version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“Sewena! I hum sowy! Pwease, Sewena!” He manages to say as he sits up, his swollen cock now looking like a balloon that’s about to pop. Jesus, I can’t believe I’ve shared a bed with him for so long. After I’m done with this, I’ll have to take a very long shower.

“You’re done, Hoyt!” I shout at him, resisting the urge to kick him in the balls. “Forget about being my boyfriend, and forget about the business...if I ever see you around here, I’ll force a whole basket of cucumbers down your throat, you stupid asshole!”

Fuming, I’m about to return inside the spa when I notice two cops running down the street, guns drawn.

“Miss, step aside!” They yell out, pointing their guns at Hoyt.

“There it is, the mutant!” One of the spa customers, the one in a white robe, appears besides the cops. I guess she was the one calling them to the scene. God bless her.

“Jesus, she was right, man,” I hear one of the cops say to the other. “That’s a fucking mutant.”

“And an ugly one at that,” the other agrees, grabbing the handcuffs off his belt.

“Thank you for saving me!” I squeal, taking a step back as Hoyt looks at me with a horrified expression. “This mutant tried to attack me! He must’ve escaped from the zoo.”

“Or the circus,” one of the cops adds.

Now with his lips so swollen he can’t even speak, Hoyt has no other option but to allow the cops to drag his naked ass to their car, all while a hundred onlookers take pictures and record the whole thing.

I stand there on the sidewalk, barefoot but satisfied with myself as I watch the cop car drive away. Hoyt has turned around on the seat, and he’s looking at me through the rear window, his beady eyes locked on mine.

Smiling, I give him a little wave.

Good riddance, asshole.

“Hm, Serena?” The receptionist calls me, standing by my side as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Is there going to be trouble?”

“Trouble?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, covering her mouth with one hand and pointing to the other side of the street. “Reporters. They’re already here...and, you know, Mr. Rivera is one of the owners here.”

“Was one of owners,” I correct her, looking across the street at the pack of reporters gathering there. Shit, maybe I should’ve been a little more careful. “Don’t worry, Anne. It’ll be fine. Business as usual,” I continue, but the words sound hollow even to myself.

I’ve dumped my boyfriend, kicked out my business partner, and there’s a media storm heading our way. And, somehow, I feel this is just the beginning.

Shit.