On Valentine’s Day, my boyfriend gave me a box of decorative straw and tried to coax me into booking a room at the Sunset Lodge with him. Instead, I got into a G-Wagon, and he called me a gold digger. Then my childhood friend, who comes from old money, smirked and said, “Your family’s thousands of acres of ranch land aren’t big enough for you? Why settle for this one little weed?” “Happy Valentine’s Day, babe!” Tanner stood in front of me, beaming as he handed me a small gift box in our room at Sunset Lodge, just outside of Lakeshore University. Cigarette smoke drifted through the door cracks, irritating my eyes, but I still felt touched. I knew he had been working a summer job for two months, and all his effort was in that tiny box. Eagerly, I reached out to open it, but he gently stopped my hand. “Wait, Riley, open it later, okay?” “Okay,” I smiled sweetly at him. As Tanner went to shower, I nervously scrolled through my phone, reading advice for girls on their “first time,” growing more anxious with every word. I needed something to distract me, so my eyes fell on the unopened gift box. Just a peek wouldn’t hurt, right? Carefully untying the ribbon, I opened the layers of packaging. But what I saw inside made me freeze. After two months of hard work, Tanner had given me… shredded paper confetti? I dug through the confetti, refusing to believe it, until my fingers brushed something hard. I pulled it out—a cheap plastic keychain, complete with a $5 price tag still attached. In that moment, all my joy and anticipation drained away. It wasn’t just a cheap keychain. It felt like it had put a price tag on me, too. “See, Riley,” it seemed to mock, “you’re worth $5 to him.” Suddenly, Tanner’s phone buzzed on the bed, snapping me back to reality. Absentmindedly, I picked it up and saw a string of messages from his mom: “Son, how’s school going? I sent you $500. Let me know if you need more.” “Make sure you’re eating well! Don’t spend all your money on that girlfriend!” “By the way, our neighbor’s son just got married—no fancy ceremony, no new house, just brought the bride home.” “You better hurry and get her pregnant, then we won’t need to worry about paying for the wedding!” “And if it doesn’t work, poke some holes in those things. No one will notice.” I stared at the screen, horrified. My body went cold even though it was the height of summer, a shiver running down my spine. Anger, disgust, shame—all of it swirled in my head. I couldn’t take it anymore. Pushing open the door, I ran out of the room, gasping for air.
I almost sprinted all the way back to Crestview Hall, where my roommates, Brooke and Savannah, jumped at the sight of me. “Riley, what happened? Weren’t you spending Valentine’s Day with Tanner?” Savannah asked, wide-eyed. Before I could answer, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Tanner was calling. I took a deep breath and picked up. “Riley, where are you? You promised we’d spend the night together! I already paid over a hundred bucks for this room, and the front desk won’t refund it!” he yelled. His tone turned threatening. “If you don’t come back now, we’re done.” He’d said that to me before, and each time I would cave, apologizing like a scolded child. But not this time. I swallowed my frustration and opened Instagram, transferring him $1,000. “Take this, Tanner. Consider it a refund. We’re over. Don’t contact me again.” Brooke and Savannah stared at me in shock. Brooke gave me a thumbs up, silently celebrating that I’d finally come to my senses. “Are you out of your mind, Riley? What the hell are you saying?” Tanner’s voice sounded panicked, realizing his usual threat wasn’t working this time. I hung up and ignored his repeated calls. Eventually, he gave up, accepting the money I’d sent. “Fine, break up then. Just don’t come crying to me later. No one’s gonna want you with that face.” “You’ll regret this someday.” I glanced at the mirror across the room, looking at my reflection. My skin was smooth and fair—except for the dark bluish birthmark that marred one side of my face. It was hideous, a constant reminder of my insecurity. But this time, no matter what, I wasn’t crawling back to him. Even though… he used to love me once.
