After my mother slapped me twice across the face for using one extra sanitary pad, I swore on my life that I would never be poor again. So, when I secured a wealthy benefactor—Julian Vance—I used every trick in the book to chase away all the other little birds in his golden cage. Everyone thought I was going to be the future Mrs. Vance. At parties, people would even tease me: "I heard Julian dropped an absolute fortune on a flawless diamond ring at the auction last night." The next second, that very ring, bursting with blinding fire, was gently slipped onto my finger by Julian himself. My heart pounded like a drum in my chest. Just as I thought I had finally gotten everything I ever wanted, Julian's voice rang out: "A parting gift. Do you like it?" I looked up, stunned. The heavy oak doors of the private club swung open, and a young, unfamiliar girl walked in, looking timid and frail. Julian set his cigar down in the crystal ashtray. "I'm getting married, Chloe. Tell me what else you want. Let's part on good terms." I sized the girl up. A white dress, innocent, looking so incredibly pitiful. But her 'no-makeup' makeup look featured a tightline eyeliner that was drawn with more expert precision than anyone else’s. So, I swallowed the words that were about to spill from my mouth—the mansion, the sports car, the massive cash payout. I forced a single, barely-there tear to well up in my eye, slipped the dazzling diamond off my finger, and gently set it on the mahogany table: "Only a bride needs a diamond ring. Save it for her." Catching the fleeting flash of hesitation in his eyes, I smiled. "Happy wedding, Julian." Do you know what's far more lethal than an innocent, pure little flower? A gold digger's genuine heartbreak. ... It seemed no one expected my reaction. The entire room went dead silent. Julian casually lit a cigarette, his tone laced with something unfamiliar. "Chloe, I thought you loved money more than anything." Through the haze of the smoke, my mind drifted back to the year I first met Julian. I had just run away from my toxic home, but even after begging and borrowing from everyone I knew, I couldn't scrape together enough for my college tuition. I was squatting outside the campus gates, crying my eyes out. He had been invited to give a guest lecture. As he walked past, he reached out with one hand and effortlessly pulled me to my feet. When I looked up, I met his smiling eyes. I didn't tell him about my gambling-addict father, my cowardly mother, or my greedy, money-grubbing younger brother. It was too cliché. Too pathetic. I only said three words. "I want money." He smiled, exactly like he had just now. "Money is the only thing I can give you." He slipped a check into my bag. At the same time, Julian waved to the girl standing by the door. "Come here, Rosie. Sit next to me." I glanced at the number of zeros on the check. The tiny bit of tenderness I felt was instantly drowned out by a sharp wave of bitterness. He always called me by my full name. But for Rosie, he used a sweet nickname. Seeing how intimately he looked at her, the crowd in the room immediately started jeering and cheering. "First time meeting the crew! Shouldn't you toast your predecessor?" Rosie’s voice was incredibly soft. "Julian, I don't know how to drink..." "I heard Chloe is great at holding her liquor. Could she drink it for me?" The way she held the shot glass was incredibly clumsy, almost amateurish. For a split second, I even doubted myself—maybe I had misjudged her? But the moment those words left her mouth, all my doubts vanished. This kind of cheap, manipulative tactic? Among all of Julian's past mistresses, it wouldn't even rank in the top ten. Julian didn't answer her. He just tilted his chin toward me. But he knew perfectly well that I had been hospitalized just last month for a severe stomach ulcer. In the hospital, Julian's tone had been full of irritation, yet his eyes held a rare tenderness: "You think you're so tough? You don't need to take shots for me at dinners anymore." I had thought that was his unspoken way of showing he cared. Now, I stared at the hard liquor in front of me. One glass wouldn't kill my stomach. The silence dragged on. Just as the crowd thought I was going to embarrass Julian and refuse... I smiled. "I'll drink it for her. Consider it a toast to thank Julian for taking such good care of me all these years." With that, I grabbed the entire carafe of liquor and, under Julian's shocked gaze, downed the whole thing in one breath. When I finally pulled the carafe away, Julian frowned deeply and snatched it out of my hand. His voice carried a frantic urgency I had never heard before: "Do you want to destroy your stomach?! Go throw it up!" "Chloe, would you literally die for a little bit of cash?!" I smiled and gently brushed his hand away. I pulled the check he had just given me out of my designer bag. Riiiiip. Millions of dollars, torn in half. Then into quarters. And then dropped onto the floor like garbage. "Julian, after being with you all these