Wyatt was bankrupt. He owed two million dollars, and his creditors had supposedly broken his leg. To keep him alive, I worked five jobs a day. I even signed up for shady, underground medical trials and sold my blood plasma twice a week. He used to hold me, sobbing, swearing that once he got back on his feet, he’d make me the happiest woman alive. Until today. Outside the VIP wing of a private hospital, I saw the man who was supposed to be paralyzed in bed. He was wearing a bespoke Tom Ford suit, looking incredibly handsome as he gently helped the city’s richest heiress out of a car for her prenatal checkup. The bankruptcy was a lie. The shattered leg was a lie. The only thing real was how he had drained me dry, body and soul. I didn’t make a scene. I simply turned around and handed all his dirty secrets to Gabe, the most powerful, ruthless billionaire in New York. “Mr. West,” I said, looking into his cold eyes. “Want to make a deal? I’ll help you destroy him.” I didn’t even flinch when the needle pierced my vein. The nurse drawing my blood looked at me like I was a crazy person. “Miss Roxy, this is your third time donating plasma this month. If you keep this up, you’re going to collapse.” “Just do it. I need the cash,” I said, my voice dry and raspy. As the bright red blood flowed through the tube and into the bag, my vision blurred, dark spots dancing before my eyes. To get the thousand-dollar compensation for this experimental drug trial, I had signed a waiver releasing the clinic of all liability. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was Wyatt. “Roxy, they’re here again,” Wyatt whimpered, his voice shaking violently over the line. “They said if they don’t get the money today, they’re going to break my other leg…” “…I’m so scared. Please, save me…” In the background, I could hear the terrifying sound of furniture being smashed to pieces. I bit my pale lip so hard it almost bled, forcing down the dizziness as I tried to soothe him. “Don’t worry, Wyatt. I got the money. I’m transferring it to you right now. Lock the door and don’t go outside.” After hanging up, I immediately transferred the $3,000 I had just earned into his account. This was the third month of Wyatt’s “bankruptcy.” Three months ago, his tech startup collapsed, leaving him with a two-million-dollar debt. The loan sharks had tracked him down. Right in front of me, they had brutally shattered his right leg with a metal pipe. That day, covered in blood, Wyatt had shielded me with his body, screaming, “Don’t touch her! I’ll pay you back! Every cent!” Because of those words, I willingly threw myself into this bottomless pit. I quit my decent corporate job. I loaded pallets in a warehouse by day, took night shifts at a diner, and spent my weekends selling blood and testing experimental drugs. I turned myself into a mindless, money-making machine. All because of what Wyatt had promised: “Roxy, once I get through this, I’m going to give you the most beautiful wedding in New York.” After the blood draw, I braced myself against the wall and slowly stumbled out of the clinic. It was pouring outside. I couldn’t even afford an Uber, so I pulled my cheap jacket tightly around myself and walked toward the subway. As I passed the city’s most exclusive private maternity hospital, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb. The door opened, and a large black umbrella was raised. Under the umbrella stood a man in a perfectly tailored designer suit. He stood tall, walking with a perfectly steady, confident stride as he carefully helped a pregnant woman out of the backseat. “Slow down, Wyatt. The baby is kicking,” the woman giggled, her face radiant with happiness. The man wrapped his arm tenderly around her waist, whispering in her ear, “Careful on the steps, sweetheart. Today is our baby’s first 4D ultrasound.” A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, lighting up his face. I froze in the pouring rain, the blood in my veins turning to ice. It was Wyatt. The same Wyatt who, just thirty minutes ago, had been sobbing on the phone, screaming that he was being beaten by loan sharks. The Wyatt who was supposed to be paralyzed in our damp basement apartment. He didn’t need a wheelchair. His legs were perfectly fine. He was wearing a suit that cost more than my annual rent, sporting a Patek Philippe watch, gently escorting another woman. I stood there like a hollow doll, staring at the happy couple. I recognized the woman. Chloe Monroe. The sole heiress to the massive Monroe empire. A true princess of New York high society. Suddenly, things clicked. I remembered how Wyatt had started wearing a subtle, expensive cologne recently. He told me he used it to cover up the smell of his pain-relief patches. But now, even through the heavy curtain of rain, I could smell the scent of his new life—expensive, exclusive, and built entirely on lies. I didn’t rush over to scream at him. I was too exhausted. I didn’t even have the energy for anger. I just stood in the rain, watching them walk through the revolving glass doors of a world I could never enter. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A Snapchat message from Wyatt. “Roxy, got the money. The guys left. My leg hurts so bad, I miss you. Can you come home early tonight?” Looking at the text, I suddenly started to laugh. I laughed until my tears mixed with the rain, washing down my face. Roxy, you are a complete, utter fool.
