When my boyfriend, Jace, stopped texting, I worried he was seriously sick. Concerned, I went to his apartment with groceries—tea, fruit, lozenges—ready to care for him. But the elevator doors opened to a sight that shattered me: Jace, holding another woman close.

He stammered excuses, but I wasn’t listening. I dropped the bag at his feet and walked away. Days passed without a word from him. When he finally agreed to meet, he stood me up. Later, he texted, claiming he couldn’t bear to see me sad. The cowardice stunned me. But what came next was even more shocking.

The woman from the elevator—Ashley—showed up at my door. I was ready to slam it in her face, but she said something unexpected: “I don’t want him either.” Turns out Jace had lied to us both, telling her I mistreated him. We ended up drinking wine and swapping stories of his manipulation.

Then Ashley smirked. “You know how homophobic Jace is?” she asked. Her plan was brilliant. We created dating profiles using his photos, flirted with men, arranged surprise visits, and even posted his number online with cheeky ads.

The grand finale? A billboard downtown, featuring Jace’s face and a bold caption: “Looking for a man to cherish.” His panic texts rolled in nonstop. Eventually, he begged us to stop. We demanded a payout—enough for a vacation—and once he paid, we blocked him.

Two weeks later, Ashley and I were sipping sangria on a beach in Spain. I lost a toxic boyfriend but gained an amazing friend—and sweet, sweet revenge.