My boyfriend and I both thought the other was a secret trust fund kid playing poor. On the surface, we were the hardworking couple, juggling part-time jobs and classes. Secretly, we were both eyeing the other's imagined family fortune. It wasn't until a real heir and heiress from our university made their relationship official that the truth came crashing down. We were both just… actually poor. So, we decided to break up on the spot and divide our business ventures. He took the delivery and personal shopping gigs. I got the class-sitting and homework-writing clients. As for the eight condoms left in the box? We'd use them all in one go. From then on, we would hustle on our own. No more strings attached. 1 The day the heirs to the Kane and Jiang family fortunes announced they were dating, they sent out cash gifts in every group chat at school. Thanks to the lightning-fast fingers I'd developed from buying concert tickets for people, I managed to snag a hundred bucks. "Wow, lucky day," I boasted to my boyfriend, Fred. "That's a whole week's worth of groceries." Then, something clicked. "Fred… wait. You're not from that Kane family, are you?" The hand bringing a piece of meat to my plate faltered. His expression shifted. "And you, Melinda… you're not a Jiang heiress?" I shook my head. His chopsticks retreated. "So… that electric scooter you call a 'Maserati'… it’s actually just a scooter?" I nodded. "Yeah, but don't you think it's cute and classy? It has a certain Maserati vibe, you know?" Then a thought hit me. "And that Porsche key of yours… it’s not really a key, is it?" He hesitated. "It's a lighter." Wrong. We were both so, so wrong. We stared at each other, the horrifying realization dawning. We'd both mistaken the other for a secret millionaire playing at being a normie. All those quirky, eccentric moments weren't clever attempts to hide their wealth—they were just genuinely weird. To break the awkward silence, I shoveled a huge mouthful of noodles into my mouth, only to get a chili flake lodged in my throat. "Cough… cough…" My eyes watered as I choked. A well-meaning waitress rushed over with a soda. "The special combo doesn't include drinks. That'll be two dollars." I waved her away frantically. "No, thanks." Fred frowned. "Just drink it. It's on me." "No, your money is still money." I ended up chugging an entire pitcher of free tap water to dislodge the errant spice. The waitress watched the whole ordeal, her face a mask of pity. Suddenly, I felt a wave of indignation wash over me. 2 "Fred, it's my birthday today," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "And you brought me to a restaurant where we have to share a discount combo meal with another couple." Not only did it not include the cheese-baked ribs featured on their poster, but we had to split every dish that came to the table. The plate of lychee shrimp balls had four pieces; we only got two. We had to share one bowl of noodles, which meant I was stuck using one of those tiny, pathetic "tasting bowls" that everyone hates. Fred reached out, his long fingers dabbing at my chin with a handkerchief he always carried. "Melinda, for my birthday, you bought me a 'buy one, get one free' bubble tea." His usual compliant demeanor was gone. He was starting to keep score. Of course. He wasn't in love with me; he was in love with the idea of the Jiang family fortune. Fine. Two could play at that game. I held up both hands, all ten fingers spread. "You have so many 'babes' in your contact list, I can't even count them on two hands." Fred's jaw dropped. "You know perfectly well those are the actual babies I look after at my daycare job." I covered my ears. La la la, I can't hear you. He was getting flustered, and started listing my own transgressions. "Melinda, you made me eat cilantro-flavored ramen for ten straight days just so you could get a free ramen bowl." "I hate cilantro." I felt a twinge of guilt, but only a tiny one. "So? You could have just not used the seasoning packet!" The tips of his eyes were red. "Last year, you bought me a down jacket. As soon as it got cold, you'd make me wear it, and then when you got cold, you'd make me take it off and give it to you. The problem is, you'd go out in the middle of winter in just a sweater, and the second we left a building, you'd start shivering! So I was the one left freezing my ass off!" It was because I could only afford one jacket, and I'd bought it for him without a second thought. That reminded me of something. "Every time we got lemonade, you'd take these huge gulps and swallow all the seeds so I wouldn't have to," I shot back. "You always let me lick the yogurt lids. You'd even use the empty chip bags to scoop up your rice!" After airing all our