Back in college, I buy myself a boyfriend. The deal is simple. He stays with me, and I cover his grandfather’s medical bills. For four years, this broke genius tolerates me out of pure humiliation. Then my family goes bankrupt. When I break things off, his face stays carved from ice. Not a single word. Not even a flinch. Four years later, I’m carrying a fruit platter into a VIP lounge at three in the morning, and he’s the man on the leather couch in a five-thousand-dollar suit. I keep my head down. My baseball cap is pulled low. Please, God, don’t let him look up. Serena sits curled against his side, her manicured hand resting on his thigh like she owns him. She probably does now. She was the It-girl of our class, signed by a modeling agency junior year, and now her face is on three different magazine covers. They look perfect together. Untouchable. “Waitress.” Ethan’s voice cuts through the room. My spine locks. “Slice the oranges.” I turn my back to him and pick up the knife. A long time ago, whenever I wanted oranges, Ethan would slice them for me. Every piece the exact same size. Back then, I thought it meant he loved me. Later I figured out it was just a habit. When he sliced oranges, he thought about the whole universe. He just never thought about me. Some businessman in the corner laughs too loud, then leans toward Ethan with a slick grin. “I heard you had a serious girlfriend back in college, Mr. Yang. Four years, right?” My hand stops. “Mm.” That’s all Ethan gives him. “Four years, man. That’s the whole college experience. Must’ve been hard to forget her.” Silence. The kind that stretches like a wire about to snap. Then Ethan laughs softly. One short, cold sound. “Not really.” The knife slips. A bright line of red opens across my palm. “Oh my God.” Serena finally notices me, her perfect nose wrinkling. “Ethan barely tolerates her existence, and now this. Babe, we went to the same school as his ex. Honestly, if that girl hadn’t been in the way back then, you and I would’ve been together years ago.” “Right, right,” the businessman laughs, eager to please. “Miss Serena, you’re a star. No ex could ever compete with a star.” The room warms back up. The conversation moves on. I press my cap lower and try to disappear. “I’m sorry,” I manage. “I’ll get a clean plate.” I grab the tray and bolt for the door. “Wait.” Ethan’s voice. Quiet. Final. “Turn around.” My body freezes in the doorway. One second. Two. Then my shift manager sweeps in like a hurricane, all smiles and apologies. “So sorry, Mr. Yang, she’s new, still training. The whole platter is on the house tonight.” She shoots me a sharp look over her shoulder. “What are you waiting for? Go get a fresh one. Move.” I move. I almost cry from relief. In the kitchen, she grabs my wrist and lowers her voice. “Next time, use your head. We all started somewhere, but one complaint from that room and you work tonight for free.” “Thank you.” “Don’t thank me. Just be careful with that VIP room. The young one in the middle, the good-looking one? He owns some tech company. The kind of money we can’t afford to piss off.” She pauses. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “Can you bring the new platter in for me? Please. I don’t feel well.” She studies my face for a long second, then nods. “Fine. Wrap that hand.” I exhale. If there’s one person on this planet I’ve already wronged beyond repair, it’s Ethan Yang. I’m the ex he hates. I’m the girl who ruined him.
