Troublesome Customer

The rest of the night passed by in a blur, leaving Kyle to stew over his unsettling encounter with the woman in the shop. Los Angeles wasn't known for its polite residents, but this woman had taken rudeness to another level. Not only had she stormed in dripping wet and muddied from head to toe, leaving a mess in her wake, but she had also been completely unapologetic about it. She was the epitome of audaciousness, and Kyle couldn't help but wonder how some people could lack such basic kindness.

Though her antics annoyed him, Kyle reminded himself that he didn't have the time or energy to dwell on it. It wasn't unusual to encounter entitled individuals in a city like this, but she stood out because of the strange arrogance in her demeanor. After she stormed out, taking a phone call and practically ignoring his prohibition on smoking indoors, Kyle had the sneaking suspicion that she would have done whatever she wanted regardless of what anyone said.

In hindsight, Kyle realized how easily that interaction could have gone sideways. If she were someone of prominence—an actress, a model, or worse, a celebrity—things could have spiraled completely out of control. The shop owner likely would've sided with her, even if Kyle was in the right. That was the unspoken rule of Los Angeles: fame over fairness. For now, though, Kyle decided to put the incident out of his mind. He had bigger issues to deal with than an entitled stranger.

Back in his small, dingy apartment, Kyle surveyed his surroundings. The space was bare, save for a single chair, a rickety table, and an old TV that clung to the wall like a relic of better days. It wasn't much, but Kyle had learned to survive with the bare minimum. He wasn't expecting guests—nor did he want any—so what did it matter?

The rumbling of his stomach jolted him out of his thoughts, a painful reminder that he hadn't had dinner. Kyle had planned to pick up leftovers from the restaurant where he sometimes managed to get discounted meals, claiming it was for his non-existent dog. It was a harmless fib, and the staff never questioned him. However, tonight he had forgotten, and now he had to face the reality of an empty fridge.

Pulling open the creaky refrigerator door, Kyle's suspicions were confirmed. There was nothing edible inside—just an old carton of milk he wasn't brave enough to inspect and some forgotten leftovers that had turned into a science experiment. For a fleeting moment, Kyle considered taking the risk. "You only live once," he thought to himself, but the idea quickly lost its appeal.

His shoulders slumped as he closed the fridge door with a sigh. "Guess there's no dinner tonight," he muttered, shuffling toward his bed. Sleep, at least, was free. He could escape his hunger and his growing list of problems for a few hours.

But before he could drift off, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Kyle didn't need to check to know who it was. The landlord, Mr. Jones, was persistent, and sure enough, the message was another warning. If Kyle didn't pay rent by the end of the week, he would be evicted. It wasn't the first time Mr. Jones had sent such a text, but Kyle couldn't be angry with him. The man had been more than patient, even forgiving a few months' worth of late payments. However, patience had its limits, and Kyle knew his time was running out.

Despite the weight of his predicament, sleep came eventually. When morning arrived, Kyle rose with a groan, his body aching from another night on the lumpy mattress. He didn't want to go to work, but he couldn't afford to lose his job. Each day felt like another piece of his soul was chipped away, but he had no choice. He needed every shift he could get.

The walk to work was uneventful, the streets of Los Angeles bustling with life as they always were. This time, Kyle remembered to bring an umbrella, wary of the unpredictable weather. At the store, he was greeted by one of his younger coworkers, a college student named Nate.

"You're early today," Nate said with a cheerful grin. He was everything Kyle wasn't—attractive, confident, and good with words. With his wavy blonde hair and striking blue eyes, Nate was a magnet for customers, particularly women. Kyle often wondered why someone like Nate chose to work here, but he never asked. Their interactions were polite but shallow, and Kyle didn't envy the younger man's popularity.

The morning passed slowly, with Nate leaving his shift at noon, leaving Kyle to man the store alone for the rest of the day. Business was slow, as usual, and Kyle found himself watching the clock, counting down the minutes until closing time.

But his monotonous day took a sharp turn when the door swung open, and in walked the last person Kyle wanted to see—the rude woman from the night before. She wasn't alone this time. A towering man accompanied her, his presence imposing and unmistakably deliberate. Kyle tensed up, his instincts screaming that this wasn't a coincidence.

The woman stormed to the counter, her voice echoing through the empty store. "I WANT TO SEE THE MANAGER!" she screamed, her tone sharp and accusatory.

Kyle stepped back, startled by her sudden outburst. The man with her, who Kyle now noticed was wearing a badge, stood silently but made his presence known with a stern expression.

Before Kyle could respond, his boss, Mr. Ryder, emerged from his office. The excitement on Ryder's face was palpable as he recognized the woman. "Calista Wave!?" he exclaimed, his tone a mix of awe and disbelief.

Kyle frowned, finally placing her name. Calista Wave was a small-town actress who had gained minor fame from a controversial nude scene in a low-budget film. It wasn't exactly a stellar résumé, but apparently, it was enough for Ryder to grovel.

Calista rolled her eyes at the attention but wasted no time getting to the point. "Your boy here ruined my bag, and I demand a full refund!" she barked, holding up a designer purse with a broken strap.

Kyle's stomach sank. The bag was a Louis Vuitton, the kind of luxury item he could never afford, and he immediately knew he was being set up. "That's not the same bag," he thought, but he bit his tongue, knowing any protest would be useless.

Ryder, predictably, sided with her. "I'm so sorry! I'll make sure he pays you every penny this bag's worth!" he stammered, his face pale with worry.

Kyle clenched his fists, anger bubbling inside him. This wasn't just unfair—it was a blatant scam. But before he could speak, the man with Calista stepped forward, holding up a device that played a video of the alleged incident.

Kyle stared at the screen in disbelief. The footage showed him aggressively ripping the bag strap, an event that had never happened. He didn't understand how such a video could exist until it dawned on him—it was fake, generated with advanced AI.

For a moment, Kyle was speechless. "That's fine," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "How much would it cost to sew the strap back on?"

The officer's expression hardened. "Miss Wave isn't interested in pressing charges as long as you replace the bag," he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Kyle chuckled bitterly. "Sure, let me just pull $6,000 out of my nonexistent savings," he muttered sarcastically.

By the end of the ordeal, Kyle had emptied his bank account to pay her, leaving him broke and jobless, as Ryder promptly fired him. That night, standing on the edge of a bridge, Kyle stared into the abyss, contemplating his next move—or lack thereof.

And then, something extraordinary happened.