For eight years, I helped build my boyfriend's dream from nothing. On our anniversary, we were still in the same attic apartment. He gave me the only egg from his soup. "Eat, Lena. You need strength." I held my cancer diagnosis and said I wanted to break up. "I can't wait anymore, Ethan." He smiled, ruffling my hair. "Don't be silly." "I have cancer." The pain was so sharp I barely remember his response before he rushed off to work—our life already felt like a long-distance relationship. After my follow-up, I went to his glass tower. The receptionist stopped me. "You need an appointment to see the CEO." I stood frozen. I used to sneak upstairs as a delivery girl. Since when did I need an appointment to see him? 01 Ethan and I were broke. The kind of broke where you count loose change for laundry. How could he possibly be a CEO? I didn't believe it. I couldn't. But then, through the frosted glass of a conference room, I saw him. He was dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than our rent for a year. Beside him, a young woman in a bright yellow dress was playfully tugging on his arm. "I don't care!" she pouted, her voice a sweet, cloying melody. "You promised you'd take me to the movies. If you're backing out now, you have to make it up to me!" Ethan’s smile was a mixture of exasperation and pure indulgence. "Alright, alright. That bag you were looking at… how much was it? Four hundred thousand?" The girl practically bounced with joy, throwing her arms around his neck and planting a kiss near his ear. Ethan pulled a credit card from his wallet, tapping her affectionately on the head as he chuckled. "You little troublemaker." I watched, feeling like I was trapped in a nightmare. Four hundred thousand dollars. That was enough to buy us a year's worth of instant noodles with an egg in our attic. All these years, our finances were so tight, I never dared to bring up money, terrified of adding to his pressure. The only time we’d talked about it was the night I got the diagnosis. I held the report in my trembling hands and tried to sound casual. "The cheapest bottle of pills is four thousand three hundred dollars. Can you believe it? It's robbery! But the guy selling knock-offs downstairs from the hospital only charges eighteen hundred. I could save more than half!" I forced a laugh. "What do you think? I could deliver food during the day and drive for Uber at night. Maybe I'd even make it long enough for you to marry me, hahaha." We were face to face, but the silence that followed was deafening. I couldn't even hear him breathe. My fingernails dug into my palms, the paper of the report growing damp with sweat. Damn it. I had wanted to say it with a smile, but a sob was already caught in my throat. Just before a tear could fall, his phone rang. I quickly wiped my eyes and pushed him towards the door, telling him to take the call. Just forget it, I thought. I was a dying woman. The last thing I should do is drag him down with me. Today, I’d worked up the courage to see him, thinking that if I could just say goodbye in person, it would be enough. But now, watching him drop a fortune to appease this girl, it felt like a red-hot poker was twisting in my gut. The pain was so intense it made me gag. Four hundred thousand dollars. It was enough for so many bottles of medicine. Enough time to spend so many more years with him. The glass reflected my own pale face. My lips were colorless, chapped like dry earth. Inside, the girl was vibrant and fresh, her eyes sparkling like jewels. People are drawn to beautiful things. So, in that moment of silence after I told him about the pills, was he thinking about how I was about to die? Or was he thinking about how he was going to spoil this pretty little thing later? I didn't know. And I realized I didn't want to know anymore. Suddenly, the conference room door slid open, and the girl walked out, her eyes bright with laughter. She saw me and paused, her gaze filled with curiosity, but her smile never wavered. "Hi," she said sweetly. "I'm Mia, Mr. Hardy's executive assistant. Is there something I can help you with?" My eyes were glued to the red string bracelet on her wrist. It was identical to the one Ethan wore. 02 Three months ago, my stomach pains started getting worse. One night, the agony was unbearable. As I fumbled in the dark for some pills, my hand brushed against two red string bracelets on the nightstand. A small wooden charm was tied to each one, carved with intricate symbols. I remembered a coworker telling me about these. You had to make a grueling hike up a mountain to some remote shrine to get them. They were meant to protect your health and bring you peace. One