years, I've made more than enough." "The reason I stayed... wasn't for the money." If it wasn't for the money, then what was it for? The entire room fell into a stunned silence. No one dared to ask. Even Julian pressed his lips into a tight, hard line. In our five years together, everyone in Manhattan’s elite circle knew how obsessed I was with money. Julian used to pinch my cheek and laugh: "Chloe, are you a dragon hoarding gold? You only take, you never give." But he was also the one who spoiled me the most. An endless river of designer bags and jewelry flowed to my door. He even transferred the deed of the luxury penthouse in Tribeca, the one I was living in, entirely into my name. No one had ever treated me so well. I thought it meant his heart was truly mine. Looking back now, I guess all of those things were just birdseed to him. Carelessly tossed to a pet bird to keep it entertained. Completely worthless to a man of his stature. Just as Julian opened his mouth to speak... Rosie, sitting beside him, suddenly teared up. "Julian, it's so stuffy in here. Could you take me outside for some fresh air?" The hesitation in Julian's eyes vanished. He scooped Rosie up into his arms effortlessly. I watched his retreating back, the sour, burning pain in my chest boiling over again. The night wind in New York was biting cold. Sitting in the back of an Uber, I texted the details of the penthouse to my real estate broker. Hearing that I needed an expedited sale, the broker naturally asked why. I didn't rush to reply, because a bank notification popped up on my screen. It was from Julian. He didn't send a message, but he wired me exactly double the amount of the check I had torn up. I accepted it without a shred of guilt. Since the love was gone, he damn well owed me the money. When I pushed the door of the penthouse open, I kept my movements light. The two people moving on the sofa obviously didn't hear me. Julian's face was filled with undisguised pleasure as he leaned down and whispered softly into the girl's ear. Julian had been surrounded by sycophants since he was a child. In bed, he was certainly not the type to prioritize anyone else's comfort. He always took exactly what he wanted. I never had the right to say no. Yet, when Rosie pushed him away with tear-filled eyes, he simply frowned, holding back his own desires. He even whispered softly, coaxing her. I let out a self-deprecating laugh and quietly stepped back out the front door, pulling it shut. Leaning my back against the heavy wooden door, the muffled sounds from inside pierced my ears, stabbing into my heart like a needle, over and over. I counted the minutes. I calculated. I wondered how many more zeros I could squeeze out of him. When the storm finally settled, Julian opened the door. The scratch marks on his abs were glaringly obvious. "Did I interrupt you two?" Hearing my incredibly flat, emotionless tone, Julian unconsciously furrowed his brow. After all, the woman who used to whine and fight for his attention in front of his other mistresses was me. "Rosie's constitution is weak. This place is close to Mount Sinai Hospital. You need to move out." My hands instinctively clenched into tight fists. I had once, half-jokingly, revealed a tiny bit of my horrific family background to Julian. Back then, his tone had been utterly dismissive: "Chloe, I hate it when people play the victim card in front of me." But on my twenty-third birthday, he was also the one who handed me the keys to this exact apartment. "Just because a person is born without a home, doesn't mean they can't give themselves one in the long future ahead." But now, he was taking this home and giving it to another woman. And all I could do was smile and say, "Okay." Rosie, wrapped in Julian's suit jacket, blushed furiously. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Chloe. I didn't know this was your place." I glanced at the shoe cabinet, overflowing with my designer heels, and then at the hallway, where a framed photo of Julian and me hung on the wall. "Your eyesight must be terrible, Ms. Rosie." Rosie's eyes instantly filled with tears. The next second, Julian gently pulled her into his arms. His tone was freezing cold: "A young girl throws a minor tantrum and you have to be so vindictive? Chloe, remember your place." "Apologize." For years, I had used Julian's indulgence as my shield, acting like the queen of his harem. This was the very first time he had ever spoken to me in this tone for another woman. I took a deep breath and flashed a bright smile. "I apologize, Ms. Rosie." "I'll go pack my things right now so I don't disturb you." He clearly didn't expect me to cave so easily. The emotions in Julian's eyes flickered and darkened. "Chloe, I didn't say you had to leave." My heart gave a violent, involuntary lurch. But his next sentence was: "Rosie is going to rest here for a few days to recover. You stay and take care of her." A flash of triumph crossed Rosie's eyes. "Ms. Chloe, I'll be in your care." I didn't say a word. I simply raised