It was late at night when I finally returned to our damp, dark basement apartment. As soon as I pushed the door open, the heavy, medicinal smell of cheap ointment hit my nose. Wyatt was lying on our worn-out single bed, his right leg encased in a thick plaster cast. His face looked incredibly pale. Hearing the door, he turned his head with difficulty, his eyes instantly filling with worry. “Roxy! Oh my god, you’re soaked! Go take a hot shower before you catch a cold.” He struggled to sit up, groaning in pain before falling back onto the mattress. What a brilliant performance. If I hadn’t seen him earlier, I would have truly believed he was on the verge of death. I walked over and stood by the bed, looking down at him. “Does your leg still hurt?” I asked softly. “It does,” he said, reaching out to grasp my hand, his eyes red. “But now that you’re here, the pain is gone.” “Roxy, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you today. You saved my life.” I looked down at his long, clean fingers. These same hands had been wrapped around Chloe Monroe’s waist just hours ago. With a cold shudder, I yanked my hand back. Wyatt blinked, sensing the sudden shift in the air. “Roxy? What’s wrong? Are you just exhausted?” “Wyatt,” I said, staring directly into his eyes. “Were you home all day?” His eyes flickered for a fraction of a second before he nodded without hesitation. “Of course. How could I go anywhere with this leg? If you hadn’t sent that money, those thugs would have killed me.” “Is that so?” I walked to the foot of the bed. Before he could react, I raised my foot and slammed it down with all my might onto his “shattered” right leg. “Ahhh!” Wyatt let out a blood-curdling shriek, curling into a ball. “Roxy! Are you insane?!” he roared, sweat pouring down his face from the pain. I watched him coldly. “The cast is fake, isn’t it? Just stuffed with foam.” “Because if your leg was actually broken, my kick would have snapped the bone right in half.” Wyatt’s face drained of all color. He stared at me, his lips trembling, unable to utter a single word. “I saw you today, Wyatt. Outside the Presbyterian Maternity Clinic.” I stated the facts calmly, as if I were telling someone else’s story. “The suit looked great. The watch was stunning. And Miss Monroe’s bump is really starting to show, isn’t it?” Silence, heavy as death, filled the room. The pain and helplessness on Wyatt’s face began to fade, replaced by a cold, arrogant sneer. Now that his cover was blown, he didn’t bother pretending anymore. He ripped the fake cast off his leg and stood up. He towered over me, any trace of the gentle boyfriend completely gone from his eyes. “Since you saw us, there’s no point in hiding it,” he said, casually straightening his collar. His tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Chloe and I are getting engaged next month. She’s four months pregnant.” I felt my heart shatter into a million jagged pieces. “So the bankruptcy was a lie? The debts were a lie?” My voice trembled despite my best efforts. “The bankruptcy was real,” Wyatt said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. “But I don’t owe any money to loan sharks. Those guys were just actors I hired.” “Why?” I screamed, my eyes burning with tears. “Why would you do this to me?” “Because I needed the fucking cash!” Wyatt snapped, raising his voice. “My company went under. I was broke! If I wanted to be with Chloe, I needed money to present myself as a successful entrepreneur!” “If I didn’t play the victim, would you have worked yourself to the bone to give me every cent you made?” I stared at the man in front of me, utterly horrified. Was this really the boy who used to write me love letters on our college campus? “Don’t look at me like that, Roxy,” Wyatt sneered, blowing a cloud of smoke in my face. “Let’s be real. You’re an orphan with no family, no connections, and a useless degree. What could you possibly offer me?” “Chloe can give me the life I want. She can save me twenty years of hard labor. I just made the smart choice.” “And what about me?!” I gestured to my exhausted body. “I worked five jobs for you! I sold my own blood!” “I turned myself into a ghost for you! Wyatt, do you even have a soul?!” “Nobody forced you to do that.” Wyatt let out a harsh laugh, pulled his wallet from his pocket, and threw a credit card right at my face. “There’s $50,000 on this card. Consider it compensation. Take the money and get out.” “And don’t ever show your face in front of Chloe or me again. Your cheap, ghetto vibe will only embarrass me.” The plastic card struck my cheek, stinging sharply. I looked at the card on the floor, and suddenly, a laugh escaped my lips. I bent down and picked up the card. Wyatt’s eyes flared with disgust. “That’s more like it. I knew you’d be reasonable. At the end of the day, girls like you are always about the money—” Slap! I swung my arm and slapped him across the face with every ounce of strength I had left. The impact spun his head around, a trickle of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Keep the fifty grand,” I spat, throwing the card back into his bleeding face. “You’ll need it for your funeral.” I turned on my heel and walked out. “Roxy! Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Wyatt screamed behind me, his voice cracking with rage. “Who the hell do you think you are? Without me, you’ll be starving on the streets in a week!” I didn’t look back. I pushed open the heavy door and stepped out into the endless, dark night.
