The Woman They Underestimated

Saturday afternoon. Saks Fifth Avenue, Manhattan. I walked into the French luxury brand boutique on the third floor, and from the left came a familiar voice complaining. It was Chloe, berating a sales associate about how the shoulders were too tight. A second later, she shrieked: "Twenty-three thousand?! That's highway robbery! Forget it—Ethan, let's go." She grabbed Ethan from the sofa where he'd been scrolling his phone, turned around, and our eyes met. The moment she made out my face, she let out a startled scream: "Emma?!" I nodded—my version of a hello. Chloe's gaze traveled from my face, noticeably slimmer now, down to the latest Burberry trench I was wearing. Her lips moved. Her voice came out dry. "Emma, you've changed so much. I almost didn't recognize you." Ethan's eyes were glued to me, practically gleaming. "Emma, you've lost so much weight." "Your whole vibe—it's completely different from before." Chloe saw it all. The smile on her face was barely holding. "Emma, your styling has really improved. That knockoff looks surprisingly convincing—send me the link later, would you?" Her voice wasn't exactly quiet: "Obviously I'd never wear fakes myself. There's this gold-digger at our office who loves buying counterfeits to show off—I'll forward it to her." "I'm not saying that's you, Emma. I know you're not that kind of person." A few other customers turned to look at me with subtle, curious expressions. "The quality doesn't look fake, though." "Right? She's got the same presence as that private equity partner I met last time." "Who knows—counterfeits are getting pretty convincing these days." I watched the secret little curve at the corner of Chloe's mouth. Same trick as three years ago. A few breezy words, and suddenly you're the one standing in an awkward spotlight. But I had no interest in proving anything. I simply focused on browsing the racks. Seeing that the associate was French, I switched to French without thinking: "Could you bring me this one in my size, please?" The moment the flawless French left my lips, the store went quiet for a beat. The associate smiled and handed me the garment. When I stepped out of the fitting room, murmurs of admiration rose around me. "Now that she's wearing it, I suddenly realize the cut is absolutely stunning." "Excuse me—could I get one in my size?" Several customers were clamoring for the associate to pull their sizes. Chloe's expression froze. She forced a smile. "Emma, honestly, this piece makes your head look kind of big. Maybe try a different one? Right, Ethan?" Three years ago, she'd done the same thing—casually pointing out my "little flaws." Frumpy. That lipstick washes you out. No social skills. And back then, Ethan always took her side. The self-doubt kept me up entire nights, questioning everything about myself. But now, Ethan's eyes held nothing but admiration. "That jacket looks like it was made for you." In my peripheral vision, Chloe's nails dug into her palm. I smiled. "I think so too." Ethan pulled out his card. "How much? Put it on mine." The associate quickly answered in English: "Sir, thirty-eight thousand dollars." Chloe sucked in a sharp breath and, in a flash of panic, snatched the card. "Ethan! This is way too expensive—you're really going to buy it for her?" Then, as if realizing how that sounded, she added with an awkward laugh: "I'm not saying you shouldn't buy it. It's just—it's so expensive, and Emma's company and clients right now? They're not at that level." "If she's dressed better than her boss, wouldn't that make her boss look bad?" Here we go again. I watched the scene with something close to amusement, and my mind drifted back. Three years ago, on my birthday, Ethan gave me a necklace I'd been eyeing for ages. I was overjoyed, reaching for the box—but Chloe intercepted it. She shook her head disapprovingly. "This necklace is over a thousand dollars! Can Emma even pull that off? Once she wears it, she'll need a dress to match—several hundred more—and a bag worth even more. Her monthly salary is what it is. Ethan, isn't this just encouraging vanity?" The necklace was taken back. That was the first time I ever snapped at Chloe: "Can you please have some boundaries? Stop meddling in my relationship with Ethan." Chloe covered her face, looking stunned. "But I was genuinely looking out for you!" She left in tears. Ethan didn't hesitate—he abandoned me to chase after her, tossing one line over his shoulder: "Eat the birthday cake yourself. Chloe had nothing but good intentions, and you went way too far." The two of them shared an umbrella, glanced back at me, exchanged a smile—like they were relieved to have finally shed a burden. In that instant, my tears fell onto the cake. I finally stopped lying to myself. That was the last time I ever cried because of them. I snapped back to the present and casually took out my own card. "Please wrap this one up for me. I'm in a hurry." As I opened my card holder, the edge of an invitation-only platinum card slipped out and landed on the counter. A young woman nearby had sharp eyes. She leaned in, whispering excitedly: "Is that an Hermès private client card? I saw one once in Paris—only their highest-spending clients get those." That one remark changed every pair of eyes in the room. The customer who'd been muttering about "fakes" earlier looked away uncomfortably. "It's her friend's fault for saying all that nonsense, pushing everyone in that direction." Someone else scoffed. "Obviously. That's textbook jealousy." Chloe's face went dark enough to storm. The associate returned my card with both hands, bowing slightly, her tone far more deferential than before: "Ma'am, your card. The suit will be packaged right away. Please don't hesitate to reach out for anything." I nodded without further comment. As I moved to push open the door, Chloe suddenly spoke. "Emma, you really are doing so much better than before. I'm genuinely happy for you." "It's just—" Her tone pivoted. "This kind of spending power out of nowhere… you didn't take any shortcuts, did you?" She added quickly: "Don't overthink it. I just feel like you've changed so much—so much that it's hard not to worry." I turned around and looked her in the eye. And it struck me, all at once, that I should have done this a long time ago. "Chloe." "First you push someone into the dirt. Then you slap on the 'I'm just looking out for you' mask. You've been performing this act for years. Doesn't it get exhausting?" Her smile froze; her eyes reddened. "Emma, I was only being concerned… We're best friends, aren't we?" I laughed once. "Would a friend use every excuse in the book to throw herself at my boyfriend?" "Would a friend take my proposal without asking—the one my entire career hinged on—and fail to keep it safe?" "Would a friend publicly imply I wear counterfeits and live off men?" The store fell dead silent. Chloe's lips trembled. "Emma, those were all misunderstandings…" Out of habit, she tugged at Ethan's sleeve. "Ethan, see? Emma's being paranoid again." Three years ago, every time she'd been "wronged," he'd step in front and fight her battle. Ethan looked down at her. For the very first time, remarkably, he didn't speak up for her. I said it word by word: "Chloe, you never once truly treated me as a friend." "So let me make this perfectly clear: you're you, and I'm me. Stop coming around playing the devoted sister act. It makes me sick." With that, I turned and walked out. Behind me, Chloe's sobs, and the low murmurs of onlookers. "The second she feels slighted she runs to her friend's boyfriend for comfort—she's got that down to an art." "Can't stand on her own, so she assumes everyone else got where they are through something shady." I pushed through the glass door. Ethan came chasing after me, his manner eager and attentive. "Emma, where are you headed? Let me drive you." The afternoon sun poured down. I squinted into the light and refused without hesitation. "Ethan, when something shows up after I've already stopped needing it, it doesn't matter how good it is. It's just unnecessary." "No thanks." Back then, whenever Chloe and I argued, Ethan's favoritism would keep me awake the entire night, aching. But now, I was my own knight. Who needs this belated devotion?

After I got home, a notification popped up. Chloe had pulled Ethan and me into a group chat, opening with a wall of text. The gist: "Emma, what you said today really hurt, but I don't blame you." "I looked up that card of yours—you can buy a convincing replica online for a few hundred dollars." "We've been friends for years, and I genuinely don't want to see you go down the wrong path. Drop the vanity, focus on self-improvement, okay?" Below that, she'd attached a link to an internal referral form. Ethan added: "Emma, Chloe called in favors for you everywhere. Just fill out the form." I accidentally tapped the document open and saw the position listed. I laughed. "So you need to pull strings just to refer someone for a front-desk receptionist at Meridian?" Chloe replied fast. "Well, what else can I do?" Her tone was half-accusatory: "I'd love to recommend you for something better, but you've done nothing for the past three years—no real work experience to speak of. If you want to get into Meridian and be our colleague, a receptionist role is the only entry-level option." I was still puzzled when Ethan sent a sighing emoji. "I let myself get fooled by the way you carry yourself now." He sent several photos. Every single one showed "me" sprawled on a couch playing video games, the floor littered with takeout containers. Ethan: "If Chloe's friend didn't happen to be your landlord, I'd almost have believed you'd reinvented yourself over these three years." "Even running into us today—you staged the whole thing, didn't you? Just so I'd think you'd made it." "Tomorrow at eight. Be on time for your interview." It didn't take me long to piece together what had happened. I almost laughed from sheer disbelief. "One of you should see a therapist about projecting this much malice onto other people's lives. The other one should get his eyes checked—and maybe a brain scan while he's at it." I sent the message, left the group, and blocked them both. Slept like the dead. Monday. Eight-thirty in the morning. The night before, my assistant Sienna had messaged: "Ms. Emma, the welcome area in the ground-floor lobby has been set up. The CEO will come down personally at nine to receive you." I always arrive early. The moment I stepped into Meridian Group's soaring atrium lobby, a familiar voice called out behind me. "Emma?" Chloe approached, coffee in hand, wearing an I-knew-it smirk. "You came." "You left the group so fast last night, I thought you were mad. But here you are after all." Ethan trailed behind her, his gaze lingering on my face and tailored suit for several seconds, his expression complicated. "Emma, with how you look now—if I brought you around to meet my friends, they'd be impressed. You'd really make me look good." He paused. "But my parents prefer girls with ambition. If your work ethic were even half as good as Chloe's, I wouldn't have been going back and forth like this." Chloe pressed her lips together—part reluctance, part satisfaction. She grabbed my hand. "Come on, I'll take you to the interview." I pulled free. "Out of the way. I'm here to work."