Chapter 3

That night, Chloe added me to an iMessage group chat.

The group name was: How Long Can the Gold Digger Last?

There were over twenty people in it, all trust-fund kids waiting for a show.

My phone buzzed relentlessly. The second I opened it, the screen was flooded with messages.

[I give her till midnight.]

[Midnight's generous. A broke girl doesn't just toss her meal ticket.]

[I bet she'll be kneeling outside Arthur's building begging for him back by tomorrow morning.]

[Loser funds the next yacht party.]

Chloe sent a voice memo.

"You guys are giving her too much credit."

"She's definitely sitting in the penthouse right now, waiting for Arthur to come home."

"Packing her bags, canceling the wedding—it's standard protocol for faking a breakup."

"Someone who actually wants to leave wouldn't make such a loud scene."

"She's just waiting for Arthur to coax her."

Someone asked why she was so sure.

Chloe laughed.

"I grew up in this circle. I've seen it a million times."

"Locking down Arthur is like hitting the Powerball for a girl like her. Have you ever seen a lottery winner tear up the ticket?"

A row of crying-laughing emojis flooded the chat.

Arthur was in the group, too. He didn't say a word. He didn't stop them.

I exited the group chat.

Less than ten seconds later, Chloe pulled me back in.

[Don't leave so soon!]

[I thought you were breaking up? Let everyone see how long you can keep up the act.]

[Why don't you place a bet too? What time are you crawling back to Arthur?]

I locked my screen and ignored it.

Half an hour later, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered.

It was Arthur's assistant. He sounded frantic.

"Miss Evelyn! Arthur's art fund just got hit with a massive margin call!"

"He's facing bankruptcy liquidation! He's losing his mind right now!"

A year ago, they played this exact same trick.

I had been preparing for my CFA exam when I got a call saying Arthur had broken his leg skiing in Switzerland.

I abandoned my final exam and took a red-eye flight to Switzerland.

When I pushed open the door to his hospital room, I found a whole table of them popping champagne.

They laughed and said that since I was so worried about Arthur, it proved I was terrified of losing my long-term meal ticket.

Six months ago, they did it again. They told me Arthur was having a mental breakdown.

I canceled my final interview for an executive promotion and flew back to New York overnight.

It was just another test.

They watched me tremble with anxiety and complimented my "realistic acting."

This time, I was standing at the airport security checkpoint.

I spoke calmly into the phone.

"If he's bankrupt, tell him to file for Chapter 11."

"Call his lawyers, not me."

"We're done."

There was a second of dead silence on the other end, followed by an eruption of laughter.

Chloe snatched the phone.

"Caught on, did you? Figured out it was a test."

"But playing the ice queen isn't going to make Arthur panic."

I hung up and blocked every single one of their numbers.

The terminal speakers announced boarding for my flight.

I glanced back at the entrance of the departure hall. Arthur wasn't there.

My phone buzzed one last time. Chloe had sent me a video directly.

Arthur was sitting on a leather sofa at their exclusive club, swirling a glass of red wine.

The whole group was still waiting for me to cave.

Chloe's voice came from behind the camera.

"Don't worry, she's not leaving."

"She's definitely hiding in an airport Starbucks right now, waiting for you to rush over and beg."

"If you go, she'll hold this breakup over your head for the rest of your life."

Arthur looked up. "And what if she actually leaves?"

Chloe didn't hesitate.

"If she actually has the guts to walk away, I'll issue a public apology."

The video ended there.

I let out a cold laugh, turned off my phone, and walked toward the gate with my boarding pass in hand.

Chapter 3

That night, Chloe added me to an iMessage group chat.

The group name was: How Long Can the Gold Digger Last?

There were over twenty people in it, all trust-fund kids waiting for a show.

My phone buzzed relentlessly. The second I opened it, the screen was flooded with messages.

[I give her till midnight.]

[Midnight's generous. A broke girl doesn't just toss her meal ticket.]

[I bet she'll be kneeling outside Arthur's building begging for him back by tomorrow morning.]

[Loser funds the next yacht party.]

Chloe sent a voice memo.

"You guys are giving her too much credit."

"She's definitely sitting in the penthouse right now, waiting for Arthur to come home."

"Packing her bags, canceling the wedding—it's standard protocol for faking a breakup."

"Someone who actually wants to leave wouldn't make such a loud scene."

"She's just waiting for Arthur to coax her."

Someone asked why she was so sure.

Chloe laughed.

"I grew up in this circle. I've seen it a million times."

"Locking down Arthur is like hitting the Powerball for a girl like her. Have you ever seen a lottery winner tear up the ticket?"

A row of crying-laughing emojis flooded the chat.

Arthur was in the group, too. He didn't say a word. He didn't stop them.

I exited the group chat.

Less than ten seconds later, Chloe pulled me back in.

[Don't leave so soon!]

[I thought you were breaking up? Let everyone see how long you can keep up the act.]

[Why don't you place a bet too? What time are you crawling back to Arthur?]

I locked my screen and ignored it.

Half an hour later, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered.

It was Arthur's assistant. He sounded frantic.

"Miss Evelyn! Arthur's art fund just got hit with a massive margin call!"

"He's facing bankruptcy liquidation! He's losing his mind right now!"

A year ago, they played this exact same trick.

I had been preparing for my CFA exam when I got a call saying Arthur had broken his leg skiing in Switzerland.

I abandoned my final exam and took a red-eye flight to Switzerland.

When I pushed open the door to his hospital room, I found a whole table of them popping champagne.

They laughed and said that since I was so worried about Arthur, it proved I was terrified of losing my long-term meal ticket.

Six months ago, they did it again. They told me Arthur was having a mental breakdown.

I canceled my final interview for an executive promotion and flew back to New York overnight.

It was just another test.

They watched me tremble with anxiety and complimented my "realistic acting."

This time, I was standing at the airport security checkpoint.

I spoke calmly into the phone.

"If he's bankrupt, tell him to file for Chapter 11."

"Call his lawyers, not me."

"We're done."

There was a second of dead silence on the other end, followed by an eruption of laughter.

Chloe snatched the phone.

"Caught on, did you? Figured out it was a test."

"But playing the ice queen isn't going to make Arthur panic."

I hung up and blocked every single one of their numbers.

The terminal speakers announced boarding for my flight.

I glanced back at the entrance of the departure hall. Arthur wasn't there.

My phone buzzed one last time. Chloe had sent me a video directly.

Arthur was sitting on a leather sofa at their exclusive club, swirling a glass of red wine.

The whole group was still waiting for me to cave.

Chloe's voice came from behind the camera.

"Don't worry, she's not leaving."

"She's definitely hiding in an airport Starbucks right now, waiting for you to rush over and beg."

"If you go, she'll hold this breakup over your head for the rest of your life."

Arthur looked up. "And what if she actually leaves?"

Chloe didn't hesitate.

"If she actually has the guts to walk away, I'll issue a public apology."

The video ended there.

I let out a cold laugh, turned off my phone, and walked toward the gate with my boarding pass in hand.