was five hundred dollars. Two of them meant a thousand. That was enough to cover our ramen budget for three months. I was a mix of furious and touched. Furious that he’d spent money we didn’t have, but as my fingers traced the wooden charm, a warmth spread through my chest, and even the pain in my stomach seemed to fade. Giddily, I slipped one onto my wrist, planning to playfully scold him in the morning. "No more wasting money," I’d say with a smile. But when I woke up, he was standing over the bed, his face a thunderous mask. "That bracelet isn't for you. Give it back," he said, his voice cold as ice. "Lena, don't be so greedy. You can't have everything." So, it was for her all along. For the girl standing in front of me now. I forced the bitterness down and managed a weak smile. "Your boss… Mr. Hardy… he seems to take good care of his employees, doesn't he?" Mia nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes! Even though he comes from a very wealthy family, he's not arrogant at all. He's been so kind to me." Her voice was soft and sweet, her eyes gentle as she pulled out her phone and began swiping through her photo gallery, showing me picture after picture. There they were at a Michelin-star restaurant. At Disneyland. At all the places I could never afford, their faces alight with joy. "He gives me a huge cash bonus every Christmas, and when he found out I'd studied abroad, he started giving me gifts for other holidays too. He got me this bracelet," she said, holding up her wrist. "I was catching colds all the time." "Once, another company tried to poach me. Can you believe it? He actually showed me the company's financials and even his personal bank statements to convince me to stay!" Mia covered her mouth, giggling. "I told him, 'You only show your bank account to your girlfriend! Why are you showing me?' He just stared at me for the longest time and said, 'I just want you to know…'" She trailed off, a blush creeping up her cheeks. She looked up at me. "You know him well, right? Has he ever been this devoted to another girl? What do you think he means by all this?" The pain in my stomach suddenly sharpened, like a knife twisting inside me. I pressed a hand to my abdomen, struggling to swallow the metallic taste rising in my throat. I didn't know about Ethan’s bank account. I didn't know about his wealthy family. In his heart, I wasn't even his girlfriend. What right did I have to be jealous? I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn't come. I realized that seeing Ethan, saying goodbye, it didn't matter anymore. I straightened my back, forcing myself to stand tall. My voice came out as a whisper. "Please tell your boss to find some time to return that watch to me." "And tell him… we're done." The words had barely left my lips when a familiar, furious voice cut through the air from behind me. "What do you mean, we're done? Lena, are you playing games with me?" 03 I turned to see Ethan standing a few feet away, his brow furrowed in a deep scowl, his eyes filled with impatience. I didn't understand. I was the one who had been deceived. How had he twisted it to make it seem like I was the one playing him? I ignored him. With Mia standing right there, I didn't want to cause a scene. But Mia’s face had gone pale. She grabbed my arm. "Ma'am, what… what is your relationship with Mr. Hardy?" "The front desk said you didn't have an appointment. I assumed you were a business partner, but now…" I froze, unsure how to answer. She didn't know that the receptionist had blocked me, that Ethan hadn't answered my calls. The only way I'd gotten this far was by showing them a three-year-old screenshot of a text from him: "Lena, as soon as I make it, I'll marry you. I promise." I had treasured that screenshot like a precious jewel for three years. But the look the receptionist gave me was the kind you give a pathetic fool. And she was right. Who clings to an empty promise for that long? It was the only proof I had. He and Mia had countless photos together—at Disneyland, in fancy restaurants—each one a portrait of intimacy and happiness. We didn't have a single decent picture together. Seeing our silence, Mia’s eyes welled up with tears. She turned and began pounding her small fists against Ethan's chest, her voice choked with emotion. "Ethan, you have a girlfriend? Then why were you so good to me? I just need a straight answer! What am I to you?" She was so brave, so sincere. Even asking such a foolish question, she seemed utterly endearing. Ethan stood there, taking her blows, a look of profound pain on his face. Watching the drama unfold, I was suddenly reminded of my old self. I used to want to ask him, "When are we getting married?" But every time, the words would die on my lips, afraid of pressuring him. They would turn into, "Should we have fried rice for dinner?" After a long, heavy silence, Ethan finally turned his gaze to me. It was a look I knew all too well—a silent plea. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I would spare him the trouble of speaking the words himself. "I'm not his girlfriend." So this is what it looked like when Ethan Hardy loved someone. Money, time, status—whatever Mia wanted, he gave it to her instantly. No hesitation, no empty promises of "someday." Not like me. I waited eight years, and all I got was, "Don't be so greedy." Even when I was sick, I could only joke about not having long to live, and then I was left helpless by his silence. The pain in my stomach flared again, and tears began to stream down my face. It was obvious now. They had a silent understanding between them. Of course. You can't hide love. You can't stop yourself from wanting to give them the world, from wanting to possess them, from feeling like every second apart is an agony. He had never given any of that to me. I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to laugh. To laugh at my mother, who had been right for eight years when she told me to leave him. And to laugh at my own stupidity. I used to be so naive, thinking he was just a workaholic. Now I knew. It wasn't that he didn't know how to love. It was just that I wasn't the one he loved. 04 Choking back a sob, I held my hand out to him. "Let's just end it here. I don't even want to know why you lied to me." "Just give me back my watch. And let's not see each other again." A crowd of onlookers had gathered by the door. Someone scoffed loudly. "I've never seen someone ask for a gift back. So tacky." "She's probably just some gold digger trying to cause a scene!" Ethan’s jaw tightened. He'd heard them too. "Don't you all have work to do?" he roared at the doorway. The crowd scattered. He then turned to Mia, his voice softening as he stroked her hair. "Go on, I'll explain everything in a minute." Now it was just the two of us, in a silence so profound I could hear my own heart pounding—a frantic, chaotic rhythm in my chest. I never wanted this. To be so humiliated, so utterly pathetic. But that watch… it was the only thing I had left of my father. It was the gift my mother had given him when they first fell in love. On his deathbed, he had pressed it into my hand. "Lena, honey, you take good care of this watch. Don't let anything happen to it." I had to get it back. I was afraid he'd be angry with me when I saw him again on the other side. I held my hand out, insistent. "Give it to me." A humorless laugh escaped Ethan's lips. His eyes bored into mine. "You're really something, Lena. You've been after my money this whole time, haven't you? First you pretend you didn't know I had it, now you're trying to break up with me. Playing hard to get? Let's see how long you can keep up this act!" My nails dug into my palm. I stared into his eyes and asked, each word deliberate and sharp, "Ethan, what are you talking about? You were the one pretending to be a broke failure. When have I ever asked you for a single dime?" He shot me a cold, dismissive look and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He didn't light it, just rolled it between his fingers, agitated. His voice was laced with contempt, each word a shard of ice piercing my heart. "Three years ago. You asked me for an apartment in Midtown. That's when you started plotting all this, wasn't it?" I was stunned. It took me a moment to remember. Three years ago, we had just moved to the city. The summer was humid, and moisture seeped into the walls of our tiny rental, leaving dark patches of mold. He’d patiently painted over them, then turned to kiss me in the tiny space where we could barely pass each other. "Just a little longer," he’d whispered. "After I finish this project, we'll move to a bigger place. Somewhere with more light." I had dodged his kiss and laughed, teasing him. "No way. I want to live in Midtown! I want a penthouse with a skyline view!" The paintbrush had slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. He straightened up and just stared at me for the longest time. And I, like an idiot, thought he was seriously contemplating our future together. I see now. Back then, he was already planning how to punish me. I let out a long, shuddering breath as tears streamed down my face. So that’s all our eight years together meant to him. A gold-digging scheme from my end, and a weapon for him to use against me.
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