For the fifth year of my relationship with Carter Hayes, we were still crammed into a tiny, run-down studio apartment. Because we were broke, I took on a side hustle on an anonymous venting app called VentSpace. It paid $15 an hour, double if the client wanted to hurl verbal abuse at you. While other listeners avoided the bad-tempered clients like the plague, I always scrambled to take them on. But today, I matched with an incredibly generous client who had a strong urge to confess. [I’ve been with my girlfriend for five years. Honestly, I’m getting bored.] [But she’s so stupidly cute. I purposefully buy her knockoff designer bags, and she accepts them with tears of joy. I pretend to be broke and tell her I can’t afford to marry her, and she actually says she’ll work extra shifts to help save up for our future home.] [I’ve wanted to end the game for a while now, but I just can’t seem to let her go. Besides her, I doubt anyone else would be stupid enough to work three jobs a day just for the chance to marry me.] A strange, unsettling feeling twisted in my chest. I tentatively replied: “Why don’t you try spending some time apart? See how you really feel about her?” The very next second, Carter sent me a text. “Baby, my boss just assigned me to a month-long business trip out of state! Triple pay! When I get back, I’ll finally have enough saved up to marry you!” 1 I stared at his pinned message at the top of my screen, a suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, unable to type a reply. How could this be possible? I looked up and scanned my surroundings. The cramped studio was filled with our shared life. Matching towels, matching toothbrushes, even the matching pajamas we wore were personally picked out by Carter. Every time he came back to this apartment, he would cling to me like a koala, never holding back his words of affection. “Baby, I love you so much. I washed cars all day today and my hands feel like they’re going to fall off, but the second I think of you, I’m not tired anymore.” “Baby, you’re too good to me. I just wish I wasn’t so broke. If I had money, I’d marry you tomorrow and hide you away in a mansion.” My eyes landed on the small humidifier by my bedside—a gift from Carter. Working multiple jobs from dawn to dusk had wrecked my skin. It was constantly dry, tight, and itchy. Especially my hands. They had endured the elements from passing out flyers, delivering takeout in the freezing rain, and soaking in commercial dishwater until they swelled. No one would ever guess they belonged to a twenty-something girl. They were calloused, cracked, and frequently bled. I still remember how Carter had held my bleeding hands back then, his eyes turning bright red. “Harper, when I make it big, I’m going to move you into a massive house. I’ll never let you suffer or get hurt again.” I would always smile at him and say, “I know. I believe in you!” The day I received that humidifier, my heart was full, completely convinced that true love could conquer all. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, I thought. I opened his chat: “Okay, I’ll wait for you.” A moment later, Carter replied: “Even though it’s only a month, it’s still long-distance. Baby, while I’m gone, you are absolutely not allowed to fall for anyone else.” He attached a cute, insecure-looking meme. I couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh. Because of his supposed poverty, Carter always acted incredibly insecure around me, terrified that one day I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore and would leave him. To reassure him, even during the darkest, most exhausting days, I never once brought up breaking up. Now, I replied exactly as I always did: “I could never fall in love with anyone but you.” Before the text even finished sending, the VentSpace app chimed. I immediately switched screens. After all, this client was the only one who paid double without screaming at me. [That’s a great idea. I told her I have to go on a month-long business trip, and she didn’t suspect a thing. So gullible.] [I’ve played poor for so long, and she still refuses to leave me. Looks like she genuinely loves me. They say long-distance is the ultimate test of loyalty, right? I’m going to hire a guy to hit on her. If she resists the temptation, then I might actually consider marrying her.] [I don’t really have anyone I’m madly in love with right now anyway, so I might as well marry someone who is madly in love with me. When the time comes to reveal the truth, she’ll probably cry from how touched she is...] ... The more I read, the colder my blood ran. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I clicked on his anonymous profile. It was filled with pictures of luxury watches and exotic sports cars. One photo was of a sleeping Toy Poodle. I stared at it for a very long time. The blanket the dog was sleeping on... was the exact scarf I had hand-knitted for him. He told me he lost it on the subway. He said he was so scared I’d be mad that he secretly saved up for months to buy me a Louis Vuitton scarf to make up for it. It turns out, my handmade scarf was thrown into a dog bed, and the LV scarf was a counterfeit. My nose stung. I blinked, and a heavy tear smashed abruptly onto my screen. Masochistically, I scrolled further down his feed, my heart turning to ash with every swipe. On Valentine’s Day, while I was freezing on a street corner selling single roses for five bucks a pop, he tipped an internet model ten thousand dollars in a single night. On New Year’s Eve, while I was crying tears of joy because he bought me a ten-dollar sparkler, he was dropping hundreds of thousands to rent out a drone light show for a minor actress. Carter was right. I really was stupid. Stupid beyond cure. Naive enough to believe that pure, unadulterated love could overcome any obstacle. I never stopped to consider if the other person’s heart was just as genuine. I wiped my tears and deleted the text I was about to send Carter. Instead, I typed: “Carter, what if I really do fall for someone else?” 2 Carter didn’t reply for a long time. I stared at the screen until my eyes burned. Just when I thought he was going to ignore it, my phone began to ring. It was him. “Baby, I was just joking! You know I have major insecurity issues. I’m so broke, and I’m dragging you down, making you work yourself to the bone just so we can afford a future together. I’m the one who’s terrified of you leaving.” I wanted to laugh. Five years of unwavering loyalty. What exactly did I have to do to give him a sense of security? “If you fell for someone else, I think I’d literally cry until I died. You wouldn’t have the heart to do that to me.” I don't even know how I managed to hang up the phone. Choking back the sobs in my throat, I gave a vague hum of agreement. The VentSpace app flashed: [I just casually mentioned wondering if she’d fall for someone else while we’re long-distance, and she actually seemed to get mad. Tsk, tsk. Guess she just loves me too much. That’s why she’s so anxious.] I composed myself and typed a reply. As cold and detached as a bystander. “Are you still planning to hire someone to test your girlfriend? What if she actually does cheat?” [Of course I’m going to test her. Don’t you think it’s a fun game? If she actually cheats, perfect. It gives me the upper hand to force a breakup. I get to be the flawless victim. Then, when I drop the 'poor' act, she won't have the dignity to come crawling back to me.] [If I talked about this with my buddies, they’d call me a toxic bastard. That’s why I like your service. You’re tight-lipped. Tell you what, I’ll send you a nice tip. Drop your CashApp.] Listening to the ding of the "$1,500 received" notification, I typed back, word by word: “Thank you, boss. Wishing you a successful breakup.” It wasn't until my shift was completely over that sensation finally returned to my limbs. Two hours of chat time, plus the tip. A total of $1,530. Enough to cover a year's rent on our cramped studio. Or, exactly the amount we were short for our goal. We had a goal of $20,000—the down payment for a modest starter home. Carter and I had been saving for five years, but we were always just a little bit short. Every time we got close to the finish line, an "accident" would happen. Either I would be purposefully harassed by a customer at the diner and forced to pay for a ruined meal, or Carter would fall severely ill and the money would vanish into medical bills. I still remember two years ago, when the mason jar we used as a piggy bank was finally stuffed to the brim. I held it, bursting with joy, ready to tell Carter we could finally start looking at houses. But when I called his phone, a nurse answered. She said Carter had been in a terrible car accident and was in the ICU. They didn't know if he would ever wake up. I remember my hands shaking so badly I dropped the phone. I ran to the hospital in the middle of the night, still wearing my thin pajamas. I never got to see him, but I was directed to the billing department. When I smashed that mason jar on the counter to pay the deposit, my hands were trembling. Not because I couldn't bear to part with the money, but because I was so, so thankful we at least had emergency funds to save his life. I wasn't allowed into the ICU, but the daily out-of-pocket costs crushed me. Soon, our entire life savings were gone. I had no choice but to work day and night. I had just resolved to quit the waitress job where my manager constantly made creepy, inappropriate comments. The very next day, I had to swallow my pride and beg him for my shifts back. I still remember the way he looked at me in his office. Like I was cheap, desperate trash with zero self-respect. I endured his harassment, working twice as hard to make money. Whenever I felt like I couldn't take it anymore, I would run to the hospital. Even though I couldn't see Carter, I would sit on the floor outside his ward for the entire night. The next morning, I would gather my strength and face reality all over again. But I had just seen the truth on his anonymous profile. During that exact same time period, when he was supposedly in a coma... He wasn't fighting for his life in a hospital bed. He was taking his new flavor-of-the-month to a private villa in Bali. It was all fake. The only thing that was real was me being the ultimate punchline. I stared at the balance on my screen. I didn't transfer it to our joint "future fund" like I usually did. Instead, I bought a blind-box plane ticket. The destination was a total surprise. Carter really didn't know me at all. I love fiercely, but I hate just as fiercely. The thing I despise most in this world is desperate, pathetic clinging. 