Chapter 1

The day my boyfriend told me he would support me, I quit my job.

Within a year, he started coming home every night smelling of alcohol.

Late one night, he was drunk again.

"Do you have any idea how exhausting it is for me to make money out there every single day?

One salary supporting two people. The rent, utilities, groceries—isn't it all coming out of my pocket?"

"Look at you. You just sit at home enjoying life, completely shielded from the harsh reality outside!"

I cut him off, my voice cold.

"Then stop supporting me."

He froze, his face turning bright red.

"You said it, not me! Pack your trash and get the hell out of here!"

I slammed the property deed right onto his face. "The only one who needs to get the hell out is you."

I had bought this place as a surprise for him. Now, there was no need.

The property deed smacked against his face with a sharp slap, sounding just like a physical blow.

Ethan Miller didn’t even have time to dodge. He stood there, completely wasted. The manila envelope bounced off the bridge of his nose and slid onto the floor.

It fell open, and there it was, in black and white—the sole owner’s name: Chloe Shen.

His pupils dilated instantly, as if someone had choked him.

I leaned against the dining table, my fingers trembling slightly.

It wasn't out of fear. It was because I had held these words in for way too long.

The day he told me he wanted to take care of me, I was genuinely touched. I honestly thought I had found the best man in the world.

But the expiration date of his love was shorter than a carton of milk from the supermarket. In less than three months, he started showing his true colors.

"Chloe, how much did you spend this month? Why are you out of money again?"

"Can you try to be more budget-conscious? Do you think it’s easy for me to make money out there?"

"My coworker’s wife still works, and she’s pregnant!"

Every single word meant the same thing: Why haven't you gotten a job yet?

I endured it. Because he had promised to support me, and I had believed him.

But what he didn't know was that I kept track of every single penny.

He transferred $500 to me every month, labeling it "rent." Meanwhile, I was quietly putting in nearly $2,000 of my own money every month just to keep us afloat.

And he called that "supporting me."

I picked up the deed and waved it in front of him.

"See this clearly? This condo is in my name. I paid the $150,000 down payment, and I didn't ask you for a single dime. Your $500 a month wouldn't even cover half the rent in this neighborhood."

"Ethan, the only person you are supporting is yourself, not me!"

The shock sobered him up instantly. His anger turned into sheer bewilderment. "Where did you get that kind of money?"

"My parents gave it to me."

I let out a cold laugh. "Didn't you call my parents cheap? Didn't you tell your bros behind my back that my family was broke and I was just acting high and mighty?"

Ethan’s face went entirely pale.

I continued, stepping closer.

"What's wrong? Is a $150,000 down payment not enough to shut your mouth? Or are you going to say I'm useless because I rely on my family?"

His lips began to tremble.

Looking at his pathetic expression, I said calmly:

"Last month, when your mother visited, you told me not to wear my expensive winter coats. You said she couldn't stand seeing me waste money.

So I wore my oldest, shabbiest jacket. And what did she do? She still looked down on me. She literally told me to my face:

'My Ethan has such a bright future. It’s really a pity he’s stuck with someone like you.'"

I laughed out loud.

"Her retirement pension is barely $300 a month, and your dad does odd jobs in your hometown. Where does your family get the nerve to look down on me?"

Ethan’s eyes turned red. Not from guilt, but from utter humiliation and rage.

"Chloe, that’s enough!"

He suddenly screamed, loud enough for the entire building to hear.

"You think you're so special just because you have some cash? Let me tell you, if I hadn't taken care of you this past year, you wouldn't have lived this comfortably!"

"Taken care of me?" I repeated, almost laughing at the absurdity.

"How exactly did you take care of me? Have you ever washed a single dish? Have you ever mopped the floor? You haven't even washed a single pair of your own dirty socks!"

"That’s because you wouldn't let me!" he shot back defensively.