She’s Poking the Tiger, and I’m Enjoying the Show Chapter 10

She’s Poking the Tiger, and I’m Enjoying the Show Chapter 10

As I was leaving, Ethan stepped out of a conference room.

He stopped when he saw me.

He had lost a lot of weight.

“Emma.”

“I owe you an apology for what happened that day.”

I held the box against my chest and looked at him.

He gave me a bitter smile.

“All I could think about was getting content for the company accounts and hitting our numbers. I thought Aria knew where the line was. When you tried to warn us, I treated you like a buzzkill.”

“Then I saw the surveillance footage and realized what could’ve happened if your door had

opened.”

I nodded.

“At least you understand that now.”

He seemed to have more to say, but in the end, he only lowered his voice.

“Stay safe. I hope everything works out for you. And… watch out for Aria. Stay away from her if you

can.”

I didn’t answer.

I turned and stepped into the elevator.

Daniel was waiting for me near the front doors in the first-floor lobby.

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He handed me a flash drive.

“It’s a copy of the van’s dashcam footage. I checked with the police, and they already have the original on file. Keep this copy for yourself. If anyone tries to cause trouble for you later, you’ll have your own evidence.”

I took it.

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

The sun was bright outside.

I carried my box out of the building and took a cab to my new apartment.

It was small but quiet.

The subway entrance was right outside, the building had secure entry, and a key fob was required to

use the elevator.

I put everything away piece by piece.

My computer went on the desk, my files went into a drawer, and I backed up the footage from the

flash drive to both the cloud and an external hard drive.

That evening, I made myself a bowl of noodles.

My phone still held messages from former coworkers.

Some apologized. Some wished me well. Others were clearly fishing for information about what

would happen to Aria.

I deleted them one by one, left the company group chat, and muted Aria’s name and every related keyword across my social feeds.

People were still sharing breakdowns of the safari park attack.

One post read:

[Every safety rule is written in blood.]

No one understood that better than I did.

In my previous life, that blood had been mine,

A month later, the police informed me that Aria had been charged with reckless endangerment for putting everyone in the minivan at risk inside the carnivore enclosure.

The park and the company were still pursuing civil claims against her.

I later heard that Aria never regained full use of her right hand and was left with a permanent limp.

She never livestreamed again.

Some people said she deserved sympathy. Others said she had gotten exactly what she deserved.

I said nothing.

That night, I stood on my balcony and listened to the distant wash of traffic below.

The early summer breeze carried a trace of warmth.

I looked down at my wrist.

There were no injuries.

No finger-shaped bruises from Aria’s grip and no skin scraped raw from being dragged out through

the doorway.

But I would never forget what that felt like.

She had screamed for me to save her while her hand pulled me toward my death.

I had learned that even saving someone didn’t mean ignoring the rules.

Kindness needed boundaries.

A car door was there to protect the people inside. It wasn’t there for someone with a death wish to drag another person out to die in their place.

Later, when a friend invited me to the zoo, I went.

I needed to face what had happened and keep moving forward.

Behind a towering wall of glass, a tiger lay sunning itself on a rock ledge.

It was beautiful and unmistakably dangerous.

A child pressed close to the glass and shouted, “Big kitty!”

The parent immediately pulled him back.

“That’s not a kitty,” the parent said firmly. “It’s a predator.”