Tristan Reed had just won the championship at the international violin competition, and I rushed over to his celebration party. But outside the private room, I heard someone ask him: "Who is 'Porsche Doormat 3.23' in your contacts?" Tristan sounded completely nonchalant: "Exactly what it says." My hand, reaching for the door handle, froze. I drove a red Porsche. My birthday was March 23rd. 01 Before I even had a chance to flee in humiliation, another voice echoed from the room: "I heard you had a childhood sweetheart. Isn't her birthday in March?" Tristan was silent for a long moment before letting out a dismissive scoff. "Ugh!" "Her grades are incredibly average." "She's completely tone-deaf. She can't even read sheet music." "How could I possibly like her?" "It's entirely one-sided. But she enjoys playing the pathetic groupie, so let her." I couldn't help but laugh at myself. Tristan and I had been childhood friends for twenty-four years. And in the end, all I amounted to was a "pathetic groupie." To be fair, Tristan had always been the golden boy of our school. He never paid attention in class, never studied after school, yet somehow aced every single exam. In his free time, he would lean against the bleacher railings, playing a violin solo from above, drawing the absolute adoration and screams of countless girls. The year of our college admissions, Tristan caused an absolute sensation. He had the grades to get into any Ivy League school he wanted, but he stubbornly chose Juilliard instead. He had smiled so arrogantly: "Wherever a genius stands, that is the stage." And he truly had the talent and capital to be that arrogant. In just a few short years, he had won the gold medal at the Apollo International Music Competition. The media hailed him as a "High-IQ Violin Virtuoso." Compared to him, I was incredibly dull. My grades were average, and I had absolutely zero musical talent. The only thing I really had going for me was my looks and my outgoing personality. I was popular on campus and had been voted Student Body President. So, after getting my bachelor's, I didn't go to grad school. I dove straight into the corporate world. Tristan, unsurprisingly, was offered a full ride for his Master's at Juilliard. When he moved into his new dorm, I took time off work and drove him to help carry his luggage. When we arrived outside his building, Tristan stopped me from going up. "I can carry it up myself. You can head back." I froze. It took me a moment to ask: "Do you feel like having me as your girlfriend is embarrassing in front of your elite circle of musicians?" Tristan scratched the bridge of my nose, feigning helplessness. "What are you talking about? I'm hiding my beautiful girlfriend away so those guys don't try to steal you from me." Several times after that, I asked to meet his classmates. Tristan always found an excuse to reject the idea. Until this time. Tristan assumed I was still stuck in a business conference in Manhattan, so he casually posted the location of his celebration party on his Instagram Story. Inside the room, the topic had shifted. They were now discussing Fritz Kreisler and Yehudi Menuhin. It was a world I could never blend into. Just as I prepared to turn and run, the heavy doors to the private room were abruptly pulled open. A girl in a flowing white dress looked me up and down with a hint of haughtiness: "Huh? Who are you?" "Did you walk into the wrong room?" 02 The room fell dead silent for a moment. Tristan's eyes landed on me. A flicker of panic crossed his face, but he quickly regained his composure. "When did you get here? Weren't you at your conference in Manhattan?" I hesitated for exactly 0.1 seconds before acting completely nonchalant. "Just got here. I was just looking for the right room." Even I couldn't explain why I acted that way. Maybe it was the instinct of a Corporate Business Director—always leave yourself an out, never show your bottom line too easily. Or maybe I just wanted to lie to myself one last time. As long as I didn't expose the truth, there was still room to salvage this. Tristan smiled and introduced me to the room: "This is Cadence Sterling." "She's... my friend." Friend. I chewed on the word in my mind. A bitter taste spread across the back of my tongue. The atmosphere in the room was incredibly delicate. Everyone's eyes dropped to the Porsche keys in my hand, their expressions practically screaming, Oh, so that's her. But the girl in the white dress quickly broke the tension. "Haha, Cadence. That's kind of ironic, don't you think?" "What a waste of a musical name on someone who's completely tone-deaf." Me: "?" Before I could even react, Tristan had subtly stepped between us. "Chloe, you're always running that mouth of yours." "Always yapping away." "Just go eat your food." On the surface, it sounded like a reprimand, but his tone was dripping with affection and protectiveness. Chloe Mercer stuck her tongue out at Tristan in an annoyingly cute way and skipped over to the fruit platter. Chloe Mercer. That name wasn't unfamiliar to me. For the past six months, Tristan had brought her up constantly. He said a "returning piano