Three years after we broke up, Roger sued me. He wanted every dollar he’d ever spent on me during our relationship returned. He wasn't broke; his new wife was just bored, and I was her new plaything. He knew my body was failing me. He knew I hadn’t slept without medication since my parents died in a car crash, that a thick fog of depression had settled over my life. He knew I’d tried to end it all once, waking up in a hospital bed with doctors whispering that I might not make it. And he did it anyway. In the courtroom, I looked at his face, so familiar yet so alien. I had known him for seven years, loved him for five. When he left to study abroad in America, I never once thought of giving up, even when things were at their worst. L.A. was a world away, but I flew back and forth a dozen times to be with him. The court ordered me to pay him back $10,723. That last three dollars was from a day on the streets of L.A. I’d seen a stall selling candied apples, but at three dollars a piece, I couldn't bring myself to buy one. He had just laughed and bought it for me anyway. Now, even that sweet memory had been sharpened into a blade pointed at my heart. He didn't know. That ten thousand dollars was every cent I had to my name. It was also the money I’d set aside for my next round of chemotherapy. 1 After the verdict was read, I ran right into Roger in the hallway. I hadn’t seen him in years, and he’d changed. The struggling student who used to hustle between part-time jobs and a cramped, cheap apartment was now a titan in the green tech industry. He stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, his gaze landing on me with a cool, detached frostiness. I froze, my first instinct to pretend I hadn’t seen him and walk away. But then he spoke, his voice slow and deliberate. “Are you regretting it… now?” I blinked, confused. “What?” A bitter, mocking smile twisted his lips. “Dumping me for money back then. You must be kicking yourself, right?” The late autumn wind was sharp, cutting through my thin clothes. I clenched my fists, but a deep, unshakable chill had already taken root in my bones. I took a deep breath and forced a flawless smile. “Mr. Vance, the money has been repaid. We’re broken up. Aren't you worried your wife might get the wrong idea if she heard you talking like this?” As if on cue, I turned and saw Felicity standing there, her face a mask of fury. The anger vanished in an instant, replaced by a radiant smile that didn’t quite reach the venom in her eyes. She clicked across the floor in her stilettos and wrapped her arm possessively around Roger’s. “Honey, what should I even do with this ten thousand dollars? A new dress? Shoes? Or that designer bag I saw last week?” She shot a pointed look at me, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “It doesn't seem to be enough for any of those, does it? You really should have been more generous with your ex-girlfriend. This little bit of cash wouldn't even cover a new hairpin for me.” I had loved Roger for five years. During that time, while he was studying in L.A., I flew across the country every month to see him. The ten thousand dollars he sued me for was mostly the money he had earned working grueling side jobs to help pay for my plane tickets. But now, he and Felicity had presented the bank transfers to their lawyer, who had torn my life apart in court, demanding repayment as if it were their birthright. The hairpin on Felicity’s head was the latest release from Chanel, costing fifteen thousand dollars. The money she’d just squeezed from me truly wasn’t enough. Roger brushed a stray hair from her face with a tender, doting gesture. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Think of it as pocket money. If it’s not enough, I’ll add to it.” Felicity’s face lit up, and she planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best, honey!” Then, she turned to me, her smile a weapon. “Eve, I am so sorry. We obviously don’t need the money, but Roger and I made a little bet. He did this just to make me happy, you know?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Ever since we got married, Roger worries about me working too hard, so he won’t let me get a job. All I do all day is skincare, beauty treatments, and travel. A girl has to find some way to amuse herself, right?” She reached out and took my hand, her eyes glittering with triumph. “Thank you for making my day. And for proving just how much my husband adores me.” A sharp pain shot through my chest, like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. For the rich, this was just a game. I was nothing more than a pawn, a tool used to demonstrate the depths of Roger’s devotion to his wife. 2 I fought to keep my hands from shaking and plastered on another perfect smile. “A debt is a debt. It’s only right that I paid it.” Felicity’s smile widened. “I hope you always feel that way.