I honestly thought Valentine’s Day could keep my relationship intact. I was worn out from being the only one trying, and things with my boyfriend, Scott, had been falling apart for months. He hardly ever called or texted, and when we were together, he was preoccupied with his phone. Nevertheless, I persuaded myself that romance could mend the gradual damage caused by neglect.

So I made a reservation at a high-end hotel. The kind you save for special occasions like anniversaries or once-in-a-lifetime vacations. Marble bathrooms. Windows from floor to ceiling. A swimming pool on the roof. Strawberries covered in chocolate waiting on the bed.

The sum was slightly more than $3,000.

We decided to divide the expense.

“For now, just put it on your card,” Scott advised. “I will reimburse you. Don’t be concerned.”

This was a mistake, and I should have paid attention to the voice in my head. I wanted to believe him, though. I wanted to trust us.

We checked in by Friday evening. The smell of money and jasmine filled the lobby. The space was ideal. The bed was covered in rose petals. A silver bucket filled with chilled champagne.

I waited for him to respond while grinning. “Isn’t this ideal?” I inquired.

He hardly took his eyes off his phone. “Yes. Yes.”

Silence sat like a third person between us during dinner. I made an effort to speak. Inquired about employment. Inquired about plans. Inquired about his well-being. Every response was rushed, preoccupied, and agitated.

When I woke up the following morning, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing out the window as if he were practicing.

“I need space,” he declared.

In actuality, we were on vacation.

He put an end to it that night. Not in person. Over text. While seated in the lobby of the hotel.

“I believe we ought to split up. All I need is some alone time.”

Then he told me to get out.

He reiterated his promise to reimburse me and stated that he would stay at the hotel to “clear his head.”

While he browsed through his phone, I packed my belongings. He didn’t even look up when I left.

I sobbed the whole way home.

My bank notifications began to arrive the following day. Room service. Bar tabs. Spa treatments.

I gave Scott a call. Voicemail directly.

I requested that the hotel stop using my card over the phone. They assured me the card on file would stay active until checkout.

The final bill appeared one week later.

Nearly six thousand dollars.

I saw it at that moment. A spa package for two people.

He hadn’t been by himself.

I had paid for the hotel, but he had brought someone else.

Feeling angry and trembling, I prepared to demand my money back as I drove to his apartment. However, I came to a complete halt when I arrived.

The heels of a woman on the stairs. I didn’t recognize the purse. Laughter came from upstairs.

I heard him say it with pride and clarity.

“She was a complete idiot. Everything was paid for. Got rid of her when it was most appropriate.”

My heartbreak took a completely different turn at that point.

I refrained from confronting him.

I departed.

I began packing up his belongings at home. Old sweatshirts. Sneakers. A game controller.

After that, I discovered something that completely altered my life.

Upscale goods.

Designer fragrance. Premium razors. Skincare products. Unopened.

Scott had influence. Brands sent him free merchandise in exchange for positive reviews. He had tens of thousands of followers on Instagram. Contracts and sponsorships. He was always boasting about deals.

At that moment, I realized something crucial.

He had never closed the Instagram app on my iPad.

I launched the application.

I was still signed in.

I started by sharing a picture of the hotel bill. The entire $6,000.

The caption was written precisely as Scott spoke:

“I just spent the most amazing week at a five-star hotel! Lived like a king using my girlfriend’s money. Champagne, lobster, and couples’ massages with my new girlfriend. Sometimes using people to achieve your goals is necessary. No regrets.”

After that, I looked through his sponsored content.

I wrote that the cologne brand smelled like regret and stale pickles.
I mentioned that the razor left his face resembling a crime scene.
I said the skincare line caused the worst breakout he had ever experienced.
I wrote that the fitness supplement made me feel humiliated and gave me stomach cramps.

Post after post.

Everything under his name.

Then, from his camera roll, one last post:

“Immediately following my breakup, I found a fantastic new girlfriend. I’ve already forgotten the name of the last one. The upgrade is finished.”

The comments went viral within minutes. Followers interrogating him. Fans unfollowing. Panicked brands tagging him.

My phone rang.

Scott.

I didn’t respond.

Hundreds of his followers vanished.

The following morning, he was hammering on my door, shaking and red-faced.

“You ruined me!” he shouted. “I was dropped by seven brands. Two are threatening lawsuits.”

Calmly, I informed him that the moment he chose to take advantage of me, he destroyed himself.

As he stood there, his phone rang. A brand representative shouting over the speaker about a $50,000 campaign.

I handed him a box containing his belongings and told him to leave.

By that afternoon, screenshots were everywhere. It was too late when the posts were removed. He had lost his reputation. His deals vanished. His influencer career collapsed in real time.

As I ate ice cream on my couch, I watched the chaos unfold.

Some heartbreaks leave tears.

Mine came with consequences.