Chapter 4

During the final thirty minutes before boarding, I had my personal assistant send the last few cardboard boxes I had left at the apartment straight to the club.

Half an hour later, an unboxing livestream started in the group chat.

Inside the boxes were the Hermès scarves and Bvlgari bracelets Arthur had gifted me, along with a few half-hearted cards.

All dumped carelessly into the cardboard.

But at the very bottom of the box was a ten-page financial statement.

Over the last three years, the penthouse HOA fees.

The rent for the independent art exhibition he threw, which I secretly covered when it went under.

The first-class upgrades for every vacation we took.

I had documented every single expense.

After deducting the minuscule fraction he had paid for, the total came out to exactly $152,400.

I had wired the money directly into his bank account. Down to the exact cent.

In the video, someone picked up the financial report and slapped the leather sofa, howling with laughter.

"What is this, an invoice for escort services?"

"Only 150k for three years? She got severely underpaid!"

"No wonder she made such a fuss about canceling the wedding. She's trying to force Arthur to up the price."

But as the camera panned to the final page—the bank wire transfer receipt—the mocking laughter abruptly died.

Someone zoomed in on the screen, their voice trembling in disbelief.

"Hold on... this isn't a bill. It's a wire transfer receipt. She sent this to Arthur!"

"She paid back every single cent she spent on him over the last three years? Down to the penny?"

The private room plunged into a suffocating, deathly silence. The trust-fund kids who had been waiting for a punchline stared at each other in shock.

They had called her a gold digger all night, only to have the poor girl from the bottom deliver a brutal, ringing slap across all their faces.

Chloe snatched the report away, gritting her teeth.

"She calculated it down to the cent on purpose! She's guilt-tripping him for 'wasting' three years of her life."

"Watch, next she'll be suing for emotional damages."

Arthur sat on the sofa, his face draining of color.

He stared at that precise string of numbers and suddenly asked, "What if she actually just wants out?"

Chloe forced a laugh.

"Arthur, did you really fall for her act?"

"If she leaves you, she has to pay her own rent."

"She's used to a life of luxury now. You think she can go back to being poor?"

The livestream abruptly cut off.

I sneered and permanently exited every single group chat.

As I lined up in the first-class boarding queue, my partner called.

"Arthur's camp should be getting the news that you signed the three-year contract any minute now."

"Are you absolutely sure about this?"

I looked down the jet bridge leading to the cabin.

"I'm sure. This time, I'm never looking back."

I hung up and opened my text thread with Arthur.

[You were right, Arthur. I'm a fantastic actor.]

[I've been sick of you for a long time, but I played the loving girlfriend for three years.]

[I'm done playing.]

[The $152,400 is in your account. We're even.]

[Next time you fake a bankruptcy or a broken leg for a laugh, no one is coming back for you.]

Arthur's call came through immediately, his name flashing frantically on my screen.

I pulled out my SIM card, snapped it in half, and tossed it into the nearest trash can.

At that exact moment, my overseas deployment contract was delivered to the club.

London Headquarters. Three-year term.

Chloe reached out to grab it, but Arthur slammed his hand down on the contract first. He stared at my signature, his face turning deathly pale.

Then, he violently shoved Chloe out of his way, grabbed his Ferrari keys off the table, and sprinted toward the elevator like a madman.

"Bring the car around! JFK! Now!"

Chapter 4

During the final thirty minutes before boarding, I had my personal assistant send the last few cardboard boxes I had left at the apartment straight to the club.

Half an hour later, an unboxing livestream started in the group chat.

Inside the boxes were the Hermès scarves and Bvlgari bracelets Arthur had gifted me, along with a few half-hearted cards.

All dumped carelessly into the cardboard.

But at the very bottom of the box was a ten-page financial statement.

Over the last three years, the penthouse HOA fees.

The rent for the independent art exhibition he threw, which I secretly covered when it went under.

The first-class upgrades for every vacation we took.

I had documented every single expense.

After deducting the minuscule fraction he had paid for, the total came out to exactly $152,400.

I had wired the money directly into his bank account. Down to the exact cent.

In the video, someone picked up the financial report and slapped the leather sofa, howling with laughter.

"What is this, an invoice for escort services?"

"Only 150k for three years? She got severely underpaid!"

"No wonder she made such a fuss about canceling the wedding. She's trying to force Arthur to up the price."

But as the camera panned to the final page—the bank wire transfer receipt—the mocking laughter abruptly died.

Someone zoomed in on the screen, their voice trembling in disbelief.

"Hold on... this isn't a bill. It's a wire transfer receipt. She sent this to Arthur!"

"She paid back every single cent she spent on him over the last three years? Down to the penny?"

The private room plunged into a suffocating, deathly silence. The trust-fund kids who had been waiting for a punchline stared at each other in shock.

They had called her a gold digger all night, only to have the poor girl from the bottom deliver a brutal, ringing slap across all their faces.

Chloe snatched the report away, gritting her teeth.

"She calculated it down to the cent on purpose! She's guilt-tripping him for 'wasting' three years of her life."

"Watch, next she'll be suing for emotional damages."

Arthur sat on the sofa, his face draining of color.

He stared at that precise string of numbers and suddenly asked, "What if she actually just wants out?"

Chloe forced a laugh.

"Arthur, did you really fall for her act?"

"If she leaves you, she has to pay her own rent."

"She's used to a life of luxury now. You think she can go back to being poor?"

The livestream abruptly cut off.

I sneered and permanently exited every single group chat.

As I lined up in the first-class boarding queue, my partner called.

"Arthur's camp should be getting the news that you signed the three-year contract any minute now."

"Are you absolutely sure about this?"

I looked down the jet bridge leading to the cabin.

"I'm sure. This time, I'm never looking back."

I hung up and opened my text thread with Arthur.

[You were right, Arthur. I'm a fantastic actor.]

[I've been sick of you for a long time, but I played the loving girlfriend for three years.]

[I'm done playing.]

[The $152,400 is in your account. We're even.]

[Next time you fake a bankruptcy or a broken leg for a laugh, no one is coming back for you.]

Arthur's call came through immediately, his name flashing frantically on my screen.

I pulled out my SIM card, snapped it in half, and tossed it into the nearest trash can.

At that exact moment, my overseas deployment contract was delivered to the club.

London Headquarters. Three-year term.

Chloe reached out to grab it, but Arthur slammed his hand down on the contract first. He stared at my signature, his face turning deathly pale.

Then, he violently shoved Chloe out of his way, grabbed his Ferrari keys off the table, and sprinted toward the elevator like a madman.

"Bring the car around! JFK! Now!"