I had been with Logan for two years as his nominal girlfriend. I was pretty and obedient, never saying no to Logan in or out of bed. The night his true love returned, I cried my eyes out, insisting he was the love of my life and I couldn’t live without him. After hearing the cold slam of the door as he left, I sat cross-legged and started punching numbers into a calculator: “1 + 1 + 1…” A mansion, two sports cars… Hehe…I can retire now… “What are you doing?” Logan’s voice from behind nearly made me drop the calculator in shock. My former sugar daddy glanced at the calculator in my hand, then at the manic grin I couldn’t quite hide. He raised an eyebrow: “You seem awfully happy about breaking up with me?” I had always thought Logan was quite satisfied with me over the years. I was sweet, obedient and understanding. I never pried into his affairs and was an expert at stroking his male ego: “Logan…I think I’m falling for you.” “Logan…how am I not good enough compared to her?” Each time I breathlessly whispered his name, Logan truly believed I was in love with him. I couldn’t help it – he gave me so much. I had to put on a bit of a show to ease my conscience about taking his money. If he hadn’t come back just now, I could have milked the heartbroken, lonely substitute act for another hundred episodes. Now Logan leaned against the doorframe, all long legs and narrow waist, his face expressionless as he looked at me: “…Didn’t you say you loved me most?” “Yes, yes, of course…” I nodded vigorously while frantically pressing the clear button on the calculator under my pillow: “Zero zero zero…” Shut up! “You seem awfully happy about breaking up with me?” …Well, not extremely happy. Our eyes met and the atmosphere grew awkward. I eyed him warily, carefully hiding the property deed under my pillow as I tried to act out the part of a devastated, obsessed girl pounding her pillow: “Logan! Logan! How will I ever live without you, Logan!” … “You can stop acting now, Aria.” So…I looked at him cautiously. Why did he come back? Wasn’t his true love returning today? Logan tossed his jacket on the sofa: “The city’s been locked down.” I quickly stuck my head out to look – the whole villa complex had been sealed off for quarantine! “Then…what about Olivia…” “She just landed at the airport and was taken straight to quarantine.” Wow, return to the country in chapter one, quarantine in chapter two. “So you’re staying here now?” I fingered the property deed with my name newly added to it. “Mm.” Oh…should I keep up the act or not? I watched Logan carefully. He sank into the sofa, clearly troubled, probably worried his rival would steal his true love’s heart first. “Why don’t you sign up to be a volunteer?” It was probably too late to get certified as a caregiver, but he could try volunteering to help his true love. “Aria, you seem very eager for me to leave?” …If he didn’t want to volunteer he could just say so. What was the point in calling out my true thoughts? “I…I just thought you might be anxious.” “Aria, our contract period is over. I can’t leave now, so I’ll borrow the upstairs study. Once quarantine ends, I’ll go.” “During this time, we’re simply roommates.” Logan raised his head, his eyes cold behind his gold-rimmed glasses: “And don’t try any tricks. Don’t have any illusions about our relationship.” Ah…no worries there, unless you’ve got another mansion to give me. True to his word, Logan slept in the upstairs study that night. When I got up bleary-eyed in the morning to make noodles, I heard movement upstairs – he was just finishing work. Work probably ranked even higher than Olivia for him. Logan was a Capricorn, so I guess horoscopes are pretty accurate. I was slurping noodles in the kitchen when Logan came downstairs. He opened the freezer drawer and reached for the coffee beans in the cabinet, then froze when he saw me: “Aria! What are you wearing?!” “Oh this…I don’t have any other clothes.” I glanced down at my skimpy outfit, then nonchalantly blew on my instant noodles. The sound of the washing machine reminded Logan that he had called me over suddenly two days ago, so I hadn’t brought many changes of clothes. The closet only held his clothes and the short skirts and cheongsams I had bought to please him out of professionalism. They hadn’t even been used yet before his true love returned. Logan grabbed an iced Americano and went back upstairs. Ten minutes