Chapter 1
On Christmas Eve, Matthew Carter and I sat together, sharing a single bowl of soup, celebrating that he finally landed a new job.
"Serena," Matthew called softly.
He held my hand, looking at me with genuine eyes.
"Once my job is stable, I swear I'll give you the life you deserve."
The steam from the soup blurred my vision. Just then, a line of white text floated across my eyes.
[LOL, the rich kid is at it again, pretending to be broke. He just got back from a dinner that cost 15 grand per head; one meal could cover ten years' rent for this place.]
I rubbed my eyes.
[Girl, run! This jerk is just testing if you're after his money.]
[He's actually the heir to the Carter family in Betrico. Next month, they're dragging him back for an arranged marriage with Vivian Sinclair, the heiress of Sinclair Holdings.]
[Classic moment alert: In three days, Serena will overhear Matthew making a bet with his buddies, saying, "I just wanted to play around with a regular girl for fun."]
I looked up at Matthew. He was guarding his soup like it was a treasure, and the stitches I had patched up on his sleeve last week were still there.
"What's wrong?" Matthew asked.
He caught my gaze, concern in his eyes.
"Nothing," I replied.
I lowered my head and finished the last of the soup, the salty bitterness lingering on my tongue.
"The soup is really good," I said.
This soup was cheap, just like the love we share.
*****
Early the next morning, I gripped Matthew's hand, feeling anxious and desperate.
I said, "Matthew, my mom had a heart attack. We're still short six grand for the hospital deposit. Can you lend me the money? I promise I'll pay you back as soon as I get my paycheck."
Matthew looked both awkward and worried, his expression right for the moment.
"Serena, I just started this job, and I haven't gotten paid yet. I'm still paying off debts from when my business crashed," he said.
He searched all his pockets and finally pulled out a crumpled wad of cash, about 100 bucks.
Matthew said, "Here, take this for now. We'll figure something out for the rest, alright?"
Matthew really should've been an actor. If I hadn't caught a glimpse of the comments flying by, I might've believed his act again. [Seriously, what a cheapskate. He just dropped a million bucks on a watch at an auction last night.]
Three days later, following the barrage of live comments, I found myself at Nightfall Bar.
I hid by the door of a luxurious private suite, peering through the gap in the slightly open door.
There was Matthew, dressed in a bespoke suit I had never seen before, his watch reflecting the hazy lights with a cold, expensive gleam.
He lounged lazily on the leather sofa, surrounded by several empty champagne bottles.
"Yo, Matthew, what's got you so generous tonight? Popping all these bottles?" the blond guy jeered.
Matthew waved him off with a smirk, clearly unimpressed.
"You call this money?" he scoffed.
Matthew pulled a bar hostess onto his lap, his gaze playful and flirtatious.
Without a second thought, he added the number pinned to her chest with his phone and sent a transfer.
"Here, go treat yourself to some designer bags," Matthew said.
The girl's phone buzzed with a loud notification.
It was a transfer of 30 thousand dollars.
I touched the crumpled bills in my pocket, and my heart sank.
"Seriously, Matthew, you still not bored with that ordinary girlfriend of yours?" the blond guy asked. He shot Matthew a knowing look, wiggling his eyebrows. "I heard Ms. Sinclair is coming back next week, right?"
Matthew let out a mocking laugh and downed another shot.
He said, "Serena? Yeah, she's a little slow, but she's obedient, doesn't cost much, and she actually believes scraping by with me is some kind of true love.
Matthew paused, his voice full of scornful mockery. "Honestly, compared to that stuck-up woman from the Sinclair family, these regular girls are way more entertaining.
"Besides, it's just a bet—seeing how long I can play poor and string her along. Who would've guessed she'd actually juggle four jobs a day to keep me afloat, and even help cover my debts?"
The laughter in the VIP room was harsh and mocking, stinging like needles.
Pressing my back against the icy wall, I slid down until I was crouched on the floor. I couldn't hold back the tears.
I was juggling four jobs every single day.
I was up at 4 a.m. to deliver takeout, then off to my office job. After work, I'd hustle at a coffee shop, and at night I'd pick up online gigs.
I was so tired that I kept missing my subway stop. I chewed on a steamed bun, counting every penny to see how much I could put toward the debt he left me with for his so-called grand startup dream.
I really thought we were weathering the storm together, that we were both fighting for the same future.
But in the end, it was all just a game to him—a test from his high horse. It was something for his friends to gossip and bet on. It was a spoiled rich kid's way of getting his kicks by playing at being poor.
I stood up, gave one last glance at the intoxicating world of decadence behind that door, then stepped into the cold winter night, never looking back.
Something in my heart went out for good.