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “My husband is a simple man. He was deceived by someone vain and materialistic. I just wanted to help him get his own back. I hope you don't mind.” Suddenly, her grip on my hand tightened, her nails digging viciously into my wrist. I cried out in shock and pain, stumbling backward. My feet tangled, and I tumbled down the marble steps. My knee cracked against a sharp edge, and a hot, searing pain was followed by the sight of blood blooming through my pants. I gritted my teeth against the wave of agony, my body trembling as I looked up at the two figures looming over me. Felicity covered her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand, her eyes wide with fake surprise. “Eve, what happened? It was only ten thousand dollars. Surely that’s not enough to make you lose your balance? You look badly hurt. Should we give you a ride home?” Her triumphant smile returned. “Roger just bought me a new sports car. I’m sure ten thousand dollars would cover the gas to get you home.” Her car was an anniversary gift from Roger, its body encrusted with shimmering pink diamonds—a perfect reflection of her ostentatious taste. She loved parading it around the city, causing a stir with the press and drawing envious stares from everyone who saw it. My gaze shifted to Roger. His eyes were cold and deep, unreadable pools of shadow. He looked down at me from the top of the stairs, a silent, icy judgment in his stare. I felt like a stray dog, beaten and discarded. I pushed myself up from the cold floor, the pain in my knee a dull, throbbing echo. I managed another smile. “No, thank you. I’ll get home on my own.” Felicity burst into a tinkling laugh. “Well, we’ll be on our way then!” She turned to Roger. “Honey, I know what we can buy with the money.” Her voice was bright and cheerful. “Our little Louis’s dog bowl is broken. I want to get him one of those new smart feeders.” Roger’s eyes remained fixed on me, a storm of unreadable emotions swirling within them. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice a low murmur. “Whatever.” Felicity looped her arm through his, and they walked away, giddy with their victory. I watched as their dazzling sports car sped away, a blur of pink and chrome. It wasn't until the car disappeared and a taxi pulled up to the curb that I remembered. I didn’t even have the money for cab fare anymore. Roger would never know. The money he was now using for a dog bowl was the money I needed to stay alive. 3 I dragged my battered body home. My place was a tin-roofed shack built on top of a tenement building in the poorest part of the city. Whenever the wind blew or the rain fell, the metal would groan and shriek, keeping me awake all night. In the summer, it was a sweatbox. There was no air conditioning, and I couldn't afford the electricity for a fan anyway. I’d suffered from heatstroke more than once. I thought Roger would never find me here. I never imagined our reunion would be in a courtroom. My eyes fell on the wall, covered with articles I’d clipped from magazines and newspapers. I began to tear them down, one by one. Each one had a picture of Roger. Roger, the rising star of the green tech world, giving his first major interview. Roger, at the awards ceremony, named one of New York’s Ten Most Outstanding Young Entrepreneurs. And… Roger, down on one knee, proposing to Felicity, their storybook wedding splashed across every media outlet, a spectacle for the whole world to see. I took a shaky breath, ripping the pages into pieces, shoving them into a cardboard box hidden under my bed. My gaze landed on a faded photograph at the bottom of the box. A wave of grief washed over me. In the picture, Roger’s arm was wrapped around me, his smile shy, genuine, and utterly incandescent. I thought of the cold, distant man in the courthouse hallway, and it felt like I was looking at a ghost from another lifetime. He was the CEO of a publicly traded company now, a powerful figure in the city, a celebrated philanthropist, and the perfect husband who doted on Felicity, placing her on a pedestal for all to admire. The only thing he wasn't anymore… was my boyfriend. I gave a final, bitter smile and sealed the box, burying the photos and the memories along with it. Then, I stood in front of the mirror, applying my makeup like armor and pulling on a tight-fitting dress. “Boss,” I said into the phone. “From now on, I want to work the night shift.” The night shift at the bar meant dealing with sleazy, grabby men, but it also meant more money, and faster. I had no choice. To live, I had to earn the money for my treatment. But I never, ever expected to see Roger there. He was surrounded by a crowd of people, the center of attention. My fingers tightened into fists, and the exposed skin of my arms and shoulders began to prickle with heat. Of course, he saw me too. A flicker of shock and disbelief crossed his face, quickly replaced by a sneer of pure contempt. “So, this is where you work now.” My palms were slick with sweat, but I forced myself to remain calm. “Your drink, sir.” He looked at me with open disgust, as if I were a rat struggling in a sewer. “Makes sense, I suppose. Any man who walks in here could set you up for life if you play your cards right. It really suits you.” I took another deep breath. “Your drink, sir.” He raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been here? Don’t you know how to serve a customer?” He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, scribbled a number, and tossed it onto the floor in front of me. “Take good care of my friends tonight, and this is yours.” The check landed at my feet. I knelt slowly to pick it up, my injured knee screaming in protest. When I saw the number written on it, my breath caught in my throat. My heart seized, a pain so sharp it felt like a physical blow. $10,723. The exact amount the court had ordered me to pay him. He was using it to humiliate me. I stood there, meeting his cold gaze. After a long, silent moment, my own voice came out, thin but steady. “This is a payment for a service, Mr. Vance. I… won’t have to give this back, will I?” 4 My doctor told me I couldn't drink. Not a single drop. But I had no choice. I needed the money. For the past few years, I’d swallowed my pride and done whatever it took to survive. What were a few drinks compared to that? The men with Roger tonight were his friends. They all knew our story. They knew that three years ago, when Roger was on the verge of bankruptcy, his funding pulled, so close to the edge he almost jumped from a bridge, I had walked out on him. They knew he’d searched for me like a madman, getting into a car accident in the process, and that even as he lay in a hospital bed begging me not to go, I never looked back. They hated me. They wanted to defend his honor, and they weren’t going to show me any mercy. They poured drink after drink down my throat until the world dissolved into a meaningless blur. I collapsed onto the table, a boneless heap. When I reached for another bottle, Roger’s anger finally flared. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “Is there really no line you won’t cross for money?” I lifted my head, my vision swimming. Like a beggar, I held out my hand to him. “Roger… the money… you promised…” My voice was a slurred mess. “You said… if I drank… if I took care of your friends… you’d give me the money… and you wouldn’t take it back…” His expression shifted, becoming something more complex, more conflicted. His thumb brushed over my wrist, over the jagged, raised scars that marred my skin. After my parents died, the depression had consumed me. I had tried to cut it out of myself more than once. Each time, it was Roger who had pulled me back from the brink. He would hold me, his voice raw with desperation. “Eve, you still have me. Please, just for me, you have to live. Promise me you’ll live.” But now, he snatched his hand away as if he’d touched something filthy. His mocking smile returned, colder and sharper than before. “I made a promise, yes. But… look at my friends. Have you taken care of them?” They stood in a circle around me, their eyes filled with a mixture of cold amusement and pity, watching the clown perform. The guests were still sober, and I was already a wreck. I had failed at my job. I forced back the spasms in my stomach and gave him a woozy, foolish grin. “Then I’ll start over. Until you’re satisfied.” As I reached for another bottle, something in Roger finally snapped. He kicked out, his foot connecting with the leg of the table. The whole thing went flying. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room as bottles crashed to the floor. I fell with them, my hand landing directly on a shard of broken glass. The pain was immediate and searing, blood welling up from the gash. The door burst open, and my best friend, Chloe, rushed in. She dropped to her knees beside me, pulling me into a hug. “Eve! Are you okay?” She looked up, her eyes blazing with fury, and screamed at him. “Roger, are you even human? After everything she did for you, you force her to drink like this?” Her voice cracked, thick with tears. “She has stomach cancer! Don’t you get it? This could kill her!”
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