O.
She blinked once.
Twice.
Then she read it again.
Her mouth fell open.
"What the hell is this?" she said, voice climbing octaves like a panicked violin.
I poured coffee into my mug, calm as a Sunday sermon.
"It's your performance review," I said. "You scored high in creativity, low in ethics."
Her eyes darted around like the answers might be hiding in the cupboards.
"You did something," she hissed.
"Technically," I said, "Mrs. Delgado did most of the heavy lifting. I just signed the paperwork."
"You're crazy," she snapped, clutching the note like it might bite her.
"No," I said, smiling. "I'm organized."
Her breathing quickened.
"What does this mean? What do you mean the car's repossessed?"
"Oh," I said casually, flipping another pancake. "The lease was under my name. You'll have to Uber to your next late meeting."
Her jaw clenched.
"You can't do that."
"Already did," I said, taking a bite of pancake. "Turns out I'm remarkably efficient when I'm betrayed before breakfast."
She stood up so fast the chair screeched across the tile.
"This is insane, Oliver."
"Is it?" I asked, setting down my fork. "Because when you confessed your affair, you sounded pretty confident about your decision-making skills. I'm just matching your energy."
She threw the note on the table.
"You're punishing me."
I shrugged.
"It's not punishment. It's balance."
Her eyes glistened.
But I wasn't buying it.
I'd seen real tears from her before.
This was performance art.
"I made a mistake," she whispered.
"Which part?" I asked. "The cheating or the confession?"
Her lips trembled.
"You don't understand. It just happened."
"Yeah," I said, sipping coffee. "So does food poisoning."
That one landed.
She blinked.
Speechless.
I could practically see the gears turning, trying to find a way to twist this into a redemption arc.
But the network had canceled her show.
"You're not even mad?" she said finally, sounding confused, like she missed the script where I was supposed to beg or break down.
"Mad?" I laughed. "No. That implies I still care enough to raise my voice. I'm done. Finished. Out of emotional budget."
She stared at me, shaking her head.
"You're a monster."
"Funny," I said. "Coming from the woman who made out with her boss in a parking garage."
Her nostrils flared.
"You followed me."
"Sure did," I said. "You were hard to miss considering the fluorescent lighting and your boss's hairline acting as a spotlight."
She gasped.
"You recorded us?"
I shrugged.
"Think of it as home security footage. Just not for this home."
Her hands balled into fists.
"You can't use that legally."
"I can, and I will. Morally, you forfeited the conversation at the Ember Lounge."
She sat back down, clutching her head.
"I can't believe this."