my hand and reached toward her. Rosie's entire body stiffened. Even Julian thought I was going to hit her, instinctively moving to block my hand. But I just gently brushed my fingers against the diamond studs in her ears. "These diamonds cost around twenty grand. They're the most expensive pair on my vanity." "You have great taste, Ms. Rosie." If you're going to play the innocent, pure virgin, you better remember to hide your greedy little fox tail. Rosie's smile froze on her face. She went visibly pale. Julian frowned deeply. For the first time, a flicker of genuine suspicion appeared in his eyes as he looked at her. "I'm sorry, Ms. Chloe! I just grabbed them without thinking..." I didn't give her a chance to explain. I swiftly walked into the master bedroom and cleared out everything that belonged to me. "The master bedroom is all yours. I put fresh sheets and a new duvet on the bed." I glanced pointedly at her hands: "Your hands are so soft and perfectly manicured. I doubt you even know how to make a bed anyway." Julian didn't say a word. He was gently tapping his finger against the table—his signature habit when he was deep in thought. Aside from me, he had never interacted with a truly destitute person in his entire life. Right now, he was probably realizing, in hindsight, that a genuinely poor, stubbornly innocent girl who had supposedly worked hard her whole life... Would never have hands completely free of calluses. After all, he used to love rubbing the calluses on my palms, feigning disgust but never letting go: "Chloe, your hands are rougher than my grandmother's." But he was also the one who arranged for regular deliveries of ultra-expensive, luxury hand creams to my door. Julian suddenly spoke up: "I'll buy the apartment from you at double the market rate. I'll wire the money immediately." "Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum." Counting the zeros on the wire transfer notification that popped up, I smiled. But the satisfaction in my heart felt incredibly hollow. After packing my bags, I went into the kitchen to make some hangover soup. The sound of the shower running in the bathroom echoed through the apartment. I turned around. Rosie was standing right behind me, her face completely stripped of its innocent facade. She looked sinister. "Chloe, do you think you're really that clever?" I discreetly glanced at the corner of the kitchen, right at the hidden camera I had installed months ago, and said nothing. She was young. She didn't understand that in our line of work, the most crucial rule is leaving undeniable evidence. The very day this apartment was transferred to my name, I had it wired with 360-degree, blind-spot-free hidden cameras. Seeing my silence, the provocation in Rosie's eyes intensified: "I know you chased away a lot of his other women, but so what?" "At the end of the day, the one who gets to be Mrs. Vance is me." "Chloe, you must really hate me, don't you?" I smoothly turned off the burner on the stove. "I do." She clearly hadn't expected such a blunt answer. Rosie blinked, taken aback. I slightly raised my voice, ensuring the hidden microphone would pick it up perfectly: "He doesn't like anything too sour, so you have to add extra honey to his hangover soup." "He prefers strawberry-flavored, ultra-thin condoms. His favorite position is..." Rosie's face turned uglier with every word I spoke, while my tone struck the perfect balance of heartbreaking resignation: "Mrs. Vance... from now on, please take good care of him." Noticing the shower water had stopped running, I poured the hangover soup into a bowl and held it out to her. Right at that exact moment, Rosie's expression drastically changed. She reached out and violently grabbed my arm! During the struggle, she intentionally threw herself backward, crashing heavily onto the floor and letting out a fragile, agonizing scream. And the bowl of boiling-hot hangover soup, due to her pulling my arm, spilled entirely all over me! Heavy, hurried footsteps approached instantly. Julian marched into the kitchen, his brow deeply furrowed. The scalding liquid burned my arm, and a fiery, agonizing pain flared up immediately. In that moment, I suddenly found myself desperately curious. Five years of deep, shared history... versus this yellow-haired little brat he had known for less than two months. Who would he choose? The next second, Julian gently scooped Rosie up from the floor, his eyes brimming with absolute heartache. When he looked at me, his gaze was so freezing and unfamiliar it sent shivers down my spine. "Chloe, have I spoiled you too much over the years?" "Is that why you've forgotten your place and think you can act like a violent psycho?" But Rosie hadn't even said a single word yet. The scenario I had imagined in my head—pulling out the camera footage, exposing her pathetic framing attempt—suddenly felt entirely pointless. All the fight drained out of me. Because she didn't say anything. She didn't need to say a single word. And Julian already believed her. I suddenly felt