✦ The Modern Heiress

In a circle ruled by image and power, betrayal was fashionable and justice wore no invitation.

She doesn’t always come crashing in with thunder and fireworks. Sometimes, she waits quietly, letting you sip your tea while the storm brews somewhere else, until, one day, you look up and realize the mess you tried to bury is sitting across from you, dressed better, healed stronger, and smiling in silence. Karma? She’s poetic like that.

But let me tell you another story of karma.
Because once you’ve danced with the devil and survived, the universe starts sending you the receipts, in full, front row, with interest.

Before I had rings on my fingers and peace in my pocket, life was a little… messier. While I was busy planning my future, E, (Female) and R, (Male) were busy planning a roast session at my expense. And the subject of mockery? My husband. Resilient, loyal, and doing the honorable thing, signing up for our marriage course like a man who takes love seriously.

But to R, that was weakness.

“You want to marry her? Can you even afford her?”
He said it, loudly. In front of everyone. With E by his side, the self-declared queen of sarcasm, laughing like she hadn’t built her whole personality on dragging people down.

R worked in the IT industry, decent job, decent life. E came from wealthy parents, and she wore that privilege like a crown, entitlement disguised as sophistication.

But the irony? My husband and I came from comfortable families too. We just never bragged about it. For us, quiet security was enough. We didn’t need to weaponize wealth to feel powerful.

What they didn’t know is: while they were mocking loyalty, they were knee-deep in betrayal.

the love triangle with no exit

Because E wasn’t just R’s girl.
She was also, allegedly, A’s “situationship.”
And A? He was already in a long-term relationship with a sweet girl he’d eventually marry.

Yes, that’s right. E was playing third wheel in someone else’s love story while being in a committed relationship with R. All while the three of them, A, R, and my man, were friends.

Let’s rewind.
Before R, before her “innocent act,” E was living with A.
Not romantically, supposedly. They said it was over.
Different rooms. Different lives.
Same house. Same tension.

But if you know anything about emotional leftovers, you know: doors may close, but windows stay cracked.

Then R entered the picture, soft-spoken, sarcastic, maybe a little naive.
He fell fast.
And she let him.

But A never really left.
And R unknowingly stepped into a love triangle with no exit.

While dating R, E was still tangled with A, emotionally, and at times, physically.
Their energy didn’t fade. It simmered.

Secret meetups. Lingering looks.
Arguments loud enough to snap the air in half.

We watched the fights unfold in real-time.
Screaming matches between R and E.
Passive-aggressive jabs flying across group dinners.
Moments where E and A bickered like lovers, with R sitting right there, trying not to flinch.
And we all… sipped our drinks.

I remember once, during a hangout, E and A were exchanging playful jabs like exes who hadn’t truly let go.
Right in front of R and the rest of our friend group.
I felt deep secondhand shame.
And just a bit of pity.

Everyone in our circle knew.
This wasn’t “just friendship”, this was unfinished business parading as coincidence.

And poor R? He was either in the dark, in denial, or playing dumb for dignity’s sake.

Let’s just say: in this story, loyalty was out of stock, and double lives were buy-one-get-one-free.

Awkward? Oh, honey, that’s just the tip of the scandal.

Let’s break it down:

• E often clashed with R over gifts, demanding luxury and grand gestures shaped by a childhood under a wealthy, powerful father. I once told her: Don’t compare him to your dad, he’s young, still finding his way. But entitlement speaks louder than reason.
• At one point, R and E even turned on a mutual friend, spreading rumors until he left the group entirely. It wasn’t just betrayal, it was exile by design.
• E, who once mocked A’s longtime girlfriend (now wife) for being “less pretty” than his exes, still showed up at the wedding. She walked in beside R, sat with A’s closest friends, and posed with the bride, smiling sweetly, as if her cruelty hadn’t echoed just months before.
• R stayed close to both, but always looked uneasy. Withdrawn. Silently watching the E–A tension unfold, too afraid to lose either one.

Word on the street was that E also cheated on R with A.
And yet, she still managed to keep her social status spotless.

Well, almost spotless.

Because karma never misses a social gathering…

revenge in luxury retail, where karma crashed out

It was supposed to be a honeymoon glow-up. Few months after our grand wedding reception.
New city. Luxury boutique. Vibes immaculate.
Until three ghosts from our social past walked in like it was Met Gala: Scandals Unresolved Edition.

R.
E.
A.

Together.

Inside a Coach store.

You’d think it was fate.
We knew it was damage control.

What were they doing? Shopping? Pretending not to notice us? Or trying to replay old scripts in new locations?

Let’s rewind the receipts.

• A had already married his long-term girlfriend by then.
• E was still with R, emotionally tangled and reputation-conscious.
• Yet there they were, the three of them together.

And not just once.
Whispers from other mutuals said this wasn’t their first low-key meetup.

It was déjà vu, but glossier.
You’d think this was a reunion episode. But no, this was a live reality check for them. Because the three of them? They weren’t just shopping. They were seen. Together. Months after A married his long-term girlfriend.

So why were R, A, and E together in a store in another state, whispering and pretending not to see us?

Well, the whispers were louder than their footsteps.

It was already rumored that E had cheated on R with A while A was still stringing his now-wife along. And now, here they were, all three of them, post-wedding, mid-denial, pretending like they hadn’t been part of each other’s darkest chapters.

A greeted my husband, overly cheery, pretending nothing ever happened.
He skipped me, like I was invisible, until forced into a cold nod and insincere smile. My husband? Civil, but icy.

