Chapter 2
Marcus didn't always treat me with such disdain.
In fact, it was the opposite at first.
Because my rare blood type was a perfect match for Lillian, the woman who had once saved his life, he was deliberately polite to me, almost as if he was afraid of offending me.
Marcus and I first crossed paths when my life was a total mess.
I had just finished school.
The Sunshine Home, where I'd grown up, had lost its long-term funding.
It was on the verge of shutting down, barely scraping by.
In my clueless desperation to keep that tiny hope alive, I borrowed money from shady online lenders.
But the interest kept piling up, and soon I was drowning in debt I could never pay off.
The debt collectors cornered me in an alley, grabbing at me and trying to sell me off.
That was when Marcus showed up, like an angel descending from the sky, and saved me.
He not only paid off my debts, but he also funded the rebuilding of the orphanage, giving it a new lease on life.
He even took me in when I had nowhere else to go, letting me move into his home.
He gave me a job as his executive assistant, so I could stand by his side with dignity.
To me, he was the first and only light that ever broke through the darkness of my life.
Never in my life had anyone treated me this well.
So, without a second thought, I gave him my heart, completely and irreversibly.
Things took a turn after that party.
That night, Marcus was so drunk that he could barely walk straight when he got home.
I tried to steady him, but he suddenly pulled me down onto the bed.
His breath was burning, and his gaze was hazy.
Someone must've spiked his drink with something nasty.
He was lost in a haze, not himself at all.
But I was painfully aware, allowing myself to get lost in that brief, make-believe tenderness.
The next morning, he woke up amid the wreckage of the night before.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes were clouded with regret that just wouldn't go away.
I was the one who spoke up first, taking it all on myself, shouldering every bit of the blame without hesitation.
I said it was all me, that I'd deliberately tried to seduce him.
Marcus suddenly looked up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me, staring as if he couldn't believe what I'd just said.
His voice was rough as he asked, "Why?"
I kept my head down, too ashamed to meet his eyes.
Stammering, I made up a lie so desperate even I couldn't stand myself for it.
I told him I wanted to be his wife, that I was terrified of being poor, and all I wanted was to hit the jackpot and rise to the top in one leap.
He bought it.
From that day on, the gold-digger label stuck to me like glue; no matter what I did, I could never shake it off.
Later, on a night when neither of us could resist, we crossed that line again.
When I woke up the next morning, Marcus was already standing by the bed, fully dressed, his expression unfamiliar, cold, and detached in a way I'd never seen before.
He said last night was just an accident, nothing more than a normal release of desire between adults.
After that, I was just someone Marcus used to satisfy his needs.
But no matter how crazy things got between us the night before, when morning came, he'd always hit me with that cold, dead stare, killing any hope or warmth I had left inside.
"It's just a release," Marcus would say.
Again and again, those words kept me trapped as nothing but his outlet, never anything more.