grievances, a single, stark realization hit me. This was all poverty's fault. When we thought the other was faking it, these were cute quirks. Endearing eccentricities. But if we were both genuinely broke? It was just sad. His unconditional devotion was predicated on the condition that it cost him nothing. He could promise me the world, but after graduation, we wouldn't even have a place to live. "Let's break up," I blurted out. Fred froze. "You're breaking up with me because I don't have money?" No, it's because neither of us has money. But I didn't explain. I just repeated, "Let's break up." Right then and there, we divided up our side hustles. He took the delivery and personal shopping gigs. I took the class-sitting and homework-writing jobs. The campus market was huge, so we even drew up a "Post-Breakup Amicable Cooperation Agreement," promising not to sabotage each other's businesses and to share any new money-making opportunities. As for our shared streaming subscriptions, we'd alternate days until the end of the month. Same with the meal card we'd loaded together. 3 The result was that for two weeks after we broke up, we were still eating together in the cafeteria. My roommate was baffled. "You guys are having the most peaceful breakup I've ever seen." "You just don't understand the struggles of the truly broke," I told her. On the last day of the month, we finally emptied the meal card. Then I remembered something. We hadn't used up that box of condoms I'd bought. Fred's nose and the tips of his ears turned bright red. "Well," he stammered, "we should probably… use them all." I glanced at the box. There were eight left. My face flushed. "We can't…" For the first time since the breakup, Fred took charge. He grabbed my hand. "I can." He was so young and naive. The three-hour motel room rental was nowhere near enough time. We ended up having to book it for the whole night, costing us an extra thirty bucks. The more I thought about it, the more I fumed. It was such a waste. I refused to let him sleep, determined to get our money's worth. It wasn't until I nearly collapsed from leg cramps during gym class that I regretted my frugality. I shouldn't have been so stubborn about using all eight at once. My back and legs ached for three days, and I could barely run. Across the field, I met Fred's dark, intense gaze. An image from that night flashed in my mind: him leaning over me, his hand gripping my ankle, his eyes filled with a raw, possessive hunger. His chiseled abs, his sharp collarbones, his searing breath… It was just too hot out. I shook my head, trying to banish the thought. There was no time to reminisce about my ex. It was time to make some money. With a dad who couldn't work, a frail mother, and a grandmother with osteoporosis, I was their only hope. I couldn't afford any more distractions. The weight of it all would crush me. 4 After the breakup, I poured all my non-academic energy into making money. Sitting in on classes and writing papers was just the beginning. I started organizing group buys for fruit, offering my services as a gaming companion, even doing laundry for other students… College kids were so lazy. The opportunities were endless. There was so much money to be made, but not enough hours in the day. A senior in my club saw how hard I was hustling and took pity on me. "You're just making pocket change, you know." She looked me up and down, then nodded. "You've got the look. Let me help you land something big." I clutched my chest. "I'm not selling my body." She laughed. "You wish! Your club application said you have 'no special talents'." Ouch. That's how I found out she was a semi-famous cosplayer. She booked me for a commercial event, taught me how to do the makeup, and helped me with the costume. Luckily, I was familiar with the character, a support hero named Seraphina, so I didn't have to do much research. At the event, I was stiffly holding poses for photos when I turned and saw him. Fred. He was wearing the matching male version of my costume, cosplaying my character's in-game partner. The fans went wild. They kept pushing us together for couple photos. Fred and I could only grit our teeth and pose, our eyes filled not with love, but with a fierce determination to outshine the other. A fan held up a sign: "SERAPHINA & ORION FOREVER." It was my first time cosplaying, and I wasn't prepared for this level of intensity. Fred blushed and leaned in closer. I shoved him away. "Nice try, but you're not stealing my spotlight." The senior had told me the event organizers gave out extra cash prizes for the best solo shots. Posing for couple photos would just hurt my chances. Looking at the die-hard fans, I decided to go for the jugular. I touched