3 It didn't take long for me to meet the man Carter sent to "test" me. Tristan Sterling. A notorious playboy and heir to a massive real estate empire. Logically speaking, we existed in two entirely different universes. If it weren't for that deliberate rear-end collision, we never would have crossed paths in this lifetime. When I felt the violent jolt from behind my car, my heart skipped a beat, and my fingers trembled uncontrollably on the steering wheel. It wasn't until a polite knock came at my window that I snapped out of it. "Miss, let's talk about the damages." I stepped out and took a look. His headlights were smashed, and my rear bumper was completely caved in. However, my car was a beat-up clunker. The entire vehicle wasn't even worth one of his headlights. Carter really spared no expense just to play a prank on me. I forced a tight smile and looked at Tristan. He instantly offered a perfectly calculated, charming smile. Elegant and effortless. "Miss, let me get your number. We can settle this privately." "Name your price." As he pulled out his phone, I caught a glimpse of his active call screen. The profile picture was incredibly familiar. It was Carter's. The call was active. A sharp pang of agony wrapped around my heart. I closed my eyes for a second. "You're entirely at fault, correct?" Tristan froze, clearly not expecting this reaction. "Since that's the case, let's wait for the police to arrive and file an official report. The law will dictate the compensation." Tristan's perfect smile cracked. His expression changed, masking sheer disbelief. "Are you stupid? If we settle privately, you can walk away with a lot more cash!" "How much do you think insurance is going to pay out for this piece of junk?" Exhausted, I sat down on the curb. Looking down at my cheap, thrift-store clothes, I let out a bitter laugh. How could I not understand? It's just that, now that I didn't need to save for Carter's fake future, I wasn't that desperate for cash anymore. I made enough to feed myself just fine. As the wail of police sirens grew closer, I watched Tristan's active call disconnect. At the exact same moment, the VentSpace app chimed. [I had my buddy rear-end her car to manufacture a meet-cute, and she actually called the cops! Do you think poverty rotted her brain? She could have easily used this to squeeze a massive payout out of him.] [Do you know how many women would kill for my friend's phone number? The opportunity is practically shoved in her face, and she turns it down.] [I used to think she was just naive, sometimes in a cute way. But now I realize she's a total moron. You don't think she's actually planning to latch onto me forever, do you?] I sat on the bus stop bench outside the police precinct. The cold, sterile glow of the streetlamp illuminated my face. It was terrifyingly apathetic. "If you want to make a clean break with her, why not just be direct? Maybe she won't cling to you like you think." The typing bubble flashed, and Carter replied instantly. [Are you kidding me!] [You have no idea what people like her will do for money. Her old boss was a total creep who constantly sexually harassed her. She would cry and complain to me about it every day, but when I told her to quit, she refused.] [She claimed she wanted to share my financial burden, but if you ask me, I bet she actually enjoyed the attention.] A numb, creeping sensation spread through my chest. My immediate instinct was to type back and expose the entire ugly truth. But the curses stalled in the text box. Word by word, I deleted them. I kept reminding myself: Do not give Carter what he wants. Five years of blood, sweat, and tears. I wasn't going to let this end with a quiet, pathetic whimper! "If that's the case, then you really don't need to worry. Since your friend is wealthy and handsome, your girlfriend will likely jump ship very soon. When that happens, you'll finally be free." I hit send. When I looked up, a sleek Bentley had silently pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Tristan's face. The flirty, playboy attitude from earlier was dialed back, replaced by a veneer of formal charm. "Miss Evans, perhaps I misjudged you." He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the thrill of the hunt