Caleb Sterling was the city's most notorious playboy prince. He treated every girlfriend well, giving them whatever they wanted. Except marriage. Everyone knew he had broken up with his first love and was still hung up on her. He couldn't take that final step with any other girl. In the fifth month of our relationship, my family was pressuring me to settle down. So I bid him farewell: "I heard your first love is coming back. Congratulations." He smiled. "Yeah." That night, his friends threw him a "singles again" party. The venue was huge and lively. Someone mentioned me: "Caleb, I think I just saw Harper. She was with a guy, looked pretty handsome." As soon as the words fell, everyone started gossiping, making a ruckus. But Caleb suddenly exploded. He crushed the cigarette in his hand and sneered: "She said we were together, and she was the one who broke up with me. "Where in the world does such a good thing exist?" 1 When I first started dating Caleb, his friends placed bets. They played big, betting on whether our relationship would last more than a month. With his prominent family background and reputation, when I first met him, my roommate warned me: "The Sterling family in New York isn't just anyone. They're not to be trifled with." "But this Third Young Master Sterling is a bit different. I heard he's easy to pursue, never loses his temper with girls, and parts amicably with every ex." This was no lie. But between us, there wasn't really a question of who pursued whom. I was in my second year of grad school, doing research with my advisor. I needed an out-of-print English monograph that was impossible to find. I posted on many forums, all sinking like stones in the ocean. Just when I thought it was hopeless, someone finally replied. With a tone that was slightly cynical yet quite serious— [My old man seems to have it. Contact me if you want it. Just consider it my good deed for the day.] I contacted him immediately. Later, to thank him, we met twice more. We got along very well. The last time, he stood under a streetlamp, handsome features illuminated, and asked me with a raised eyebrow, "Will we see each other again?" In the future, spring turns to autumn, year after year, would we meet again? The moonlight was cool, the scenery perfect. If I said no, it would inevitably be disappointing. Like a ghost possessed me, I smiled, unwilling to show weakness, and asked him: "I heard you're easy to pursue. Is it true?" He looked at me, unable to stop smiling: "Why don't you try?" When you are naive and inexperienced, meeting someone like that—unrestrained, calm, and powerful—you unconsciously want to get closer. Besides, I had seen him long ago. I had just arrived in this city, had my wallet stolen at the station, had nothing on me. After reporting it, I walked out into the rain, looking pathetic and crying hard. He drove past me, speaking slowly: "Where to? I'll give you a ride." Naturally, I didn't dare get in his car. He remained calm, patiently persuading me: "I'm not a bad guy. Trust me this once. Stop crying, okay?" Later, I always wanted to thank him, but we never met again. In a city with so many people, having a chance encounter and exchanging a few words is truly difficult. Not long after this day, we got together. When my roommate found out, she was surprised for a while, finally saying: "Dating someone like him must feel pretty good, right? But I heard he never stays with any girlfriend for more than two weeks. "Just enjoy it while it lasts." I said, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts. People always have times of naivety. Back then, I thought dating was just following your heart. When I liked him, I didn't care about his past, only wanted a future with him. But later I discovered, that wasn't the case. Like that bet. Clearly, Caleb's girlfriends never lasted more than two weeks. Why did his friends, those rich kids, bet on one month? A long time later. I learned that the extra two weeks were because I looked thirty percent like his first love. 2 Most people lost that bet. Because, contrary to everyone's expectations, Caleb and I had a great relationship. It was different from his previous ones. He was rarely proactive, but he came to find me every day for lunch or dinner. There was a time when I was extremely busy; he waited at the school gate for me, sometimes for an hour and a half. I felt embarrassed and dragged him saying I'd treat him to a good meal. He tugged my sleeve, suppressing a laugh: "Your boyfriend wants to eat at the cafeteria." After speaking, he paused, asking for my opinion: "Okay?" Actually, I understood. He didn't want me to go through the trouble of traveling, because before this, I had heard that when he was in school, he was very precious and never ate at the cafeteria. The young master of the Sterling family had the capital to look down on everything. We didn't break up. Our relationship was so good it was surprising. In the third month we were together, he moved near my school. We spent more and more time together. He specially set up a home theater, and in our spare time, we curled up on the sofa watching movies. He wasn't really interested in these things, but I liked them. He would patiently accompany me from beginning to end every time. When we encountered a film I particularly liked, he would seriously take notes and write reviews. His grandfather was a famous painter. He had been influenced for a few years and had some attainments. In those days, he occasionally painted me. There was one painting I remember vividly—a girl standing under a camphor tree, holding a stack of books, with delicate features and a bright smile. But I actually