Tanner and I met during freshman year. Back then, my face was flawless. Tanner had earned quite a reputation for himself, the “self-made” guy who’d lost his father young. His good looks and quiet strength made him a star in our department. I grew up with everything handed to me, and I was quickly drawn to his unassuming charm. He had dignity, even though he was poor. I chased him relentlessly, showering him with expensive gifts he refused to accept. Even after we got together, he always told me not to waste money. I wanted to please him, so I stopped buying thousand-dollar dresses and started eating at food trucks instead of fancy restaurants. My friends, especially Brooke, worried about me. She said Tanner was emotionally manipulating me, but I brushed her off. I thought Tanner really loved me. He would get jealous when other guys looked at me, bring me hot cocoa with marshmallows during my period, and remember everything I liked and disliked. He was the most attentive boyfriend I’d ever had. Most importantly, when my face began to change, he didn’t leave me. It was during the second half of sophomore year that the dark patches appeared on the left side of my face. At first, I wasn’t concerned. I bought all kinds of expensive creams, but nothing worked. The patches grew worse, eventually covering a large part of my face. I became reclusive, avoiding people, and slipping into depression. Tanner stood by me, even accompanying me to the doctor. The next day, he showed up with my test results and told me it was likely a genetic condition with no cure. I was devastated, but Tanner was my light. “Don’t worry, Riley. No matter what happens, I’ll always be by your side. No one will ever love you more than I do.” He comforted me until I came out of my dark place. He didn’t reject me because of my face; in fact, he became even kinder. He even promised we’d get married after graduation. Tanner took me to social events with his friends, though I always felt out of place, especially around their flawless, beautiful girlfriends. “Tanner, what if I try cosmetic surgery?” I asked nervously one day. He flatly refused, frowning. “Riley, do you think I only loved you because of your looks? How could you even suggest that? I said I’ll love you no matter what.” “Surgery is fake and gross. I hate those influencer faces.” So, I gave up on the idea of cosmetic surgery and comforted myself with the thought that as long as Tanner didn’t mind my face, I didn’t need to care either.
But now, Tanner is no longer a part of my life. I stared at my reflection again, making up my mind. I was going to try cosmetic surgery, no matter how slim the chances were that it would work. Tanner kept sending messages, his tone changing from threats to apologies, softening with every text. Before I could reply, Savannah’s phone buzzed. I recognized the voice instantly—it was Tanner. “Savannah, can you believe Riley? She doesn’t appreciate me. If only she was as understanding as you,” he said. I looked up, meeting Savannah’s guilty, nervous gaze. “Riley, don’t get the wrong idea. Tanner’s just upset about the breakup. I was trying to calm him down.” Hearing Tanner’s sweet words in his messages, I felt sick to my stomach. Understanding? Of what? Of his attempt to trap me into getting pregnant so he wouldn’t have to pay for a wedding? Or maybe Savannah was comforting him because she knew I wouldn’t anymore. “Don’t bother pretending, Savannah. I’ve known about your little games for a while. Just because I haven’t said anything doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” Savannah had hated me since day one. She came from a small town, starting as a nobody. Other students made fun of her background, but I had been kind. I lent her clothes, gave her advice. But as she shed her small-town image and started getting compliments, things changed. People began to notice how much we resembled each other, though more often than not, they pointed out that Savannah was just my sidekick. And now, she wanted Tanner. Who knew how long they had been sneaking around behind my back?
“Riley, how could you accuse me of that? I was just trying to help!” Savannah’s voice quivered as tears welled up in her eyes. Even Brooke seemed to think I was overreacting. Brooke nudged me, “Riley, forget Tanner. Don’t let him ruin our roommate bond.” I sighed, pulling up a folder of pictures on my phone. I placed it on the table, scrolling through them one by one. The first showed Savannah adding something to my face cream. The second showed her sneaking into my drawer to take my wallet. The third was a love note she had written—to Tanner. As I swiped through each photo, Savannah’s face paled, and Brooke’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You knew all along!” Savannah shrieked. “You’ve just been watching me, waiting to laugh at me, haven’t you?” I stayed silent as Brooke, clearly shocked, stood frozen. Savannah’s expression turned vicious as she thrust her phone toward me. “Money means nothing now, Riley. You’ve lost your perfect face and your loyal boyfriend. What do you have left? You can’t keep stepping on me to make yourself feel superior!” She shoved her phone in my face, revealing messages between her and Tanner dating back to last August. It turned out she had been after him for a long time. “Tanner, that $600 dress Riley wore—was that a gift from you? It’s gorgeous, but I could never afford something like that. I’m happy with my $10 tee, though.” Tanner replied: “Riley’s so materialistic. I think being frugal is better.” “Which of these pictures do you like more, Tanner?” she had asked, sending him two half-dressed selfies. He replied: “Both are great, but a little less clothing wouldn’t hurt ;)” I knew the difference in our upbringings was always a sore spot for Tanner. I had tried to meet him halfway, tried to protect his fragile pride. But in the end, I was still the one who didn’t “get it.” And Savannah, who was even more materialistic than I was, somehow became his down-to-earth, misunderstood soulmate. “Riley, you and Tanner don’t belong in the same world. Only I really understand him.” Yeah, maybe you’re right. You two are a perfect match, sharing the same self-pity and resentment for your upbringing. I looked at Savannah’s smug face and couldn’t help but laugh. “If you enjoy playing with trash, you can have him. Unlike me, you have nothing else going for you besides Tanner.” Savannah’s face went white with rage. She grabbed her phone and stormed out, no doubt running to Tanner for comfort. I hope they enjoy that $100 motel room. Best of luck to them.
