She Paid Me

"What's the point of running after money, honey?" She asked me as I counted my cash.

"It's less," I looked up at her and said. "It's less than what you promised me."

She looked at her nails and then asked without looking at me, "What?"

I put the money in my pocket and walked toward the door. On my way, I lifted a bronze statue from the corner and dropped it on the center table. The glass broke in a million pieces, and she shrieked. The helper boy jumped over the counter and grabbed me. I looked at her. The veins on her forehead popped and tears streamed down her cheeks. I pulled out my phone and clicked a photo of her red face.

"I am going to put this photo on your Instagram and let your followers see the real you without makeup. Let them decide whether they still want to follow you. Meanwhile, you get another photographer who will click your photos at the right light and angle and then Photoshop it for your social media. And at the end of the month, you cheat him of his salary."

I jerked the helper boy away and took out the bundle of cash from my pocket and threw it toward her and left.

Later, when I was uploading her photo, I realized she was right. There was no point running after money when her downfall would give me higher satisfaction.