Chapter 1

It was the ninth year of our 'thing,' and Ethan announced his engagement.

I hadn't even had a chance to ask for my severance pay yet, when he sent a super long message, basically saying:

You're too low-class for my family.

Staring at the screen full of his SnapChat messages and a string of sixty-second voice notes, a giant question mark floated above my head.

Wait, I just treated you like an ATM. You actually thought it was real?

Ethan must have binged too many rom-coms to think that.

I came to that conclusion after professionally reading all thirty-seven of his messages.

Otherwise, it's hard to explain why he’d think I had any feelings for him beyond his money.

Of course, I'm not some cold-blooded creature.

Feelings? Yeah, I'd had them before.

In college, I was the one who pursued him.

He was the campus superstar, smart, artistic, and most importantly, his hands were gorgeous. Long fingers, clearly defined knuckles, perfectly rounded nails, a healthy, rosy pink.

I'm a hopeless hand-fetishist.

And those gorgeous hands came with a clean-cut face and a 6'1" frame. I was practically drooling.

Even if he had a mouth full of venom, I put up with his snarky comments and chased him for three years.

Who hasn't done something stupid when they were young?

Things took a turn two days before our senior year internship. As student body president, he was leading us on an investor pitch. A beefy, square-built investor, Mr. Biggs, clearly liked what he saw. He brought out all sorts of booze, obviously planning to get Ethan wasted and take advantage.

Watching Ethan choke on his drinks, tears in his red-rimmed eyes, I don't know where I found the guts, but I grabbed a bottle and smashed it over Mr. Biggs' head.

My college sports elective was shot put, by the way.

That 'fun' night landed me a trip to the police station.

I finally got out when Ethan's impeccably dressed butler came to pick him up, and I was just… brought along.

It was late summer, early fall. The night breeze was cool, blowing away some of the alcohol fumes, and also my courage.

After a few steps, my legs gave out, and I stumbled to the ground.

God, for someone who'd been a straight-A, rule-following good girl for eighteen years, a police station visit was a huge deal.

This time, Ethan didn't just walk away. He stood under the streetlamp, silhouetted against the light. I couldn't see his expression.

But I still remember what he said.

"Skylar, I don't like owing people favors. Whatever you want, I'll try my best to give it to you, except for…"

Before he could finish, I stumbled forward to grab his hand.

In my mind, I was supposed to grab his hand with teary eyes, crying out dramatically, "Besides you, I want nothing at all!"

But I forgot about my jelly legs. My attempt to grab his hand turned into a desperate tug on his jacket, and the momentum pulled him into my arms, slamming him against the streetlamp.

He braced himself over me, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth, so close I could count his eyelashes.

His clean scent filled my senses, warm and dizzying, making my heart pound.

He must have been stunned, not reacting immediately. When he turned his head, his lips landed squarely on mine.

"Master Ethan!"

Ethan's impeccably dressed butler let out a high-pitched shriek. It was hard to believe such a dainty sound could come from a six-foot-three, bearded man.

And just like that, I became Ethan's 'girlfriend.'

At least, in my mind, I was his girlfriend.

And I became the poster child for the gold-digger who snagged a rich heir.

Back then, everyone had something to say. Calling me a manipulative user, a pathetic hanger-on.

I just tuned out the haters and kept enjoying my 'sweet' time with Ethan.

Even if I shared my daily life in long essays and he only responded with a single "K";

Even if I saved up to buy him gifts, and he'd just toss them on the table, still wrapped;

Even if I wasn't feeling well and wanted to say no, but seeing his displeased frown, I'd force myself to endure his touch, only for him to find me boring and leave me alone at the hotel…

None of that mattered to me.

When you're blinded by love, a hot guy gets a pass.

Until I landed an offer from a major corporation, with a bright future ahead of me. I couldn't wait to share the good news with him.

But he didn't even look up, eyes fixed on his computer screen, his finely articulated fingers tapping on the keyboard, each click like a hammer blow to my heart.

"With your degree, getting into my family's company would be tough."

"But you've been decent this past year, not too ambitious."

"So, I'll arrange for you to join my company. The marketing department is crucial, and with my connections, no one will bother you."

"Do a good job, and I won't shortchange you."

His tone was exactly like a boss using PUA tactics on an employee.

But my young, love-struck brain didn't catch on to his manipulation. Instead, I thought he was about to end things, and I panicked.

I was pretty reckless back then, too, demanding like some heartbroken movie character: "What am I to you, really?"