prodigy" named Chloe had joined his program. Whether it was her musical sense or pure talent, she was entirely his equal. She was the new darling of all the professors. He would complain, half-joking, "I feel like I'm losing my favorite child status." It was a complaint, but I could always hear a deep sense of appreciation in his voice—the kind you only have for an equal. One of Tristan's classmates waved for me to sit, casually joking: "Tristan, man, if you have such a gorgeous 'good friend,' why haven't you introduced us?" "If you don't want her, let her hit the open market." Tristan's face instantly went black. He spat out a heavy, furious: "Piss off." He successfully pushed the room's awkwardness to its absolute peak. Tristan casually grabbed the scarf I had draped over my chair and tossed it over my legs. "You're dressed like you're attending a gala." "You're trying way too hard." "Besides, it's not safe to wear something like this at night. I'll drive you home later." I smiled, just about to explain, when Chloe suddenly let out a sharp gasp! Tristan whipped his head around. Chloe was holding a fruit knife in one hand. Her other hand had a tiny, superficial scratch, barely oozing a drop of blood. Tristan panicked instantly. "I told you your hands are meant for the piano!" "Don't I always peel the fruit for you?!" 03 Chloe looked incredibly wronged. "Why are you yelling at me?" "I was just worried Cadence would be mad!" As she spoke, Chloe's eyes rimmed red. She pulled off a perfect soap-opera performance: I want to cry, but I'm bravely holding back my tears. Tristan's head snapped toward me, his eyes full of unconcealed accusation. But I literally hadn't done a single thing. Why was it that the second she uttered two sentences, you immediately assumed I was the villain? Favoritism can be blatant, but how could he be so blindly irrational? In that moment, Tristan had already scooped a terrified-looking Chloe into his arms. "I'm taking you to the ER!" As he rushed past me, Chloe's leg—which had been hanging limply—suddenly swung out, her foot nearly kicking me right in the face. I instinctively dodged backward. What I didn't realize was that an askew chair was right behind me. Caught completely off guard, I crashed to the floor, letting out a low gasp of pain. Tristan paused. He looked like he was about to check on me. But Chloe softly whimpered: "I'm so sorry, Cadence. I didn't mean to." "It's just that my hand hurts so badly... sob... I'm so scared I won't be able to play the piano anymore." Tristan's brows knitted together tightly. He comforted her gently: "Don't be scared. I'm taking you to the hospital right now." "It's not your fault she fell. It's her own vanity. She didn't need to wear those ridiculous heels." With that, he walked out without looking back. The silence in the private room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. After a long moment, one of Tristan's classmates said awkwardly: "Ah, well... Tristan isn't usually..." He trailed off, clearly realizing there was no defending that. He helplessly asked if he could drive me to the hospital. I shook my head and declined, limping my way down to the underground parking garage. Vanity. I couldn't deny it. I was definitely vain. I worked my fingers to the bone in the corporate world. Within three years, I had clawed my way up to Business Director. I fought to be the best in everything. I wanted to be a cut above the rest. I bought a luxury condo, drove a nice car, wore Chanel suits, and insisted my diamond rings had to be at least three carats. I loved new things and discarded the old. I loved the expensive and despised the cheap. It seemed the only "old" thing I had ever held onto in my entire life was Tristan. When I was little, my parents divorced. They both started new families. Neither of them wanted me. I was kicked back and forth between them like a burden. If I wanted living expenses, I had to endure their cold mockery and eye rolls. My only comfort back then was Tristan. Whenever I hid downstairs to cry, he would gently play his violin for me. He would share his breakfast buns and milk with me. When kids at school called me an unwanted stray, he would stand firmly in front of me and protect me. I grew up starved for affection, and he was my only source of warmth. That was why, for all these years, I couldn't bear to let him go. A sharp, sleazy whistle snapped me out of my memories. Without realizing it, I had limped my way into a completely deserted section of the parking garage. A group of aggressively dressed, sketchy-looking guys were eyeing me up and down. "Hey beautiful, all alone?" "Ooh, driving a Porsche, too." "Think she's some rich guy's sugar baby?" "If she's keeping one guy company, why not keep us boys company too?" 04 They started walking toward me. I instinctively took a step back, frantically digging in my purse for my car keys. In my panic, the keys slipped and clattered to the concrete floor. Just as I bent down to grab them, a hand with long, distinct knuckles appeared out of nowhere and snatched the keys first. An arm draped casually over my shoulders. "I told you to wait for me. Why did you come down by yourself again?" I looked up. It was a face I had never seen before. He looked to be in his late twenties, dressed simply in a white T-shirt and jeans. But on his wrist sat a limited-edition Vacheron Constantin watch—the kind of piece you couldn't buy just by having money. Other than that, he wore no accessories. The thugs beside us muttered a few curses and backed off. The man naturally opened my car door. "Get in. It's cold out." He smoothly slid into the driver's seat, pulled out his phone, and tapped out a quick message before starting the engine. It wasn't until the car merged onto the brightly lit main avenue that he finally spoke. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. My apologies for overstepping." "Don't worry, I'm not a creep." "Shall I drive you home?" I forced a weak smile. "I know. The watch on your wrist is worth more than my entire car." "Thank you for back there." Following my directions, the man merged onto the highway. He thoughtfully stayed quiet, letting me close my eyes and rest. We arrived at my condo building quickly. I felt a bit awkward. "How are you getting home? Should I call you an Uber?" The man chuckled. "No need. My assistant came to pick me up." "His car has been following us the whole time." I looked up. A sleek black Bentley was parked right next to us. A man who looked like an executive assistant handed him a pharmacy bag. "Mr. Cole, the items you requested." The man took it and handed it to me. "Your knee was bleeding. I had him buy some antiseptic and bandages." "But if it's serious, you should really go to a doctor." It was only then that I realized the delayed, throbbing pain. I had scraped my knee badly when I fell in the restaurant. The man turned and opened his door. "Go inside. Girls should be careful at night." "Or better yet, have your boyfriend pick you up." I couldn't help but let out an incredibly ugly, bitter smile. "My boyfriend is... very busy." Watching the man get into the Bentley, I hurriedly thanked him again. "Thank you again for tonight." The man looked up at me, a sly smile playing on his lips. "You're very welcome, Director Sterling." With that, the Bentley sped off into the night. Leaving me standing there, stunned: How did he know my last name? 05 Based on my extensive experience, whenever Tristan and I fought, we usually had a cold war for a few days. When I finally couldn't take it anymore and crawled back to apologize, he would hit me with his three trademark, arrogant questions: "Do you know what you did wrong?" "Where exactly did you mess up?" "Will you do it again?" But for some reason, this argument felt different. I wasn't scratching at the walls, checking my phone every five minutes like I usually did. I had zero desire to reach out to him. What I didn't expect was that this time, Tristan would be the one to break first. It all started because a video went viral. During a break at my Manhattan conference, I had specifically visited the famous Kolstein's string shop. I wanted to pick out a high-end violin to give to Tristan as a gift. As luck would have it, while I was browsing, a popular music influencer was live-streaming a tour of the shop. She enthusiastically interviewed me: "Miss, you're buying such an expensive violin! You must be an incredible player!" "Could you play a piece for us?" I had smiled honestly. "I'm completely tone-deaf." "This violin is a gift for my boyfriend." "He's incredibly talented." After the video blew up, netizens flooded the comments: [I'm so jealous of her boyfriend! A $340,000 violin, and she bought it without blinking!] [She's so gorgeous! Did you see how her eyes literally sparkled when she talked about her boyfriend?!] [Hey, when you're ready for a new boyfriend, hit me up! I'm first in line!] Putting the pieces together, Tristan finally realized the truth. I had finished my conference in Manhattan and raced against the clock to buy him a violin. Then I flew back without stopping to rest, didn't even adjust to the jet lag, and didn't even have time to change my clothes. I had rushed to see him, only to be turned into a total laughingstock. Tristan finally couldn't take the silence. He texted me: [You around? Let's grab dinner tonight.] Even when bowing his head, the aloof god of music still made it sound like an arrogant act of charity. But my pathetic, hopelessly attached self replied: [Okay.] 06 I thought it was going to be a romantic, candlelit dinner for two. Instead, it was a massive group party. Tristan brought me to a loud, upscale bar. Chloe spotted us immediately and waved wildly at Tristan. "Over here!" Tristan grabbed my hand and pulled me over, smiling, completely ignoring the fact that my expression had already turned thunderous. A few drinks in, Tristan got up to use the restroom. Right on cue, someone brought up the viral video, giving me a thumbs-up. "Badass! $340,000! That's the most expensive violin on campus right now!" Before I could even say a word, Chloe let out a loud scoff. "What's so great about being willing to spend money on a man?" "A man being willing to spend money on you—that's true love." As she spoke, she