I think back to freshman year all the time. Ethan stood in the crowd of new students in a faded gray hoodie that had been washed a hundred times too many. Visibly broke. Visibly gorgeous. I loved the cool, flat way he talked. I loved how his eyelashes lowered when he looked at me. He was drowning in debt. His full scholarship had been quietly handed to the financial aid officer’s nephew, and nobody did a thing about it. So one night after class, I cornered him in the hallway like a complete lunatic and grabbed his hand. “Ethan, I like you. Be with me. I’ve got money. We can share my allowance. And if that’s not enough, I’ll pay you for every kiss.” He said no, obviously. But back then my life was a smooth glide. I didn’t know what failure felt like. The more he refused, the harder I chased. Then his grandfather, the man who raised him, collapsed and needed emergency surgery. I paid the entire hospital bill without blinking. That’s when Ethan finally bowed his head. Stupid me. I thought I’d saved him. It took me years to understand. I got him. And I broke him at the same time. We started dating, and nothing got better. It got worse. He still worked three jobs. He barely touched my money. And the rumors started anyway. People said he was sleeping with me for cash. Some guys gave him a nickname I won’t even repeat. Professors started “checking in” about his moral character. I was too stupid to see any of it. I was a princess in a glass tower, holding his hand, telling him to ignore the haters. I never noticed he was fighting alone. Senior year, my family went bankrupt overnight. I didn’t tell him. I just called him out one cold afternoon and said the four words I’d been rehearsing for a week. “I’m bored. Let’s break up.” “Why?” “I’m just bored of you.” “Okay.” That was it. That was four years. I figured he was relieved. Finally free. The same day, I snapped my SIM card in half, deleted my socials, and got on a train heading south to start paying off my father’s debts. I came back to this city three months ago. Ethan is doing very, very well. He was always a genius. Four years out of college, he’s the face of a tech magazine, the founder of his own company, the kind of man other men quote at dinner. And Serena, the It-girl, is apparently his now. Good for them. Really. I press a hand over my chest and swallow the burn. Four AM. I clock out last. The cleaning crew already killed the lights and shut down the main elevator, thinking everyone was gone. I jab the button over and over, alone in the dim hallway. “Just call somebody,” a voice says behind me. My blood stops. I turn slowly. Ethan is leaning against the wall ten feet away, hands in his pockets, watching me like he’s been there a while. I make the call with shaking fingers. The elevator hums back to life. We step in together. Tight space. Too tight. “You guys close this late?” His tone is flat. Polite. The voice you use with a stranger. “We can’t leave until the guests do.” “Pay good?” “It’s fine.” I keep my chin down, the brim of my cap covering half my face. He doesn’t seem to recognize me. He glances at his Rolex and sighs. “This elevator is so slow.My girlfriend’s probably getting impatient waiting.She’s clingy. Cute about it, though.” He means Serena. The words land like a slap I’m not allowed to react to. “What about you?” he asks. “No boyfriend coming to pick you up at four AM?” “I live close.” The doors slide open. I rush out as fast as I can. Ethan, who has been calm for the past few minutes, finally erupts in this moment. “What are you running for?” “Where do you think you can run to, Chloe?” “Pulling a vanishing act, disappearing off the face of the earth—was that fun?”
I freeze with my back to him. “Phone disconnected. Socials gone. Even our professors couldn’t find you.” His footsteps come closer on the concrete. “Was it fun? Pulling a vanishing act like that?” I turn slowly. He’s the same boy I remember, just sharper now. The softness sanded off. “I’m sure you’ve already pulled the file,” I say quietly. “My dad got tangled up in something ugly. The debts aren’t paid off. We’ve been running.” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” I don’t answer. “Was it the pride thing? Princess Yu couldn’t admit she needed help?” “No, that’s not—” “Chloe? Oh my God, it really is you!” Serena clicks across the garage in six-inch heels, every strand of her hair somehow still perfect at four in the morning. She looks me up and down like she’s pricing a thrift-store haul. “Babe, I haven’t seen you in forever! Everyone from class has been asking. Four years and not a single post?” “I moved down south.” “That explains it.” Her eyes pin my coat. “Wait, isn’t that the puffer you bought junior year? The feathers are coming out of it. You’re still wearing it?” I used to throw clothes out after one season. She’s trying to humiliate me. I’m too tired to feel it. “It still works.” “Oh, honey.” Her voice goes silky-sweet. “Are you struggling? You should’ve said something. We’re old friends.” She slides a black credit card out of her clutch. “Take it. You don’t have to pay me back.” I look at her. Then at Ethan. And I smile, slow and calm. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. I’m getting married soon. You should both come.” Ethan goes completely still. The card freezes in Serena’s hand. The next morning, I drag myself to my day job. The lounge gig is just nights. By day I’m a junior analyst at a midsize tech firm downtown, which is a fancy way of saying I do whatever no one else wants to do. In the break room, two coworkers are buzzing over coffee. “Did you hear? The new client coming in? Total genius. He built his whole search platform to find someone.” “Find who?” “An ex-girlfriend, supposedly.” My eyelid twitches. “Did he find her?” “No clue. But the system’s still in development and investors are throwing money at him. Our boss wants in on the partnership.” I gather the prep folder and head to the conference room. Through the cracked door, I hear him. “About the partnership, I need more time to think it over.” I push the door open and set the folder on the table. Ethan’s eyes lock on mine and burn. “Why are you here?” “I work here.” This is my real job. The one I went to college for. My supervisor blinks. “Chloe, you know Mr. Yang?” I think for a second. “We’ve met.” “Just met?” Ethan’s voice sharpens. I have no idea what he’s mad about. He’s the one who walked away that day without looking back. He turns to my supervisor without breaking eye contact with me. “I’ll sign the contract. On one condition. Chloe gets transferred to my office as my personal assistant.” My supervisor agrees on the spot. Doesn’t even glance at me. They talk all day. At six sharp, I grab my bag and head for the door. Ethan blocks me. “Where are you going? I didn’t say you could leave.” “Mr. Yang, I can’t stay late tonight. I have somewhere to be.” “Where?” “I have a DoorDash shift.” He stares at me in disbelief.
