My boyfriend’s third bankruptcy hit without warning. Loan sharks, demanding ten million dollars, blockaded our doorstep. Trapped by hulking figures in the entryway, I inadvertently glimpsed his tablet. A group chat log was open: “Think she can actually pay back ten mil?” “If not, she can sell herself. Women make money fast.” “Still, Caleb’s the real champ. Got Miss Kingsley on one arm, the flower girl wrapped around his little finger with the other.” Tears welled, blurring my vision. I remembered selling Grandma’s old house for him, emptying Mom’s savings—her dowry—for him. My hand trembled as I set the tablet down. I dialed my billionaire father: “You just want me to inherit the family business and marry your protégé, right? Fine. I’ll do it. Send someone to pick me up in three days.” I hung up. Caleb Hawk pushed the door open, a signed promissory note dangling in his hand. “Ellie, I’m so sorry. I owe another ten million…” The “confusion” in his eyes, which once twisted my gut with sympathy, now struck me as a cruel joke. I stared at the watch on his wrist—a Patek Philippe, listed at $160 million in a magazine. He wore a $160 million watch, feigning poverty over a ten-million-dollar debt, while I, penniless, had contemplated seeking out loan sharks for him. He noticed my gaze, quickly tucking the watch into his sleeve. “It’s just a fake. When I have money…” Before he could finish, another message popped up on the tablet: “Caleb, what’s she selling this time? Her house or her body?” “If it’s her body, I’ll book the first night!” Obscenities flooded the screen. In our three years together, I’d bailed him out twice: The first time, I sold Grandma’s house; he promised to give me a proper home. The second time, I emptied my dowry; he knelt, swearing he’d marry me. Only now did I realize those “promises” were nothing but elaborate deceptions. Caleb glanced at the messages, frowning as he typed a reply in the group chat: “Buzz off, all of you! Just wait for the show!” Then he clung to me, pulling me into a hug. “Ellie, this is the last time. Once it’s paid off, I’ll marry you.” The “sincerity” on his face made me laugh—what made me so special, that a rich playboy would go to such lengths to deceive me, even using marriage as a bargaining chip? I pushed him away. “Caleb, I’m out of money.” He froze, then his eyes widened in anger. “So you think I’m a loser too? I knew I misjudged you!” He slammed the door and left. This was his go-to tactic, his weapon to break my will. But I simply blocked all his contacts. I picked up the promissory note—no fingerprints, a clumsy forgery. I’d fallen for such an obvious fake twice. I called the real estate agent. “The flower shop on Main Street. Please help me sublease it.” That shop, I’d opened it to support him. Now, I was leaving it behind. Packing my bags, I surveyed the “surprises” in our rented apartment—greeting cards thrown out by bakeries, pebbles picked from the street, paper rings he’d folded. Every time he’d given them to me, he’d feigned surprise, as if they were precious finds. Only now did I understand: these were mere props, casually acquired, their contents likely forgotten by him even as he presented them. Sunlight streamed through the window onto the empty floor. I took one last look at this “home” filled with lies, then pulled my suitcase toward the door. Three days later, my father’s car pulled up exactly on time. My phone buzzed frantically with Caleb Hawk’s texts: “Ellie, where are you? I got the money, let’s start over…” I deleted the messages and stepped into the luxury car. In the rearview mirror, the dismal rental apartment shrunk, just like three years of my devoted heart, finally crumbling to dust under the harsh, unyielding sunlight. And in the distance, around the street corner, Caleb Hawk had Brooke Kingsley’s arm draped around his waist, pointing at my car and laughing to someone. “See that? That’s the flower girl I got bored of playing with.” A bitter smile touched my lips. “Drive,” I told the driver. From that moment on, Caleb Hawk’s schemes would no longer involve Eleanor Hawk. His only decent gift was a necklace he bought from a street vendor for eighty dollars when his first startup succeeded. I’d been furious, thinking he was wasting money. But Caleb had just watched me, amused. He’d called me silly, asking what would happen if he really became rich someday and I still couldn’t bear to spend money. I’d thought then he was being considerate. Now, it was clear he truly thought I was a fool. Scrolling through the dense, sprawling chat logs, there were exactly 517 instances of Caleb calling me silly. When I’d run through three streets to buy him his favorite late-night snack, he’d called me “Ellie, so silly.” When he’d had a fever, I’d draped my only raincoat over him, carrying him on my back to the clinic, and he’d remarked, “She’s ridiculously stupid.” Even when I lay in his arms, dreaming of a brighter future with him, he’d post in the group chat: “Ellie’s hopelessly stupid, dreaming of a future with me when she’s this poor…” Even in cold text, I could imagine the disdain and mockery with which he’d typed those words. But it didn't matter anymore. In my future, Eleanor Hawk’s future, Caleb Hawk would no longer exist. I continued to pack, but in the end, my large suitcase remained mostly empty. The trash can, however, overflowed. I surveyed this home, where I’d lived for two years, one last time. Peeling paint stained with watermarks, a chair with a broken leg, a bed cobbled together from bricks and planks… During better times, I’d thought about decorating this place, making it feel like a home. But Caleb had always refused. He’d say we wouldn’t live here once he had money, so decorating was pointless. I’d believed every one of his promises, then clung to this dilapidated apartment, foolishly waiting for those promises to materialize. Thinking about it all, I suddenly felt a profound sense of pointlessness. I closed my suitcase. The real estate agent called. “Miss Hawk, I can’t finalize the sublease for the flower shop without your personal discussion with the landlord.” At 3 PM sharp, I arrived at the designated office building to meet the agent. In the lavish corridor, through a slightly ajar door, I saw Caleb Hawk. He was in a well-fitted suit, head bowed, fiddling with his phone. Beside him, a meticulously dressed woman leaned intimately against his shoulder. The moment I saw her, I recognized her. Two days prior, the flower shop received an order for nine hundred ninety-nine roses. Because the customer specifically requested the thorns not be removed, I’d spent hours, my hands bleeding, wrapping them all. When I personally delivered them by taxi, the recipient was this very woman, Brooke Kingsley. Tucked into the center of the roses was a small card, as requested by the customer: “To my lifelong love, Brooke. Signed: CH.” Only at this moment did it click: CH stood for Caleb Hawk. He had known, with chilling clarity, that I would never turn down such a large order, desperate as I was for money. So he had deliberately made those demands, watching me spin around, a puppet on his strings. The thought made me laugh, tears welling in my eyes. After I’d gone home that day, I’d even excitedly shared with Caleb that I’d made good money. When he’d tenderly bandaged my wounds, was he, even then, silently sneering, calling me a fool, reducing my pain to a punchline? Wiping away the tears from my eyes, the agent arrived. He saw me standing by the door and asked, puzzled, “Miss Hawk, the landlord is inside. Why don’t you go in?” My eyes, still tear-rimmed, stared at the agent in shock. “You said who? The landlord? Caleb Hawk?” The agent, oblivious, replied, “Yes. You didn’t know? That entire block on Main Street, it’s all Mr. Hawk’s territory.” I looked at Caleb Hawk’s figure in the distance. Painful memories, long dormant, surged forth like a bitter tide, threatening to drown me. After I’d helped Caleb pay off his debt the second time, I spent a long period struggling to make ends meet, unable to even pay rent. Four or five burly men had crowded the flower shop entrance, demanding rent. They’d smashed all the flowers in the shop, and even stomped on my cat, Snowball, letting him shriek in pain without releasing their feet. Snowball had been with me for twelve years; he wasn’t just a pet, but as vital to me as Caleb himself, a member of my family. I’d cried, my voice choked with tears, kneeling on the floor, begging them to spare him. In the three years I’d owned the shop, there had been countless times I’d been harassed for rent or protection money. But I’d never mentioned it to Caleb; I didn’t want to burden him. But this time, I was truly terrified. I’d called him, crying so hard I could barely breathe. I’d asked him, “Caleb, what do I do? Save Snowball, save him…” Caleb had known how important Snowball was to me, yet he’d remained silent for a long time before saying he was sorry. I’d watched, powerless, as those men trampled my cat to death. I’d held him, feeling him grow cold, then stiff, in my arms. Just as helpless as I had been when Mom’s life slipped away in my arms years ago. Yet, even after that, I hadn’t hated Caleb. I’d only regretted my own helplessness. But now, the truth was laid bare before me: the landlord who forced me to pay rent was Caleb Hawk. The one who could have saved Snowball with a single word was also Caleb Hawk. But he hadn’t saved him. And Snowball had died. I almost bit through my tongue to keep the sob from escaping my lips. I ran out of the office building, hailed a taxi, and told the driver to go to the airport. In the car, my hand trembling, I called my father. Twenty-seven years old, and the only person I could rely on now was the father I’d always tried to deny. “Dad, can you come pick me up now? Please…” … Meanwhile, Caleb Hawk, Brooke Kingsley, and his group of friends emerged from the office. Caleb’s head was bowed, his eyes fixed on the message thread with me on his screen. For two full days, I hadn’t sent him a single message. He was agitated, pulling out a cigarette, then putting it back when he remembered I didn’t like the smell of smoke on him. His buddy, standing behind him, clapped a hand on his shoulder, a hint of schadenfreude in his voice as he looked at the dark screen. “What’s up, Caleb? Is the little girl out of money this time? Not playing with you anymore?” A flash of frustrated anger crossed Caleb’s eyes. He shoved his friend’s arm away. “Who said that? Ellie loves me so much. She’s probably scrambling somewhere to get me the money right now!” “You just wait. After I give her a few days of cold shoulder, she’ll hand over the cash!” No sooner had he spoken than the real estate agent, who’d overheard my name, approached. “Ellie? Mr. Hawk, you know Miss Hawk? Perfect! She wants to sublease her flower shop. I was worried you might not approve!” Caleb frowned. He had a vague feeling that the anxiety building in his heart over the past few days was about to find its answer. He forced himself to remain composed, feigning nonchalance. “The flower shop is doing fine. Why would she sublease it?” The agent gave him a placating smile, completely unaware of the significance of his words. “Miss Hawk said she’s tired of running the shop and wants to go home to get married.” Caleb’s phone clattered to the floor. He lunged, grabbing the agent’s collar, his expression savage. “What did you say? Married? Who’s getting married?!” The agent, startled by his sudden aggression, stammered. “Mr. Hawk, it’s Eleanor, Miss Hawk, who’s getting married. Don’t, don’t you know her?” “IMPOSSIBLE!” Caleb roared. His eyes were bloodshot, his chest heaving violently. The agent was almost collapsing in fear, but Caleb held him tight by the collar. Finally, Caleb’s friends rushed over, talking him down, persuading him to let go. The agent, gasping for breath, quickly dropped the lease transfer agreement and fled. Caleb stood there, clutching the flimsy paper in his hand, feeling as if his very breath had become heavy. “Caleb, Ellie must be playing hard to get. She loves you so much, how could she marry someone else?” “Yeah, Caleb. Maybe she’s subleasing the flower shop just to pay off your debts!”
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