When I saw his name on the candidate list for the marketing manager position, I swear the universe had a dark sense of humor. Martín Solares. Five years without seeing him, five years without a word, and now here he was—sitting in my office waiting room, waiting for me to decide his professional fate.

“Miss Vargas, the 11 a.m. candidate has arrived,” Lucía announced over the intercom.

“Send him in after five minutes,” I replied, needing that pause to steady myself.

I got up and checked my reflection in the office mirror. The wine-colored dress I’d designed myself fit perfectly. Size 46, empire cut, elegant, commanding. My hair cascaded in soft waves over my shoulders. Makeup flawless. I was no longer the 23-year-old girl crying in the bathroom after he said those words.

“Paula, you’re amazing, but… I need someone who takes care of themselves. Someone who can go to the gym, wear a bikini without embarrassment. This isn’t going to work.”

The door opened. He walked in. Still attractive, though now with a few premature gray hairs and none of that arrogant smile that had haunted me for years. He looked… tired. Desperate, maybe.

“Paula?” His face went pale when he saw me behind the executive desk. “I didn’t know you—”

“Sit, Martín,” I said, my voice cold, professional, commanding.

He lowered himself into the chair awkwardly, hands shaking slightly as he set his portfolio on his lap.

“Your résumé is… interesting,” I began, flipping through it though I’d memorized it already. “I see you’ve worked at three companies in the past five years. None for more than eighteen months.”

“Yes, well, the market’s been tough and—”

“And you were fired from the last two for poor performance,” I interrupted, locking eyes with him. “Why should we hire you at Cuerpos Reales?”

He swallowed hard. That gesture—I remembered it. He always did it when nervous.

“Paula, I know our history is… complicated. But I’m good at what I do. I’ve just had bad luck. I need this opportunity.”

“Bad luck?” I placed the papers on my desk. “Interesting. Coming from someone who always said success is only about discipline and effort. Remember? You told me that if I ‘worked harder,’ I could be different.”

He looked down.

“I was an idiot,” he admitted.

“More than that, Martín. You were cruel.”

Silence filled the room. I could hear the tick of the wall clock. Each second a small victory.

“Look,” he said finally, voice cracking, “I know I have no right to ask for anything. But I need this job. My wife is pregnant, we have debts, and… you’re my last option.”

“Your wife?” I asked, genuinely curious. “The Instagram model you started dating two weeks after breaking up with me?”

“We divorced a year ago,” he murmured. “Turns out having a perfect body doesn’t make someone a good person. Or faithful.”

I almost laughed. Almost.

“Do you know what’s ironic, Martín?” I said. “You created Cuerpos Reales thinking of people like me. Women who you made feel ‘not enough.’”

“Paula, I—”

“Let me finish,” I interrupted, voice firm. “When you left, I spent months hating myself. Doing crazy diets. Going to the gym until I nearly passed out. Crying in front of the mirror. I lost weight, yes. A lot. And guess what? I was still miserable because I was doing it for the wrong reasons.”

I stood and walked to the window, overlooking the city.

“Then one day, I designed a dress. A dress that fit me, not a mannequin. One that made me feel beautiful as I was. I posted it online. It went viral. Women everywhere wanted one. That’s how Cuerpos Reales was born.”

I turned to face him.

“Today, I have twelve stores nationwide, a team of 150, and last month Forbes included me in their list of top entrepreneurs under 30. I didn’t lose weight to please you, Martín. I grew so you could never hold power over me again.”

Tears welled in his eyes.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Paula. You don’t know how sorry I am.”

“I know,” I said, letting a small smile slip. “And yes, the vengeful part of me wants to fire you right now. To humiliate you as you humiliated me.”

I watched the hope drain from his face.

“But,” I continued, “I built this company on the idea that everyone deserves dignity, respect, and second chances. And even though you’re the last person I should extend compassion to, I will not betray my values for you.”

I sat back down.

“You’ll start as a marketing assistant, not as a manager. Standard salary. Six-month probation. You’ll report directly to Daniela, my marketing director, who, by the way, wears a size 52 and is one of the most brilliant people I know. Respect her. And if I hear one inappropriate comment about anyone’s body in this company, you’re out. Understood?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, absolutely. Thank you, Paula. You don’t know what this means…”

“One last thing, Martín,” I interrupted as he stood. “In this company, everyone models one piece for our internal catalog. You will too. Everyone is a real body here. Everyone is enough. It’s time you learned that lesson too.”

He froze for a moment, processing, then nodded.

“Lucía will give you the contract papers. Welcome to Cuerpos Reales, Martín. Don’t disappoint me.”

When he left my office, I allowed myself to smile. Not the explosive revenge I had imagined during those long, dark nights five years ago. Something better. Justice with grace. Proof that his cruelty hadn’t destroyed me — it had forged me.

I grabbed my phone and texted my best friend:

“Remember Martín? He just started working for me. Life comes full circle.”

Her reply came instantly: “Queen. Dinner tonight to celebrate?”

I smiled, looking out at the city I now conquered with my work and talent.

“Of course. But this time, it’s my victory we’re celebrating.”

Because the best revenge isn’t hurting someone. It’s being so incredibly happy and successful that their opinion no longer matters. It’s turning pain into purpose, scars into armor.

I didn’t lose weight to please anyone. I grew so no one could ever make me feel small again.

And that, undoubtedly, was the sweetest victory of all.