I’m a gold digger. I dated a trust fund baby who cheated on me like it was his job. Every time I caught him, he transferred me $100,000. I wiped away my tears, took the money, and chose forgiveness. After a year of this lucrative relationship, I had built my first pot of gold just by catching him in the act. Until one day, I overheard him giving advice to his friends. "Girls like Chloe are the easiest. Give her enough cash, and she'll lick your shoes if you ask her to." I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, an excuse to break up. But the trust fund baby didn't take it well. He cried, he screamed, he threatened to off himself. Word got to his older brother—the cold, ruthless CEO of the family empire. The next day, his brother's Maybach blocked my driveway. "You think you can play my brother? You're too green." "But you can play me. I have way more money." 1 When I caught Julian hooking up with a D-list actress in his car, I was busy trying to clean red wine off my Birkin bag. This bag was his apology gift from last month, when I found him in a hotel room with an Instagram model. It came with a $100,000 "hush money" transfer so I wouldn't tattle to his strict, unfeeling older brother. But tonight, at this pretentious charity gala, some clumsy socialite spilled Pinot Noir all over it. My heart was bleeding. I had planned to carry it once, let Julian see it, and then sell it on a luxury consignment site for at least thirty grand. Now, with the stain, the resale value just plummeted. Coming to this gala with him was bad luck. "Miss Davis, admiring your spoils of war?" A whistle sounded behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know it was Julian's entourage of flat, one-dimensional rich jerks. I ignored them. But high-society brats can't handle being ignored. One of them stepped right in front of me. He tapped his phone and played a voice note he’d just sent to Julian: "Your girlfriend is looking for you." Julian's reply came through instantly, loud enough for everyone to hear. His voice was breathy, shaky, clearly distracted. "Don't worry about it... uh... Chloe is a gold digger, she's easy... pay her enough and she'll lick my shoes..." The audio was filled with wet, sticky sounds and heavy breathing. Someone patted my shoulder. "Check the parking garage. Your boy Julian isn't known for his stamina. He'll be done soon." I sighed. More work for me. Everyone looked down on Julian, and honestly, he made it easy. I walked down to the garage. Three minutes later, I found his car. He was already pulling up his pants, panting heavily. I snapped a photo. Even through the tinted window, I could see his flushed face and sweaty hair. The actress looked perfectly fine, though. She was already fixing her makeup, looking bored. I recognized her. She was famous for her elf-like beauty and her zombie-like acting skills. Earlier at the gala, I saw them making eyes at each other. Who knew he couldn't even wait until the afterparty? I knocked on the window. Julian jumped. His handsome, boyish face contorted in shock. I don't know why he was surprised. Did someone else unzip his pants for him? "Chloe? What are you doing here?" "Need an explanation?" I waved my phone, showing him the picture I just took. He scrambled out of the car, grabbing my wrist. His palm was clammy. "Chloe, listen to me." I nodded, pulling my hand away. "I'm listening." He froze. After a long, awkward silence, he managed to squeak out, "I was drunk." It took him so long to come up with that excuse that the actress had time to fully dress, touch up her lipstick, and lean against the car, smirking at us. Julian was at a loss for words. He pulled out his phone and started tapping frantically. "Chloe, don't be mad. I'm transferring you money. Go buy a bag, or jewelry... or go on a trip..." Suddenly, I felt exhausted. I did a quick mental calculation of my bank account balance. Yeah. It was time to be done with this. 2 To be fair, Julian did save me once. When we met, I was working at a car wash. To avoid the sexual harassment from my male coworkers, I started dressing like a potato sack on my second day. I even bought ugly, thick-rimmed glasses. But I didn't mention... I’m objectively beautiful. And specifically poor. A pretty girl with no money is like a child holding gold in a busy market. You can try to hide, but the predators will always find you. The day Julian showed up, my coworkers had "accidentally" sprayed me with a high-pressure hose. I was soaked. My white t-shirt was transparent under my apron. They were laughing, telling me to just take it off. One of them reached out and pinched my cheek. "So you're not wearing makeup? Your skin is so white..." I was calculating if my last $400 would cover the bail money if I punched him. That's when Julian honked. His car had been washed and parked nearby. I don't know how long he sat there watching. His voice was impatient. "Who washed this? The interior is still damp." My coworkers pushed me forward. "Sorry, sir! The new girl is an idiot. She'll fix it." I shook the water off my arms. I hesitated by his car door, wondering if I should change first so I wouldn't ruin his Italian leather seats. Julian chuckled softly. He leaned down, close to my face. "You shake off water like a puppy." I froze, unsure if he was mocking me. Then his smile vanished. He reached into the back seat and handed me a shopping bag. It was a brand-name outfit, tags still on. "Go change. They're pranking you. It's mean." When I didn't take it, he scratched his head, looking embarrassed. "My ex-girlfriend left it. I haven't even given it to her yet. Don't worry, I'm not a creep." By the time I changed and came back, he was gone. I got his number from the client registry. The next day, I gathered my courage and texted him. I thanked him for speaking up and told him I'd washed and sanitized the clothes if he wanted them back. Originally, I wanted to pay him for them to show I had a backbone. Then I looked up the price of the dress. It cost more than I made in a year. So, returning them was Plan B. Julian replied quickly. He asked to meet at a ridiculously expensive coffee shop near the university. We met a few times after that. I confirmed what I suspected: his family was loaded. Like, "old money, trust fund, never worked a day in his life" loaded. Within a month, he got me a job as a librarian at the university. No creepy coworkers. Just stressed-out students fueled by caffeine. Three months later, we were officially dating. I drove Julian's new sports car back to the car wash just to be petty. I bossed my old coworkers around. I thought it would feel amazing. And yeah, it did. For a minute. But after the rush of revenge faded, their looks of suspicion and judgment made me feel empty again. I was sitting in someone else's car, wearing someone else's wealth like a costume. Was this really what I wanted? 3 Six months into dating, I told Julian I wanted to go to school. My parents were village delinquents who had me out of wedlock. When I was five, they left for the city to find work, taking my baby brother and the family dog. My dad said the city was dangerous, too many cars. So I stayed in the village to "enjoy life." I grew up feral, eating at neighbors' houses because I was cute and had a sweet mouth. When I was eighteen, the village matchmaker tried to set me up with the local idiot who drooled for eight hours a day. That night, I packed a bag and ran to the city. Then I met Julian. Julian, who had been in elite private schools since birth, couldn't understand why anyone would beg to study. Just like he couldn't understand how eight people lived in my old 100-square-foot dorm room. But I was grateful for his ignorance. Our worlds were so different that I was a novelty to him. He thought my desire for education was "adorable." He promised that if I passed the IELTS exam, he'd pay for me to study abroad. I was ecstatic. I started self-studying. I had zero foundation, but I was smart and desperate. I memorized vocabulary words while we were on dates. Julian got annoyed watching me struggle with flashcards, so he paid for an intensive, closed-camp IELTS course. Two months. At first, he called me eight times a day. He reported his every move. He whispered sweet nothings that made my nineteen-year-old heart race. I fantasized about our future. I thought, maybe I couldn't match his wealth, but I could match his education. Once I got my degree, I'd get a good job. I wouldn't need him to be my safety net. But two weeks in, the calls stopped. He got "busy." His schedule became vague. Sometimes he said he loved me; sometimes he disappeared for days. When I finally finished the course, he picked me up with a beaming smile. His left ear was pierced with a row of black studs. The holes were red and inflamed. I found out later that during that month, he fell for an edgy girl who loved piercings and tattoos. He punched holes in his body just to get close to her. The girl got annoyed and called me. "Watch your boyfriend. He's not loyal." I confronted Julian, crying. It was pathetic, but I couldn't stop. The fear of being abandoned, of losing my lifeline, overwhelmed me. I thought he was my Prince Charming. He took me to French restaurants where I couldn't read the menu. Then, seeing my confusion, he drove me to his penthouse and cooked me a simple meal with his own hands. We washed dishes together. In his 5,000-square-foot apartment, I felt... at home. But the dream ended. I realized this wasn't my home. There was no prince. I broke up with him. I moved out of his penthouse and into a tiny room in a shared apartment. Unexpectedly, Julian begged me to stay. He cried, he knelt, he waited outside the library every day. He sent massive bouquets of flowers to my cramped room. When I ignored him for a month, he started drinking. That's when his famous older brother found me. 4 "Get back together with Julian." Sebastian Sterling was a classic rich authoritarian. He loved giving orders. I thought he was insane. "Your brother cheated on me. Who are you to tell me what to do with my relationship?" Sebastian leaned back in his leather chair, looking at a file on his desk. My file. His expression was bored. Like he was watching a toddler throw a tantrum. "My brother is depressed and drinking himself to death because of you. I don't like that." "Then teach your brother how to behave." I stood up to leave. His bodyguards blocked the door. "You want to study abroad, right? Do you have the money?" Sebastian asked coldly. I didn't. But I could earn it. "I'll pay for your tuition." I stared at this man. He was better looking than Julian, but colder. Dangerous. "Just act. Keep him happy. Stop him from acting like a suicidal teenager." "You're with him for the money anyway. I'll give you money. He has a short attention span. No relationship lasts more than a year. When he gets bored, you can leave." When I didn't speak, Sebastian added, "Don't worry. He won't cling to you forever. I'll be introducing him to women of appropriate status soon." "Appropriate status." Those two words landed on my head like a brick. Sebastian was eight years older than Julian. Their father died young, so Sebastian took over the empire early. He was used to being the patriarch. He knew about me, but he had watched from his high tower, mocking us. To him, this was just his naive little brother playing house with a greedy gold digger. The humiliation stung. I wanted to scream that I wasn't just in it for the money. Julian had money, but it was his brother's money. The most he ever spent on me was that IELTS course that led to our breakup. Rich people flaunting their wallets is just low-cost mating behavior. Julian was young, but he knew the game. I straightened my spine and looked Sebastian in the eye. I tried to match his rudeness. Then I forced a smile. A transactional smile. "How much?"
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