always wanted to ask him, when we first met, I was still very introverted. How could I have smiled so brightly? Later, late one night. That was our first time. My research encountered some problems. After he knew, he patiently guided me through the maze, his fingers tapping lightly on my waist, his posture relaxed: "Understood?" I suddenly realized, then hugged him back in surprise. He looked at me, his gaze slowly deepening, finally pressing forward, thin lips moving slightly, touch cold. He was a little nervous, but on the surface, he was still casual, gripping my hand tightly: "Harper." "Mm." Halfway through, he lowered his voice, mentioning that painting, saying: "When we first met, you stood there, and I really wanted to capture it." I smiled, kissing his neck, pointing out: "Were you like this with your previous girlfriends too?" Whispering in the tender intimacy, recounting the scene of our first meeting. He tsked, pressing against me roguishly: "Go ask around, have I ever gotten to this step with anyone?" Ambiguity flowed silently. By the end, I couldn't smile anymore, held in his arms, crying softly. September in New York, autumn colors connecting in waves. Online videos of tourists going to pray were everywhere. I pestered him to go with me. He stayed up several nights to finish his work, specially clearing a day to accompany me. Winding mountain roads, he held my hand up hundreds of stone steps, staring at my every move, afraid I would step on air. But after leaving him, I thought again, where in life does one not stumble? At that time, I really liked him. 3 When did things start to change? Probably, starting from seeing that photo. It was the fifth month we were together. Caleb had many friends. For his birthday, everyone was eager to celebrate for him. They started preparing more than ten days in advance. I happened to be on break then, so I joined in the hustle. We interacted a lot, and they never avoided me when chatting. Slowly, I learned that when Caleb treated feelings, he had also put in his heart. He proposed seriously, chose the ring seriously, chose the engagement venue. It was just that in the end, because of a small matter, the girl still felt he didn't love her enough. After a big fight, both were tired. One left in anger, one didn't stay, and they broke up just like that. They almost got married. Hearing the end, someone showed me the photo without evasion: "Speaking of which, you look a bit like Sarah. Otherwise, we wouldn't have started a betting pool because of you." In the photo, Sarah smiled cheerfully. She looked so similar to the girl standing under the camphor tree in that painting. When I first learned about the bet, I just thought they were bored. Looking back now, I feel the real fool was actually me. Everyone knew he broke up with his first love and was still unwilling to let go. He still paid attention to her updates. Every year on her birthday, he would specially send someone thousands of miles to deliver the most precious jewelry. If she had any trouble there, someone would tell him soon, and no matter what, he would go there, then quietly settle everything for her. Not letting her know, not contacting, but not letting go either. Only I naively thought that I was truly different to him. Finally, someone laughed: "After Sarah left, Caleb has been dating girlfriends continuously, but we all guess he's doing this to force Sarah back." After speaking, everyone present laughed. Caleb came back from his call, sat beside me, pinched my palm, and laughed low: "What are you talking about? So happy." I looked at him, my heart cold, and said woodenly: "Talking about your first love." He froze, rarely dazed, and didn't say that name until the end, only speaking lightly: "What's there to mention?" This was the first time I had the thought of breaking up with him. Actually, I should thank his friends for not keeping me in the dark. Precisely because they didn't care about my feelings and told me these things, I could wake up and see the situation clearly. Letting me understand, I was just a passerby to Caleb, a means for him to love another person. 4 After this day, I vaguely felt something had changed between Caleb and me. But neither of us actively mentioned Sarah. He didn't have any intention of explaining to me. He became more and more generous to me. He took me to various auctions. As long as I looked at something a bit longer, someone would soon deliver it to me. I forget who said it. Saying Caleb treated every ex-girlfriend well, never stingy when breaking up. Whatever the other party wanted, he gave, whether it was money or resources. It had a bit of a transactional meaning. The night before his birthday, he had someone send me two transfer contracts. A villa, and a car. When I received them, my fingertips were cold. Then I trembled and called him. He picked up quickly. I pretended nothing was wrong and asked him: "Sending such a big gift for your birthday, don't you feel it's a loss?" "What loss? I like you, want to be good to you." He responded, his tone rising slightly, with a hint of a smile. Like a flirtation when affection is strong. I pinched my palm, forcing myself to calm down. "These things are too expensive, almost catching up to a dowry." He didn't speak for a long time. I pursed my lips, tears falling silently. Finally, his tone paused slightly, casually saying: "Harper. "Don't overthink it. Sleep early, I'll pick you up tomorrow night." Should I believe it? He did these things because he liked me, not because he wanted to separate from me.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "389256", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel