At ten, I learned my billionaire father was unfaithful. My mother left, telling me before she died: "Rich men are heartless, Olivia. But if you can, marry a poor one." So when my startup-boyfriend kept failing, I stayed. First bankruptcy: Sold my guitar, became a bar singer. Second: Traded singing for serving drinks in a short skirt. Third: He shoved a $300K IOU at me. As I debated calling Dad, I overheard Ethan boasting: "She's paying my debts. Next step? Maybe selling herself—though I'd draw the line there." Smiling, I called my father: "Thanks for the texts. I'm coming home." 1 I hung up the phone. The muffled laughter from inside the private room was starting to grate on my nerves. As I turned to leave, the door swung open. Ethan stood there. He was clearly surprised to see me, freezing for a split second before his expression morphed into one of carefully crafted distress. “Liv,” he started, his voice heavy with false regret, “I’m so sorry. My startup failed again. This time, I owe… three hundred thousand dollars.” His performance was flawless. He gestured vaguely at the room behind him. “I just asked all my friends. No one is willing to help me. You’re the only one I can count on now.” I looked at his head-to-toe designer clothes, then down at my own ridiculously short work uniform, chosen specifically to sell more drinks. The irony was suffocating. A cold laugh escaped my lips. “I’ve already given you all my savings. How else do you expect me to help? Sell me? Sell my body to pay off your debts?” We had been together for three years. In that time, he’d gone bankrupt twice, and both times, I was the one who bailed him out. The first time, to make extra money, I worked my nine-to-five desk job during the day and spent my nights running between bars, my guitar my only companion. Ethan had watched me, his eyes red with unshed tears, and swore he would give me the world one day. The second time, I sold the limited-edition guitar my mother had given me, quit my stable job, and became a full-time cocktail waitress, all for that pathetic sixty-cent commission per beer. Just a few days ago, I had finally paid off his last mountain of debt. I thought we could finally be together without that constant, crushing weight. But now, a third failure, and a new three-hundred-thousand-dollar debt, had arrived right on schedule. If I hadn’t overheard that conversation, I might have continued to believe his lie—that every debt, every failure, was just a stepping stone to a better future for us. Who could have guessed it was all an elaborate, cruel game designed just for me? My unwavering love was nothing but a series of tests for his amusement. Ethan’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the door opened again. His sycophantic friends spilled out. “Hey, Olivia. So, Ethan’s in the hole for another three hundred K. When do you think you can pay it off? How about this—I’ll buy you… and all your drinks for the night. Consider it me helping you with the debt.” “I call dibs on her… drinks tomorrow! I’ll pay double.” “Don’t worry, Olivia. Ethan won’t mind. We’re just trying to help you out, you know?” They smirked, their words dripping with innuendo, as they bid on me like I was a piece of meat. And they had the gall to say they were “helping.” A bitter smile touched my lips. I looked at Ethan. He just stood there, impassive, his face a mask of anticipation, as if waiting for my answer. In that moment, the last shred of affection I had for him evaporated. I nodded, my voice devoid of emotion. “Sure. Cash or credit?” Ethan flinched, clearly not expecting that. In his mind, I was poor, yes, but I had standards. I would never sell myself for money. His face darkened, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Olivia,” he said, his voice cold, “we can find another way. You don’t have to say things like that just to spite me. If you’re really thinking of selling yourself to pay this off, I’d rather let the loan sharks break my legs!” He turned and walked away. Watching his retreating back, I couldn't tell if he was genuinely disappointed in me, or if this was just another tactic to force my hand. It didn’t matter anymore. The main actor had left the stage. His friends, losing interest, dispersed without another word about buying drinks. I let out a self-deprecating laugh and went to find the bar manager. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I need to quit.” 2 After changing out of my work uniform, I went home and started packing. Not my things. Ethan’s. The apartment was a gift from my mother. Even if I was returning to my father’s world, this place would always be my sanctuary. Ethan didn’t come home that night. The next morning, just as I was about to call and tell him to pick up his stuff, there was a knock on the door. A group of people I didn’t know walked in, looking around the apartment assessingly. “Hi, I’m from the real estate agency. I’m here to show the apartment to some clients.” I frowned. “An agency? A showing? I’m not selling my apartment. Who sent you?” The agent looked just as confused. “A Mr. Ethan Hayes. He said he was in a hurry to sell and that we could list it at a low price to get it off the market quickly.” It was absurd. He had faked poverty and debt to bleed me dry of my savings. He’d made me sell my most prized possession to pay his fabricated debts. And now, this monster was trying to sell the only thing my mother had left me. He was trying to take even more from me. I kicked the agent and his clients out. Before I could even call Ethan, he showed up, looking frantic. “Olivia, why did you send the agent away? If we don’t sell the apartment, how are you going to pay back the three hundred thousand? Don’t tell me you’re actually going to sell yourself?” I was the one who had been deceived, played, and left with nothing. But he was the one acting desperate. And he had the audacity to stand there, on his moral high ground, and accuse me of something I hadn’t even done. A thousand tiny needles of pain pierced my heart. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Ethan, you’re even after the apartment my mother left me. Haven’t you had enough fun yet?” “We’re breaking up.” His expression froze. For a moment, he looked genuinely panicked, but then, as if remembering something, his face twisted into a sarcastic sneer. “So, when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Olivia, I really misjudged you. It turns out you’ve been looking down on me this whole time. You said you’d never leave me, but now you’re walking out when I’m at my lowest. Are you really that obsessed with money?” I had said I’d never leave him. I had said I wouldn’t care if he had nothing. But those promises were based on the belief that he was working hard for our future. Not that he would use my promises as a get-out-of-jail-free card to play with my heart and feed his twisted ego. I wiped my tears and retreated to the bedroom. No matter how loudly he yelled for an explanation, I didn’t come out. Finally, I heard the heavy slam of the front door. A moment later, my phone rang. It was the bar manager. She said there was a problem with my resignation and asked me to come in. “Olivia, I’m in a tough spot here. Some customers are saying you promised to sell them drinks last night. Now that you’ve quit, they’re causing a huge scene because you’re not here.” I remembered. In my anger, I had agreed to his friends’ disgusting proposition. I couldn’t believe they were still clinging to it. This was between me and Ethan. I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it. I hung up and rushed to the bar. The manager looked frantic. “Olivia, the owner said that if you don’t go in there and sort out those customers, you’ll have to pay for the bar’s losses. And it’s a lot of money… I think he said three hundred thousand…” Another three hundred thousand. I frowned, a bad feeling creeping over me. “Manager, what’s the owner’s last name?” My sudden question seemed to throw her off. She looked at me, puzzled. “Hayes,” she said, a hint of suspicion in her voice. “Don’t you know? Mr. Hayes was the one who arranged for you to work here in the first place.” 3 It all clicked into place. Three years ago, he was the one who suggested I sing at the club. My mother had just passed away. My father, wanting me to come home, was constantly trying to contact me. In a fit of anger, I blocked all his numbers and went to a bar to get drunk. That was the night I met Ethan. He thought I was a working-class girl who had run away from a family that favored sons over daughters. I thought he was a down-on-his-luck but good-hearted man. I remembered my mother’s words: rich men are heartless; find someone poor but kind. Don’t end up with someone like your father, whose heart belongs to another. So I listened to my mother. Ethan and I got together. I dreamed of the day we would build a life together, successful and happy. But the reality was this: he got me a job singing and selling drinks in his club, where I had to grovel and please sleazy customers every night, fending off their wandering hands. And him? He spent his days living a life of luxury, all under the guise of “networking for his business.” I was such a fool. “Olivia… you’re not Mr. Hayes’s girlfriend, are you?” the manager asked, her eyes wide. “I heard a rumor that he was testing his girlfriend, to see if she was worthy of marrying into the Hayes family. Did you quit because you passed the test? Are you going to be a billionaire’s wife?” Passed the test. How ironic. The person who had made my life a living hell for three years was Ethan. The person who stood by and watched as men pawed at me was Ethan. The person who had his friends pretend to be customers, just to torment me for his own amusement, was Ethan. He knew I was being forced to drink until I was sick, until I had bleeding ulcers, just to make a little extra money. And yet, he sat in his exclusive VIP booth with his pack of hyenas, watching me dance to their tune. The thought was so absurd, I almost laughed through my tears. I turned away and dialed my father’s number. “Dad,” I said, my voice shaking, “I want to come home now. Can you come get me?” My father let out a long, relieved sigh. “Of course,” was all he said. Just after I sent him my location, I heard a group of voices. “Well, well, if it isn’t Ethan’s little cocktail waitress. Shouldn’t you be inside, selling drinks?” It was Ethan’s friends. Their leering gazes felt like nails pinning me to a cross. “You promised to sell to us last night, and today you not only go back on your word, but you try to break up with Ethan?” “What, you think he’s not rich enough for you? Looking for a sugar daddy?” “Well, we’ve got money. If you’re willing, I’ll give you three hundred thousand right now. You can pay off your debt.” Who owed whom? And what exactly did they want me to sell? They knew perfectly well. But at this point, I didn't have to play their games anymore. “I’m sorry,” I said coldly, “I don’t owe anyone three hundred thousand dollars. And I’ve already quit. If you want to buy drinks, you can find someone else. As for Ethan, I’ve broken up with him. From now on, anything to do with him has nothing to do with me.” I tried to walk away, but a hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back. It was Ethan. His face was a mask of fury. “Olivia, all you care about is money, isn’t it? You’re dumping me so you can sell yourself to someone else? I am so disappointed in you.” Disappointed? Funny. I was disappointed, too. Even now, he was still acting. Three years of my life, my unconditional love and devotion… And it couldn’t earn me even a shred of his trust. Fine, Ethan. I’m done with your twisted games.
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