the glowing halo above my head. "You know why this halo is held up with wire?" I asked them sweetly. "Because he's dead. This one's a fake." The fans gasped. "No, don't say that!" I twisted the knife. "And you know why this character is always young in every game? Because he died young." "Please, stop!" one of them wailed. "How can such a beautiful mouth say such cruel things?" Their ship shattered, the fans dispersed. Fred whispered in my ear, "Weren't you the one who always loved taking selfies in my arms? Now you can't even stand to take a picture with me." Great. He didn't know about the prize money. I stayed silent and focused on my posing. In the end, my hard work paid off. I won a two-hundred-dollar bonus. Fred, on the other hand, had left early. I found out later that a talent scout had spotted him and offered him a contract. "Why him and not me?" I grumbled to my senior. "I'm good-looking too!" She rolled her eyes. "Hollywood has plenty of beautiful women. What it needs is more handsome men." 5 I didn't see Fred for a long time after that. He seemed to be busy and was rarely on campus. Under my senior's guidance, I started making some decent money. It was hard work, but not as exhausting as before. As finals approached, I needed more time to study, so I dropped all my off-campus jobs and picked up a shift serving food in the cafeteria. When I saw my roommate, I'd heap two huge spoonfuls of food onto her plate. When Fred showed up, my hand would suddenly develop a tremor. A scoop of braised pork would shrink to two tiny, thumbnail-sized pieces by the time it landed on his tray. I swear, it had nothing to do with the beautiful girl standing next to him. It was just that when he was dating me, all we ever ate was the cheapest mapo tofu. Now that he was with someone else, he was eating braised pork. The injustice of it all! Fred frowned at the meager portion but didn't say anything. The girl beside him, however, did. "Excuse me, I don't think that's a full serving. I'm going to have to report you to the manager." Up close, her features were as delicate as a doll's. Amelia. I knew who she was. The daughter of a movie mogul. For the past month, rumors had been flying around campus that Fred was dating her. I gritted my teeth. How could he be so lucky? We started out cosplaying together, and he gets discovered by a talent scout. We both wanted to marry into wealth, and he actually finds a real heiress. Ugh, where was my prince? I'd looked up this apparently blind heiress online multiple times. Okay, she was even prettier in person. A sour feeling churned in my stomach. I wasn't jealous. I just felt sorry for her. She was wasted on Fred. Seeing my silence, Amelia opened her mouth to speak again. Before she could, I snatched her tray and piled on two massive scoops of braised pork. "This stuff is delicious. This is all that's left, so you should have it." She blinked, a look of dismay on her perfect face. "Oh, god, I'm such an idiot," she muttered. "I won't report you. Please, just… slap me or something." 6 Right there, in front of Fred, Amelia added me on social media. Fred said nothing. I, on the other hand, had a devious thought: I'm going to steal his sugar mama. So what if Fred was handsome, athletic, smart, and good in bed? I, Melinda Jiang, was no slouch either. If I couldn't find a prince of my own, I'd just have to steal his princess. I began a relentless campaign of flattery. I liked every single one of her posts. She posted a picture of her morning coffee? I was right there, commenting, "Even your fingertips are a beautiful color." She posted a selfie? I was the first to comment: "It's enough to be just a little pretty. You don't have to be a perfect ten." She posted a picture of the moon late at night? I was on it in seconds: "Even if I turned off the moon, you would shine brighter." After a while, Fred couldn't take it anymore. Fred: Melinda, I never knew you were such a suck-up. Me: That's because you always licked all the yogurt lids, so I never got the chance. Fred was silent. Half an hour later, a delivery of fifty containers of yogurt arrived at my dorm. Fred: Is that enough for you? Now stick to licking your yogurt lids and leave her alone. Such a classic "overbearing CEO" move. I was green with envy. That kid didn't even have an official title, and he was already throwing money around like that. This was the same guy who used to agonize for days over buying a single yogurt. Now he was sending his ex-girlfriend fifty at a time without a second thought. It was true what they said: latch on to the right rich family, and you're set for life. My determination to steal his patron only grew stronger.
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