Chapter 5
When I got off work, I was stunned to see James leaning casually against his car, holding a huge bouquet.
The flowers were bright and lush, and paired with his navy-blue casual suit, he looked impossibly striking.
"Charlotte, your boyfriend is so handsome," one of my coworkers whispered. "He looks like he's in his late twenties at most. He doesn't look old at all."
"Don't you think he's got a great figure, too? Maybe he's not built like Ryan, all bulky muscles, but those broad shoulders and long legs, plus those sharp features—he's definitely a knockout."
"He's got good taste. Look at that bouquet—the colors and the arrangement are perfect."
"This flower shop only sells imported blooms. That bouquet alone costs at least a month of our salary."
Everyone's eyes were glued to James. For the first time, Ryan—posing by his motorcycle like he always did—was completely ignored.
Ryan noticed.
To draw attention, he started tugging at his shirt, adjusting his waistband, and showing off.
But still, no one looked at him.
I kindly reminded Charlotte that she shouldn't be riding motorcycles while pregnant.
Ryan drove recklessly, and a sudden brake could put her life at risk.
Charlotte thought I was mocking her for not being able to afford a car. She sneered and shot back, "It's just a bouquet. Do you really think James likes you? You're just a stand-in."
I knew James had once had a first love—a girl he adored but could never have. She married abroad ten years ago, yet he never forgot her and stayed single all this time.
But that didn't bother me.
As long as no better substitute came along, he'd never abandon me.
Marriage itself didn't matter much to me.
What mattered was that through James, I could climb higher, gain more resources, and ultimately acquire greater power and wealth.
Ryan could never give me that.
I had no intention of clinging to another man again.
"So what if I am a substitute?" I said calmly. "Some people would kill for the chance to be one, but never get it."
My coworkers agreed.
"If I had the chance, I'd do it too. He's gorgeous."
"You like handsome men, and I like luxury cars. I'd rather cry in a BMW than laugh on the back of a bicycle."
Charlotte, feeling humiliated, turned her anger on Ryan. "All you ever do is try to look cool. You can't even bring me flowers like he does.
"I don't care. Whatever she has, I want too. Go buy me flowers right now."
Ryan raised both hands in surrender, putting on a pleading look. "Fine, fine. I'll go right now, my little princess."
Only then did Charlotte calm down. She even shot me a triumphant smile.
I understood what she meant. James would never lower himself to beg and grovel like that.
What Charlotte didn't understand was that only men who had messed up and couldn't afford to make amends resorted to cheap sweet talk to pacify women.
Whenever James upset me, he simply wired me money as an apology.
If twenty thousand dollars wasn't enough, it became thirty. If thirty wasn't enough, he made it sixty—until I was smiling again and willing to talk to him.
As a grown woman, I knew I shouldn't throw tantrums at my partner. That didn't prove anything—it only made a woman look unstable and unfit to handle serious matters.
Learning to control my emotions and manage my expressions was the first step toward success.
I happily accepted James's flowers and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart. I love them."
"Then I'll order a bouquet for you every day," he said.
I knew that money could be put to better use.
Unlike Charlotte, I wasn't interested in showing off.
What I wanted was something more practical.
"I appreciate the thought, but you don't need to waste money on this," I told him.
James asked, "Are you short on money?"
I answered honestly, "Yes. I'm running a video channel, and investing in promotion costs a lot up front."
Without hesitation, James transferred three hundred thousand dollars to me.
"Spend it however you want. If it's not enough, just tell me," he said.
In my twenty-seven years of life, no one had ever said that to me.
Before I was fifteen, I never had a single dollar of my own.
Only when I started boarding school did my parents finally give me money.
While other kids got fifty dollars a week, I only had fifteen—and I had to save three for bus fare.
When I was dating Ryan, he did spend some money on me. But he coaxed me into spending even more on him.
I wasted five years with him, and in the end, all I got was a marriage certificate.
No money. No love.
Just empty promises that somehow kept me chained to him.