incredibly ridiculous. So I gave a genuine smile, even though a tear slipped unconsciously from the corner of my eye. "You're right. I forgot my place." "It won't happen again." Because, in that exact moment, I suddenly realized I didn't want an "again" with him. A flash of unreadable emotion crossed Julian's eyes. He didn't reply. He just carried Rosie out of the kitchen to tend to a bruise on her leg that was barely even visible. It was as if he was completely blind to the horrifying, massive burn blistering across my arm. I let out a heavy sigh. Little girls really don't know how to control their strength. Thank god I turned the stove off early. I just didn't understand why a bowl of hot soup felt like it had been poured directly onto my heart. It burned. And it ached so badly. After cleaning up the kitchen and walking out, there was a knock at the front door. It was Julian's assistant, delivering medical supplies. Inside the bag, several tubes of expensive burn ointment caught my eye. I instinctively reached out to take them, but the assistant pulled the bag away: "I apologize, Ms. Chloe. These are all for Ms. Rosie." "Mr. Vance said Ms. Rosie got splashed by some of the hot soup, and he wanted to prevent any burn marks." I awkwardly pulled my hand back. "Oh, sorry. Go right ahead." Back in the guest bedroom, I pulled out my phone and sent a confirmation text to my broker. The apartment was gone, the car was sold. There was absolutely nothing left for me to be nostalgic about in this city. I sent a message to an international education consultant I had spoken with a long time ago. Since my budget was incredibly high, the consultant confirmed everything at lightning speed. Throughout my entire college experience, I was constantly running myself ragged just to survive. I never got to experience the freedom or joy of being a normal student. I was so exhausted I almost forgot... I was still young. I still had time to live a life for myself. The next morning, I was violently awakened by an agonizing, tearing pain in my scalp. I snapped my eyes open! After years of not seeing him, my biological father's nightmarish face was hovering inches from mine, looking more terrifying than a demon. He had a death grip on my hair, violently yanking me out of bed. "You little bitch! I wondered where you ran off to all these years!" "Turns out you're just out here being a rich man's whore?! Have you got no shame?!" I struggled in absolute, primal terror. The horrifying memories of almost being sold off to a random villager for a bride price flooded back into my mind. "Let me go!" As my vision cleared, I spotted a familiar figure standing by the bedroom door. I instinctively screamed for help: "Julian! Save me! Please..." But the next second, the man simply pulled out a cigarette and lit it casually: "Chloe, you made Rosie cry so hard yesterday. You need to be taught a lesson." My father's face twisted into an even more grotesque sneer: "You stupid bitch, how do you think I found you?" "Look at how filthy and ruined you are! I wouldn't even have the face to trade you for a dowry now!" Through the swirling cigarette smoke, Julian's face blurred, making it impossible for me to read his expression. Was the fleeting flash of hesitation on his face real, or just my imagination? Rosie peeked her head out from behind Julian's back. "Chloe, no matter what happens, a person can't just abandon their own biological father!" "I had to go through so much trouble to track him down and bring him here for you." As soon as she finished speaking, the bedroom door slammed shut with a heavy THUD. In the exact moment that total despair threatened to swallow me whole, I reached my hand back, slipped it under my pillow, and pulled out a long, serrated survival knife. Just like I had done in countless midnight terrors, I pressed the blade firmly and violently against his throat. The man's eyes widened in sheer, pathetic terror. His body, hollowed out by years of cheap alcohol and chain-smoking, was absolutely no match for the physical strength I had intentionally built up over the years. When the police dragged him away in handcuffs, I suddenly had a profound realization. The "home" I had spent years desperately searching for, the tiny scraps of tenderness I had clung to, the nightmares I had constantly tried to outrun... They really weren't as terrifying or impossible to overcome as I thought. That very night, I boarded a flight to a foreign country. But before I left, I made sure to leave Julian a very generous parting gift. I cast the hidden camera footage directly to the massive flat-screen TV in the living room, and left a detailed dossier on Rosie's true identity—which I had paid private investigators a small fortune to compile—sitting dead center on the coffee table. Seeing the paused video frame on the TV, Julian frowned, confused. He instinctively reached for the remote to hit play. Beside him, Rosie let out a blood-curdling scream: "No! Don't..."
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