Chapter 1

By the fourth month of working as a gas station attendant, I thought I had become numb to everything.

Each day, wearing an oil-stained uniform, I mechanically repeated the words, "Hello, what number would you like to fuel?"

I spent all my energy surrounded by the harsh scent of gasoline, just to make a thousand-dollar paycheck every month.

But then, that night, a black Bentley Mulsanne glided up to me, almost without a sound.

The window rolled down, revealing a face that had been burned into my memory, one I had spent years trying to forget.

It was Alex Grant, my ex-boyfriend, the one I had loved for eight long years.

He looked at me with eyes full of a darkness I couldn't understand.

His lips parted slightly, and his words came out cold and sharp, like knives. "Emily, are you that desperate for money?"

*****

"Premium. Fill it up." The voice was low and familiar, striking me like a sudden clap of thunder right beside my ear.

I looked up sharply and found myself caught in a pair of dark, unreadable eyes.

Even beneath the gas station's dim, yellowed lights, his face was still arrestingly handsome—strong brows, sharply defined features, and a perfectly straight nose. But the eyes that once held warmth when they looked at me were now stripped of everything but a cool, appraising distance.

It was Alex Grant.

I had never imagined that I would run into him again like this, let alone in such a state.

My oversized blue work uniform hung awkwardly on my frame, dotted with faint oil stains, while the sharp scent of gasoline clung stubbornly to me. After twelve hours on my feet, I could only imagine how pale and exhausted I must have looked.

In contrast, he sat in the back of a Bentley Mulsanne worth a small fortune, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. The Patek Philippe on his wrist caught what little light there was, its face glinting with a cold, understated luxury.

The distance between us felt impossible to cross. The distance between us felt impossible to cross.

It was as if an invisible hand had closed tightly around my heart, squeezing until I could barely breathe. I wanted to turn away, to disappear before he could truly see me, but my feet refused to cooperate, rooted stubbornly to the ground.

"What are you looking at? You deaf or something?" the driver snapped from the front.

The sharpness in his tone jolted me back to myself. I tore my gaze away, my grip tightening until my fingers went pale. "Right away."

I lowered my head and reached for the nozzle, letting muscle memory take over as I opened the tank, slotted it in, and keyed in the amount.

Each movement was precise and automatic, something I had done too many times to think about.

The metal felt cold in my hand, but it was nothing compared to the chill settling deep in my chest.

I didn't have to look up to know Alex was watching me. I could feel it, steady, cutting, and impossible to ignore, as if his gaze were peeling me apart, exposing every bit of the mess I'd become.

Embarrassment burned under my skin, tangled with a bitterness I had no right to feel anymore.

"Emily." He said my name again, his tone distant, almost indifferent. "Are you really that short on cash?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it landed like a blow straight to my chest.

My grip on the fuel nozzle faltered, and for a split second, I nearly spilled gasoline.

I drew in a steadying breath, forcing myself to regain control before looking up. The smile I managed felt more painful than crying.

"Yeah, Mr. Grant." I echoed his cool detachment, letting a hint of self-mockery slip through. "What can I say? People have to make a living."

Something in Alex's gaze darkened at once, and the air between us seemed to tighten, heavy and unmoving.

He watched me closely, as though searching for a crack in my composure, some sign that would give me away.

But there was nothing left for him to find, only a hollow kind of calm.

Three years ago, he was the one who walked away. He had chosen his first love without hesitation, leaving me behind as if I meant nothing at all.

And now, standing here, he had the audacity to look at me like he cared.

The nozzle clicked, signaling the tank was full.

I pulled it free, secured the cap, and stepped up to his window. Keeping my voice even, I said, "That'll be 160, sir."

I didn't call him Mr. Grant this time. I just wanted this suffocating reunion to be over.

He didn't pay right away. Instead, he slipped a silver card case from the inner pocket of his suit, pulled out a black card, and held it out to me.

"The PIN is six zeros," he said coolly. "There's more than enough in here for you to quit this job and find something a little more respectable."

I stared at the card, a symbol of limitless wealth and status, and couldn't help but feel a sharp sense of irony.

So this was how he saw me now, someone who had fallen so far that dignity was no longer part of the equation.

Anger flared, rising fast and hot.

I lifted my head and met his eyes, holding his gaze as I spoke. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Grant. I make my living honestly. I don't steal or cheat, and I have nothing to be ashamed of.

"The fare is 160 dollars. Would you like to pay cash or by card?"

My voice was steady and calm, leaving no room for argument.

Silence fell over the car. Even the driver in the front seat seemed to hold his breath.

Alex's expression hardened, the warmth draining from his face as something darker gathered in his eyes.

It was clear he wasn't used to being turned down, certainly not like this.

After a long pause, he pulled the card back without a word. His jaw tightened as he reached for his wallet, took out two hundred-dollar bills, and pushed them along with the card through the narrow opening of the window with a flick of his wrist that bordered on impatience.

"Keep it." The words came out clipped, edged with irritation.

The cash and the card drifted to the ground, gathering dust as they landed, a quiet mockery of the composure I had been trying so hard to maintain.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at the money as a chill seemed to spread through my body, leaving me numb.

There was no mistaking it. This was deliberate, unvarnished humiliation.

Before I could even gather myself, the black Bentley was already gone, roaring off into the distance and leaving nothing behind but a fading trail of exhaust.

The evening wind swept past me, lifting dust into the air and stinging my eyes until they burned.

After a moment, I slowly crouched down. My hands trembled slightly as I picked up the scattered bills, smoothing each crease with care.

I didn't so much as spare the black card a glance, leaving it where it lay on the cold pavement.

Behind me, my coworkers' hushed voices drifted over.

"Did you see that? That guy rolls up in a Bentley. Talk about throwing money around."

"Yeah, but he looked seriously off. You think he knows Emily?"

I didn't turn back. I simply slipped the bills into my pocket, walked over to the register, and keyed in the transaction.

Everything went on exactly as it always did, as though the man, the car, and that humiliating standoff had all been nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

But I knew the truth. Beneath that fragile calm, everything was already churning out of control.

Alex, so you're back with your money, your status, and that deep-rooted contempt you've always had for me.