I had nowhere to go. I wandered the streets of Manhattan all night until the sun began to rise. My phone was completely dead. I found a public restroom, splashed cold water on my face, and stared at the gaunt, hollow-eyed woman in the mirror. For three years, I had sacrificed my pride, my health, and my life for Wyatt. And it had all been a lie. I couldn’t just let this go. I walked to the diner where I used to work and borrowed a charger from my former boss. The moment my phone buzzed back to life, dozens of missed calls and text messages flooded the screen. They were all from Wyatt. None of them were apologies. They were all threats. “Roxy, take the money and keep your mouth shut.” “If you dare say a word to Chloe, I will make sure you never get a job in this city again.” “You’re just a cheap girl who sells her blood. You think you can fight me?” Reading his venomous words, a strange, icy calm washed over me. I dialed a number. “Hey, Jax. It’s Roxy.” Jax was a street-smart guy I’d met during my late-night shifts. He knew everything about everyone in the underbelly of New York. “Hey, Roxy. What’s up?” “I need you to dig up some dirt on someone. Wyatt Thorne.” “I want his bank statements, call logs, and business transactions for the past three months. I’ll pay whatever it takes.” “Consider it done, sweetheart.” After hanging up, I used the last few dollars in my pocket to rent a computer at an internet cafe. I began searching for any news regarding Wyatt and Chloe Monroe. The news of the Monroe heiress’s engagement had already taken New York by storm. In the articles, Wyatt was painted as a brilliant, self-made young entrepreneur, a rising star in the investment world. I scoffed. A rising star? He was just a parasite feeding on women to climb the social ladder. Two days later, Jax sent me a file. As I scrolled through the documents, the blood drained from my face. Wyatt hadn’t just conned me. He had ruined his mentor, Arthur. Arthur was a legendary figure in the financial world. He had taken Wyatt under his wing, mentored him, and even invested his own retirement savings into Wyatt’s startup. But Wyatt had cooked the books, embezzled all of Arthur’s money, and framed the old man for the fraud. Arthur had suffered a massive stroke from the shock and was now lying in the ICU, in a vegetative state. And those “loan sharks” who had broken Wyatt’s leg? They weren’t actors. They were Arthur’s former employees—people who had lost their life savings because of Wyatt’s greed. Desperate, they had confronted Wyatt. To get them off his back, Wyatt had intentionally provoked them, letting them injure his leg slightly. The cast was fake, but he used the incident to police-report them, putting them behind bars. He had used the money I earned with my blood to pay off the victims’ families and buy their silence. That absolute bastard. My hands shook violently as I bit my lip, tasting copper. I wasn’t just a fooled girlfriend. I had unwittingly become an accomplice to a monster. I took the files and went straight to the hospital. Outside Arthur’s ICU room sat an elderly, white-haired woman. It was Beatrice, Arthur’s wife. She looked as though she had aged ten years overnight, staring blankly at the heart monitor inside. I walked over and knelt directly in front of her. “Beatrice… I am so, so sorry…” I pressed my forehead against the cold tile floor, tears streaming down my face. Beatrice gasped. Recognizing me, she began to tremble, stood up, and slapped me hard across the face. “Get out! How dare you show your face here! You’re with that monster, Wyatt!” “You destroyed Arthur! You destroyed our family!” I didn’t move. I let her strike me. “Beatrice, I didn’t know… I swear to God I didn’t know he was stealing from Arthur…” I sobbed, pouring out the entire truth. I told her about the clinical trials, the plasma donations, how I was conned, and how I finally discovered his secret. Beatrice collapsed back into her chair, covering her face as she wept bitterly. “Oh, Arthur… how could you trust such a snake…” I wiped my tears, pulled a checkbook from my bag, and handed her a cashier’s check for $10,000. It was all the money I could max out from my credit cards over the last forty-eight hours. “Beatrice, take this for Arthur’s medical bills.” “I swear to you, I will make Wyatt pay. I will make him return every single cent he stole from you, with interest.” Leaving the hospital, I stood on the busy New York street, my eyes cold as ice. Wyatt, you think marrying into the Monroe family will protect you? I am going to strip you of everything. I will make your life a living hell.
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