I went on a date with a guy.
He ordered the fanciest things on the menu.
I thought, “This one is a catch,” but then he asked to split the bill.
I didn’t show how bothered I was. Minutes after we parted ways, he called and said:
“Hey! I just noticed that you—”
I held my breath, waiting for him to finish.
“—left your card at the table. Don’t worry, I grabbed it for you.”
At first, I was relieved. That was thoughtful, right? But then, something nagged at me. I hadn’t taken my card out at all—I paid my half of the bill in cash.
My stomach tightened.
“Are you sure?” I asked carefully. “Because I didn’t use my card tonight.”
There was silence on the other end. Then he laughed, too quickly, too nervously. “Oh, right. Must’ve been someone else’s. Sorry, long day.”
And just like that, he hung up.
But my instincts were screaming. Why would he lie about something so small?
I decided to check my bank app, just in case. And that’s when I saw it—three new charges, all pending, all at the same restaurant we had just left.
Except they were way higher than what we ate. Bottles of champagne. Premium dishes. Almost $700 in total.
He hadn’t just asked to split the bill.
He’d found a way to make me pay for his entire night.
And now he had my number, my name… and maybe even more.
I froze, staring at the charges. My heart pounded in my ears. He had planned this. The fancy dishes, the split bill, the phone call—it was all a setup.
But he had underestimated me.
The next morning, I marched back to the restaurant. The manager listened intently as I explained, then pulled up the security footage. And there it was—my “date” slipping my card from the table when I excused myself to the restroom.
The police were called.
By the time they caught up with him, he had already tried to pull the same trick on another woman… at the same restaurant.
When the officer called me to confirm the details, he chuckled and said, “Guess what he was wearing on his second date?”
I sighed. “Let me guess—something expensive?”
“No,” the officer replied. “A suit he never paid for. Turns out he’s been renting clothes, scamming women, and living like a king—until now.”
Days later, I received an email from the court. My testimony had helped build the case. He was facing fraud charges, and every victim’s money was being reimbursed—including mine.
I smiled for the first time in days. He thought he was clever, but he walked straight into his own trap.
And as for me?
Let’s just say I’m much more careful now… but I’ll admit, there’s something satisfying about knowing that while he sits in a cell, I can finally enjoy a dinner out—on my own terms.
Weeks later, I thought it was all behind me—until I got a letter in the mail.
It was from him.
Scrawled in messy handwriting, it read: “You were the smartest one. If you had just played along, we could’ve been unstoppable. Don’t forget me.”
A chill ran down my spine.
I tore the letter in half, then in half again, and dropped it straight into the trash.
For the first time since that disastrous date, I laughed—because the only thing he’d be unstoppable at now… was rotting behind bars.
And that’s exactly where he belonged.
