Alex had always thought he was untouchable. Twenty-eight, ripped from endless hours training clients at the upscale gym downtown, with that cocky smile that got him whatever – and whoever – he wanted. Mia had been one of those “whoevers.” Nineteen, sweet, a little shy, with big eyes that looked at him like he hung the moon. They’d dated for three months – long enough for her to fall hard, short enough for him to get bored.

The breakup was brutal. He did it over text, because he didn’t want to deal with the tears.

*“Look, Mia, you’re just… not hot anymore. You’re kinda ugly now, honestly. I don’t want to be with you. Don’t message me again.”*

He hit send, tossed his phone on the passenger seat, and drove to the gym like nothing had happened.

He never saw the woman watching from across the street.

Vanessa was thirty-eight, divorced once, and fiercely protective of her only daughter. When Mia came home sobbing, phone clutched in shaking hands, Vanessa read the messages. Every cruel word. She felt something cold and sharp coil in her chest. She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She just memorized Alex’s face from the gym selfie Mia still had saved, and waited.

Three days later, she found him.

Alex was locking up late, gym bag slung over his shoulder, whistling as he walked to his car down a quiet side street. Vanessa stepped out from the shadows in front of him, heels clicking sharply on the pavement. Tall – taller than him in her stilettos – with long dark hair and a body that turned heads even when she wasn’t furious. Tonight she was furious.

He stopped, smirking. “Can I help you?”

“You’re Alex,” she said. Not a question.

“Yeah… do I know you?”

“You know my daughter. Mia.”

His smirk faltered. “Oh. Shit. Look, lady—”

Vanessa didn’t let him finish. She lifted one manicured hand, fingers snapping once. A strange shimmer rippled through the air, like heat rising off asphalt. Alex felt the world lurch, his stomach dropping as everything around him expanded impossibly fast. The ground rushed up. His gym bag crashed down like a falling building. When the dizziness cleared, he was staring up – way up – at Vanessa’s enormous face looming above him like a vengeful goddess...

The office was quiet that afternoon, the usual hum of keyboards and phones replaced by an uneasy silence. Emily, the young secretary, sat nervously in the lavish home of Mrs. Elena Thompson, the wife of her boss, Mark Thompson. Emily had always been attracted to Mark—his confidence, his power—but after months of their secret affair, guilt had finally overtaken her. She couldn't keep it hidden anymore.

"I... I have to tell you something, Mrs. Thompson," Emily stammered, her hands trembling. "Your husband... Mark... he's been cheating on you. With me. It started a few months ago in the office. Late nights, locked doors... I'm so sorry."

Elena's face hardened at first, but then a cold, knowing smile spread across her lips. She wasn't surprised. She'd suspected it for weeks. Instead of anger, a wicked gleam appeared in her eyes. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, elegant glass vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid.

"Thank you for your honesty, dear," Elena said calmly, handing the vial to Emily. "This is a special... serum. Pour it into his coffee tomorrow morning. He'll drink it, and then... justice will be served. Trust me, you'll enjoy what's coming next."

Emily hesitated, but the thrill of revenge—and something darker, a curiosity about Elena's confidence—made her nod. The next day, back in the office, she prepared Mark's usual black coffee. With shaking hands, she uncorked the vial and poured the entire contents in, stirring it until it dissolved completely. Mark arrived, flashed his charming smile at her, and took a big sip without suspicion.

At first, nothing happened. Mark sat at his desk, reviewing reports. Then, a strange warmth spread through his body. He felt dizzy, his vision blurring. "Emily... something's wrong... I feel... shrinking?"

Panic set in as his clotes began to loosen around him. His body tingled, contracting rapidly. In seconds, his suit jacket slipped off, his pants pooled around tiny legs, and he dwindled down, down, until he was no taller than 1 cm—completely naked, exposed, and terrified on the vast expanse of his office chair. He tumbled off the edge, falling what felt like miles to the carpeted floor below.

Emily watched in awe and horror as her former lover shrank before her eyes. When he landed with a soft thud near her high-heeled feet, she kicked off her shoes, revealing her bare, perfectly pedicured feet. Mark looked up in absolute terror at the colossal woman towering over him—her toes alone were bigger than his entire body.

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