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No More Handyman: His Last Stand

Chapter 3 

Word Count: 596    |    Released on: 04/07/2025

r than it had been in years. I had spent the night telling her everything, the cons

expression growing more an

she said, handing me a cup of coffee

y phone buzzed. It was

runk and stupid. Come home. I bought y

uy my forgiveness with a toy. That's all she thought I was worth.

conflict, that just wanted things to go back to the way they were, even if th

on't you dare, Sean," she warned. "That

again. Another t

startup is so stressful. I promise, things will be diffe

imes before. Empty words designed to pacify me, to keep me compli

own phone across the

r," she said quietly,

. It was Dylan's profile. He ha

other over coffee and pastries. They looked happy, relaxed, intimate. The caption read

tment. She had sent me those texts, those pathetic attempts at an apology,

s a quiet, cold realization. She wasn't sorry. She was just managing an

fingers moved across the scre

be home in an hour to g

thout a secon

you say?"

coming to get my

s Chloe's face. "Good," s

r, were over. The constant, low-level anxiety that had become my normal state of being was just... gone. She had made t

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No More Handyman: His Last Stand
No More Handyman: His Last Stand
“For three years, I poured my soul into Innovate, building Brittany' s startup from the ground up as her lead engineer and live-in boyfriend. I fixed her code, her leaky faucet, and every problem in her life, while she paid me a pittance, treating me like a glorified handyman. But at her success party, watching her beam at her ex-boyfriend Dylan, unveiled as the new "visionary," something inside me snapped. Then came the ultimate insult: demotion to Dylan' s assistant, his snakeskin boots propped on MY desk, MY awards tossed in a dusty box. The years of exploitation culminated in a single, burning question: how could someone I gave everything to treat me with such utter contempt? No more. I handed her my resignation, a meticulously itemized invoice for eighty-seven thousand dollars of unpaid work, and played a recording of her own words. "Forty-eight hours, Brittany," I said, pocketing my phone. "The clock is ticking." That night, I walked out of her apartment for good, the trash bag holding her memories of me thudding satisfyingly down the chute. This wasn' t just an exit; it was a declaration of war.”
1 Introduction2 Chapter 13 Chapter 24 Chapter 35 Chapter 46 Chapter 57 Chapter 68 Chapter 79 Chapter 810 Chapter 911 Chapter 1012 Chapter 1113 Chapter 1214 Chapter 13