He hadn’t forgotten the past. Especially the moment A once publicly rolled his eyes at me and dismissed me with a “tch.” That sound? Still sharp.

I picked out my bags, two of them and swiped my card.

The salesgirl beamed. Meanwhile, the trio? Uncomfortable. R avoided eye contact. E stayed quiet. A fidgeted.

We paid, in full and walked out like nothing had happened.
But something had.
Because they saw it, the glow, the grace, the quiet power of a woman they once tried to mock.

I wasn’t.

I walked out of that store with two new Coach bags, a husband who adores me, and dignity in high definition.

They walked out with tension, unfinished business, and unspoken truths stitched into every awkward step.

The irony? They tried to ruin my story.
But I got the fairytale.
And they? They’re still stuck in a triangle where no side is honest.

emotional politics: a triangle of fear and control

At the root of their entanglement lies a power dynamic built not on love, but on fear, performance, and silent compacts.

the real power isn’t in the plot, it’s in the exit

They say history repeats itself, but sometimes it just downgrades.

Our little story began with secrets, side-eyes, and “psht”s. With snide remarks that were supposed to make you shrink. With flings turned friends, friends turned flings, and a tangled triangle that never quite formed a full shape.

But let’s fast-forward to the real climax.

Because while E was juggling A and R like a magician with dirty gloves, living with A (in separate rooms, of course), then suddenly dating R, all while slipping between their shadows, I chose peace. Minding my lipstick and legacy. Setting boundaries with the elegance of a queen and the silence of a storm.

And when the whispers about Coach encounters and in-store dramas reached my ears? I didn’t flinch. Because I already seen the pattern and outgrown the dress size.

But what truly sealed the arc?
What really proved the universe loves irony?

It was what came after.

the wedding no one waited for

Three months after that fated encounter, the awkward greetings, the forced eye contact, the half-hearted politeness from men who used to mock us, R and E tied the knot.

Shocking? Not really. Expected? Maybe.

But memorable?
Only for the wrong reasons.

A simple nikah at her family home.
Ordinary white catering. No flair, no fantasy, no finesse.
Makeup? Mid.
Dress? Forgettable.
Energy? Rebound.

It wasn’t intimate. It was underwhelming.
Not a celebration, but a formality.

It wasn’t the wedding of a power couple.
It was the closure of two people who confused attention with affection and mistake settling for succeeding.

Because deep down, everyone knew:
It wasn’t love that brought them together.
It was ego, guilt, and the fear of ending up alone.

Ours, on the other hand, was unforgettable.

We walked down a glowing aisle surrounded by lights and mist, it felt like I was floating on a cloud, spotlight chasing every step. My dress? Big. Regal. Breathtaking. With a long veil embroidered with our names, like a signature on a masterpiece.

My hair was done by a celebrity stylist, and my makeup? Flawless, courtesy of one of the best in the industry. I wore elegant white nails, a statement necklace with a deep blue sapphire, and yes, a crown. Because what’s a queen without one?

My husband stood tall beside me in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, hair neat, smile steady. We looked like royalty because we are, not the kind that brags, but the kind that doesn’t have to.

The hall was pure magic. Flowers spilled from the ceiling, chandeliers lit every corner, and even the chairs were tied with ribbons. Nothing was random, everything was intentional.

Our guest list? VIPs only, many tied to VVIP circles through my father’s powerful network. We made our entrance with a formal song and emcee, not to show off but to show how love, when it’s real, doesn’t need a filter.

It wasn’t just a wedding.

It was a statement:
Love rooted in truth doesn’t perform, it reigns.

And yes, I smiled the whole way down the aisle.
Because this? This was mine.

when affection is currency, loyalty is leverage, and no one is truly innocent?

Not all fairy tales need dragons, some just need reflection.

I don’t always win by clapping back.
I win by choosing softness without surrender.
I win by becoming the woman who doesn’t need to prove anything, because her life already says it all.

The moment I stopped entertaining the old storyline,
the universe handed me the pen.

Now?

I am in a chapter where:

• Gossip doesn’t sting, it sells.
• Shade doesn’t cut, it glows.
• And weddings without love are just photo ops with borrowed baju kurung and forgotten vows.

Let R, E, and A keep their little group chat.
Let them replay their high school scandals in adult clothing.

While they’re still choosing sides,
I’ve built a life that doesn’t need one.
A love that doesn’t collapse.
A peace that isn’t performative.
A home that no longer shrinks when the door closes.

I’m not in the game anymore.
I’m writing the genre.

Private.
Powerful.
And painfully beautiful.

I’ve already won.

And the best part?

They’ll never say it out loud,
but they feel it every time they scroll past me.
Every time they smile a little too wide.
Every time they remember…

I was the one they underestimated.

And now? I’m busy living the kind of life they’ll never be invited to.

Because the seat I have now,
isn’t at their table.
It’s at my own, hand-built with grace, grit, and gold-lined boundaries.

Let them talk.
Let them twist timelines, crop receipts, and quote chapters they never understood.

While they keep romanticizing chaos,
I’ve romanticized peace.
While they chase validation in comments and captions,
I’ve found love in moments no camera can catch.

I’m no longer a name in their story.
I’m the story they wish they hadn’t written off.

So here’s to the betrayals that birthed boundaries.
To the heartbreaks that handed me healing.
To the gossip that gave me glitter.

I was never the villain.
I was the plot twist.

–

Your favorite soft-spoken savage,
Madam Alias Solis
Writer, The Modern Heiress