casually, oh-so-deliberately, brushed her hand against her collarbone. A diamond necklace was resting there, showing off. Chloe lowered her voice, dripping with provocation: "Tristan gave it to me." "What has he ever given you? Tsk tsk, he can't even remember your birthday unless he puts it in your contact name. I doubt he's ever bought you a gift, right?" "In a relationship of three, the one who isn't loved is the real third wheel." I smiled, casually running my finger around the rim of my glass. "H-color. One carat." "Barely acceptable. Must have been on clearance, right?" Knowing Tristan's financial situation, I knew he didn't have much disposable income. Where did he get the money to buy Chloe diamonds? Chloe looked visibly enraged. "Tristan and I are a perfect match! We're meant to be!" "The first time I saw him, I knew he was mine." I saw Tristan walking back from the restroom in the distance. An expensive tailored suit, a high-end dress shirt, and meticulously manicured skin and hands. He looked as elegant as a prince. A prince that this "idiot Cinderella" had worked herself to the bone to package and fund. It definitely gave him a massive, magnetic appeal on a college campus. I swirled my drink. "Little girl, you don't like Tristan." "You like the flawless persona I bought and paid for." Unfortunately, she didn't grasp my genuine advice. Instead, a flash of pure malice crossed her eyes. She violently grabbed my hand—the one holding my glass—and shoved the liquor down her own throat. She immediately started choking and coughing violently. With tears streaming down her face, she cried to Tristan, who was rushing over: "I told her I didn't know how to drink, but Cadence forced me!" "When I refused, she practically poured it down my throat!" Her acting was unbelievably clumsy. It was like watching a cheap circus act. But some people were more than willing to be the audience. Without a second thought, Tristan reached out and shoved me hard. "Are you insane, Cadence?!" "Chloe actually suggested I bring you here to relax tonight!" "Are you comparing yourself to her? She's just a young girl, how could you force her to drink Bourbon?!" I violently grabbed the hand he used to push me. Staring at his suddenly bare wrist, I asked him, word by word: "Where is the couple's watch I gave you?" 07 Tristan instantly froze. He pulled his hand back with an expression of deep displeasure, clearly trying to mask his guilt with anger. "You gave it to me, so it's mine to do what I want with." "Why do you care so much?" As he spoke, his eyes involuntarily darted toward the diamond necklace resting on Chloe's chest. I almost laughed out loud. "You sold the watch I gave you so you could buy diamonds to coax this little pick-me girl?" "It's a waste that you use those hands to play the violin. You should be an accountant with how well you calculate!" I didn't keep my voice down. Everyone nearby turned to look. A few of Tristan's classmates let their jaws drop, staring at him in shock. They seemed unable to believe that their elegant, aloof "Prince" was actually a calculating opportunist. Honestly, I didn't care about the money. But that watch meant everything to me. When Tristan and I got together, I was the one who confessed first. From start to finish, he always maintained an attitude of "whatever." He was fine being together. He'd be fine breaking up. He'd be fine if I was replaced by someone else. Until one year on my birthday. It coincided with Tristan being out of town for a performance. I was sulking, buying my own cake, blowing out my own candles. Just as the clock struck midnight, the melodious sound of a violin drifted through my window. I leaned out, unable to believe my eyes. Tristan was standing downstairs, still wearing his slightly wrinkled performance tuxedo. He looked up at me, his eyes shining with a boyish, 'Bet I surprised you, didn't I?' pride. Tristan was always so cold and aloof. That was one of the few times he ever showed such youthful, genuine emotion. It struck me right in the heart. Later, we split the entire cake between us. He nuzzled into my neck, sounding a bit aggrieved. "The second my performance ended, I rushed back." "I even had to hitchhike in the back of a farmer's truck for a few miles! Just so I could make it back for your birthday." Tristan told me that the piece he played that night was an original composition. He titled it "Splendor." After Tristan left, I twirled around my room in pure joy. I thought, maybe, just maybe, Tristan actually did love me. The next day, I took my entire project bonus and bought us a set of luxury couple's watches. When Tristan took his, he looked surprised. "It's not a holiday. Why the sudden expensive gift?" I happily grabbed his hand. The two watches sparkled on our wrists, perfectly complimenting each other. "You wouldn't understand." The memories from that time were crystal clear, but we could never go back. Seeing the increasingly weird, borderline disdainful looks his classmates were giving him, Tristan finally snapped. "Enough! I'll pay you back in cash!" "We're breaking up!"
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