Back in college, I was the kind of girl who wouldn’t even touch takeout. For four years, Ethan ran deliveries between classes. His dinner was usually whatever cardboard meal the delivery company handed out at shift end. I went to find him once. In a cramped little break room, he was squeezed between a dozen other drivers, shoveling rice out of a foam box. “Ethan, how can you eat that?” I said. “It’s not even clean.” His face tightened. “Does it matter if it’s clean?” “Come on. Let’s go get steak.” I dragged him to a brand-new French place, five hundred a head. He stood at the door for a long minute, then quietly stripped off his yellow delivery jacket before walking in. I finally understand what was going through his head that day. Because tonight is exactly the same. It’s snowing. The sidewalk is slick. My bike skids, and I go down hard. The bag bursts open. Pad Thai and curry spread across the wet pavement like a crime scene. I call the customer with shaking hands to explain. He cusses me out. “Don’t give me excuses. Late is late.” My palm is scraped raw and burning in the cold, but I keep saying sorry, sorry, sorry. Then a hand reaches down and lifts my bike off me. Ethan. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there. I yank my hand behind my back on instinct. “Don’t hide it.” His voice is rough. His eyes are red around the edges. “Go rinse it off.” “I have to finish the delivery first.” “Get in the car. I’ll drive you.” The customer lives on the ground floor. When I hand him the bag, he sneers, “Damn. Porsche girls are doing DoorDash now? That’s rough.” I check my phone for the next ping. “Don’t take another one,” Ethan says. “I have to. I didn’t make enough tonight.” “Then I’ll buy it.” “What?” The app chirps. A new order auto-accepts itself, assigned by him. “I’m buying your time. The whole night.” Ethan drives me back to his place. I stand frozen in the doorway. I won’t go in. “Serena’s going to be pissed.” “You think you have time to worry about her? Look at yourself.” Besides the scraped palm, I’m soaked in dirty slush from head to toe. “And Chloe.” He pulls me inside anyway. “Look around. Does this place look like a woman’s been here?” “You two aren’t living together?” “I was never actually with her.” He drops a contract in my lap. “Six months ago, she came to me with a deal. She didn’t want sleazy producers casting-couching her, so she asked me to play her boyfriend in public. In return, she’d run interference with the difficult clients on my end.” He pauses. He’s afraid I won’t get it. “Some of these guys think every man can be bought with a girl in his bed. It’s exhausting. Serena scares them off for me.” The contract is bulletproof. Clean lines. Zero interference with private lives. He pulls me to the bathroom and starts cleaning the cut on my hand. That’s when I see the shelf. A whole row of hand cream. Unopened. Still sealed in their cellophane. It’s the brand I used to use in college. He has the entire collection. “I asked around at your office today.” His voice goes low. “You don’t have a boyfriend. You told your coworkers at the team retreat last week that you were single. Chloe. You were lying to me on purpose, weren’t you?” “I wasn’t.” “Then show me a picture. You and that guy.” “We don’t have one.” “You’re the most camera-obsessed girl I’ve ever met, and you don’t have a single photo with your fiancé?” “Good point. I’ll take one next time and send it to you.” Ethan laughs. It’s not a real laugh. Suddenly his hand braces against the couch behind my head, caging me in. There’s no space left. Through my sweater, I can feel the heat coming off him. “I bought your time tonight. You know what that means, right?” “I’ll refund you. Ethan. I’m really getting married.” His fingers slide down my shoulder. They stop at my wrist. “You’re getting married, but you’re still wearing the bracelet your ex gave you. That doesn’t seem right, does it?”
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