The next day, I searched for the address of a well-known cosmetic clinic—Westside Aesthetic Center—and booked an appointment with a dermatologist. When I arrived, a nurse led me inside, and I was surprised to see a young doctor waiting for me. I’d heard he had just returned from studying abroad. “Riley?” He looked at me with wide eyes, clearly shocked. I glanced up and saw a familiar face—Hunter Sinclair. “When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me?” Hunter had been my childhood friend. Our families were business partners and close friends, so I practically grew up with him. He was always surrounded by girls, a total playboy, while I had been the quiet, well-behaved one. He left for school overseas, and I stayed behind to attend Lakeshore University. With time differences and busy schedules, we lost touch. “I figured you didn’t want to talk to me after you blocked me on Instagram,” he said, looking genuinely hurt. Confused, I pulled out my phone and checked my contacts—he wasn’t there. “That’s weird. I never blocked you!” I muttered. But then it hit me—this was probably Tanner’s doing. He had a habit of deleting my male contacts out of jealousy. What I once thought was a sweet, possessive trait now seemed obsessive and unhealthy. I apologized and added him back on Instagram. Hunter’s gaze softened when he saw the dark patches on my face. “What happened to you?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. “I went to the hospital and they said it’s probably a genetic disorder. They told me there’s no treatment, so I’m hoping cosmetic surgery can fix it,” I explained, trying not to sound too desperate. Hunter frowned. “No way. Whoever told you that has no idea what they’re talking about. If it was genetic, you would have had these spots as a kid. Something external triggered this—either something you applied to your skin or hormone-related medications.” His words hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d never even considered that possibility. I’d gone to one of the top hospitals—Chicago General Hospital—and been seen by a renowned dermatologist. There was no way the hospital got it wrong. So that left only one explanation: Tanner. Tanner had faked my test results. I felt nauseous. All this time, Tanner had watched me crumble under the weight of my insecurity, and he still lied to me. Why? What was his end game? Hunter noticed the change in my expression, probably thinking I was upset about my skin. “Don’t worry, Riley. I studied this exact kind of condition abroad. It’s expensive, but it’s treatable. It’s not as bad as they made it sound.” His words brought a small sense of relief. In my world, money wasn’t the issue. If a solution could be bought, it was no longer a problem. But as my relief settled in, so did a deep, simmering anger. Tanner had been manipulating me all along, and I needed to find out why.
Hunter went above and beyond. He had Westside Aesthetic Center import a special laser machine from the U.S., specifically for treating my skin condition. I was shocked that a new doctor had that kind of pull, but he grinned, reading my mind. “Come on, you think the ‘Prince of Sinclair Industries’ doesn’t have that kind of power?” he teased. It turned out Westside Aesthetic Center was owned by his family, which explained a lot. For the next two weeks, I underwent treatment. I even took a short leave from school, and every day, Hunter drove me home after the sessions, often staying for dinner. My mom was practically obsessed with him—she loved cooking for him, ever since we were kids. Whenever he showed up, my family set another plate at the table without a second thought. “Check yourself out,” Hunter said, handing me a mirror after the final treatment. “No more junk food or weird diet pills. That’s how you ended up with this in the first place.” He smirked, lecturing me like he always did. I ignored his scolding and stared at my reflection. My skin was flawless again—smooth, bright, and completely free of the dark patches that had tormented me for months. “Get in, princess. I’ll drop you off at school,” Hunter said, holding open the door to his Mercedes G-Wagon. “Don’t you have work?” I asked, climbing into the passenger seat. “Do you see me rushing anywhere? I’m the boss’s son. I leave when I want.” He put on his flashy gold sunglasses and revved the engine, heading toward Lakeshore University. Hunter babbled on about his time in the U.S., but my mind was elsewhere. As we pulled up near the main campus building, I spotted Tanner and Savannah walking together, holding hands. Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your ex? I remember seeing a picture of you two together on Instagram. What’s he doing with someone else?” “We broke up a while ago,” I said coldly. Hunter picked up on my mood, but instead of being somber, he grinned. “Who dumps a diamond for a pebble? Guess this means I have another shot, huh? Think I could be your backup plan, princess?” I laughed and swatted the back of his head. He’d been the same shameless flirt since we were kids. As we drove past Tanner and Savannah, Hunter slowed down the car, making sure they saw me. Tanner’s face turned pale when he spotted me in the passenger seat of Hunter’s luxury car. He ran into the street, waving his arms to stop us. Hunter rolled down the window, and I locked eyes with Tanner’s infuriatingly familiar face. “Riley?! What the hell are you doing with this guy? He’s just a spoiled rich kid. You think he’s any good for you? He’s probably slept with dozens of girls. God knows what kind of diseases he has!” Tanner spat, his words getting more desperate. “And your… your face?”
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