sparking in his eyes. "Get in. I'll give you a ride." "Let's start over. Nice to meet you, Madam Plaintiff." A freezing gust of wind whipped my bangs across my forehead, but I flashed a brilliant, radiant smile. "Sure thing, Mr. Defendant." I cleanly opened the car door. As I leaned in, my hair fell forward, masking my face. Tristan never saw the absolute, glacial ice in my eyes. 4 With my deliberate encouragement, my relationship with Tristan escalated rapidly. Very soon, I moved out of the dingy studio apartment and into a luxury villa Tristan arranged for me. When I moved, one single suitcase held my entire life. The studio was too cramped, overflowing with cheap, random knick-knacks that were almost all tied to Carter. So, I left it all behind. "What's wrong? Already missing your little dump?" Tristan's voice pulled me back to the present. He smiled, loaded my suitcase into the trunk, and opened the passenger door for me. "Come on, I'm taking you out for a candlelight dinner. Let's soothe that wounded little heart of yours~" When the FaceTime call from Carter came through, I wasn't surprised in the slightest. I gave Tristan a quick wave and went up to the quiet second floor of the restaurant to answer it. "Baby, why did it take you so long to answer? Are you doing something bad behind my back?" "No, I was just eating." I kept my face perfectly neutral. "What about you?" Carter panned his phone camera around the room, then whispered conspiratorially: "My boss took me out to this super fancy restaurant! But honestly? I don't think their food is half as good as the homemade chicken noodle soup you make me." I couldn't stop a short laugh from escaping my lips. Just a few days ago, Carter had complained on VentSpace: [I absolutely despise her chicken noodle soup. When I'm sick she makes me eat it, when I'm sad she makes me eat it. I'm so sick of it. It's like she doesn't know how to make anything else.] But Carter didn't know that I remembered the very first time he made me chicken noodle soup. It was the first time anyone had celebrated my birthday since my parents died in a car crash. "Baby, did you just laugh?" Carter's heart skipped a beat for some inexplicable reason. I looked over the balcony railing. Down below, Carter was enjoying a romantic candlelight dinner with a gorgeous girl. "I just think chicken noodle soup is bland and awful," I said softly. The moment the words left my mouth, Carter's smiling face instantly turned forced and irritable. "Baby, I'll bring you back a gift. Let's talk later." I watched him hurriedly hang up the phone. The very next second, his entire aura shifted. He picked up a brand-new, latest-season designer handbag—easily eighty thousand dollars, enough to fund ten of our imaginary weddings. He casually tossed it into the lap of the girl sitting across from him. The girl squealed in delight. She looked remarkably like the minor actress he had briefly dated years ago. Her name was Serena Vance. Everyone in her social circle knew she had a billionaire boyfriend who spoiled her rotten, elevating her to the status of a socialite. Calculating the timeline, they probably started dating three years ago. I gripped my phone tightly. The VentSpace notification icon began to flash. [I purposefully FaceTimed her to test the waters, and she actually acted totally cold to me. So weird.] Leaning against the wall, I watched Serena intimately kiss Carter on the floor below, while my fingers flew across the keyboard: "Isn't that a good thing? It looks like you're getting exactly what you wished for." But to my surprise, Carter suddenly exploded. It was the first time he had spoken harshly since buying my monthly listener package. [What the hell do you know?! She is NOT allowed to cheat, and she is DEFINITELY not allowed to fall for someone else!] "Even though this is a test you meticulously orchestrated?" [So what?! Besides me, who else would even want her? Even her own parents abandoned her; they didn't even show up for their own funerals.] [Tristan Sterling? He's just playing with her. I doubt a guy like him is even capable of loving someone. She's better off with me. At least I'm not a complete bastard, and I actually know how to coax her.] [Forget it. Why am I even telling you this? Get lost. Service terminated.] Ding. A text from Carter popped up. "Baby, do you like this? I'll bring it home for you when my trip is over." Attached was a picture of a logo-stamped keychain. It was very familiar. It was the complimentary gift tag that came attached to the $80,000 bag he had just given Serena. It turns out that when your heart breaks past a certain threshold, you really do just go numb. I didn't reply. I walked downstairs and returned to my seat. Under Tristan's confused gaze, I sent one final message to Carter on the VentSpace app. "Look behind you." Carter whipped his head around violently. As our eyes locked, the color completely drained from his face.
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