later, two unopened dress shirts landed on the sofa. When Logan came down for lunch, I had left food on the table for him. It was quite a feast. Braised beef, spicy beef, mushroom chicken stew, pickled vegetable soup. I had set aside three flavors for him, in exchange for the two shirts. Logan clearly wasn’t used to eating this kind of instant food. He knocked on my door and came in when I answered. He stood there holding the instant noodles, his expression seeming to say: “Is this how you show your professed love for me?” “Shouldn’t you have made a proper four-dish meal to make me feel at home and deeply regret not being with you?” Why would I do something as stupid as making a huge meal for a man who wouldn’t come home, wasting all that food? I sat at the desk, not bothering to take off my headphones as I looked up at him. His gaze lingered briefly on the expanse of thigh visible below my shirt hem. Oh right, I couldn’t fit into Logan’s pants, but his shirt was long enough to wear as a dress. Before he could speak, I said: “Mister, cooking costs extra.” No more love, even the sweet “Logan honey” had turned into a cold “Mister”. Taken aback by my words, Logan didn’t get angry. “How much?” Money could solve any problem for him without causing extra emotions. I smiled and showed him a number, displaying my QR code. I hummed a little tune as I fried eggs wearing his shirt. Logan sat in the living room on a video call. I sensed his gaze flitting to my back several times – he must have been annoyed by me. After all, I used to profess my love for him so earnestly. As I bent down to open the fridge, I heard his assistant on the video call clear his throat softly, quietly reminding Logan it was his turn to speak. I turned around and our eyes met. Logan quickly averted his gaze as if electrified. The great workaholic Logan, distracted during a meeting? He must be plotting how to get back at me. I bent down to put a sandwich on the table in front of him, mouthing silently from behind his laptop: Remember to wash the dishes. Then I went back to my room to do practice questions with my headphones on. My relationship with sugar daddy Logan was purely an accident. His true love Olivia got together with his despised nephew Jack, which really stung him. Logan, that refined pervert with his superiority complex, refused to be outdone. A group of girls were fawning over him on the couch. I was working part-time, bending over with a fruit platter when I looked up and met Logan’s drunken gaze. His thin lips were like a knife. He carelessly removed my glasses with his elegant hand, leaning back on the sofa: “Strip.” His tone was casual, as if commenting on the nice weather. Seeing my hesitation, he asked: “Why aren’t you moving?” I noticed his expensive gold-rimmed glasses. The high-priced hostesses were fawning over him, but there was always an awkward invisible wall between them. Much later I learned that Logan had quirks – he hated people looking directly at him. Even when we were intimate, we never had much physical contact. I never even saw his face in the throes of passion. His gaze landed on the small red birthmark on my lower back. “Even your underwear is so shabby.” “And not even matching, hehe.” The girls next to him whispered, mocking my embarrassment. What could I do? I was poor. Logan put down his glass of amber liquid, the ice clinking. The light reflected dangerously in his sharp eyes, adding a wild, dangerous air: “You’ll do.” Logan had fallen for 19-year-old Olivia at first sight at a dinner between their families. But Olivia and his distant nephew Jack were childhood sweethearts. Both their families were prominent old money – a perfect match straight out of a novel. By family hierarchy, Olivia should call Logan “uncle” like Jack did. In terms of age and romance, he couldn’t compare to Jack. Olivia had worn a white dress to that dinner. The night Logan took me from the club, his assistant brought an identical white dress for me to wear. He blindfolded me, making me call his name over and over in the darkness. Sometimes I would secretly wonder what the normally focused, cold Logan in his crisp suit would look like in the throes of passion. Would he loosen his tie and throw back his head like a lone wolf, a bead of sweat rolling down his throat? I had once seen a photo of Olivia hidden in his desk drawer. She was wearing a cheerleader uniform, the blue and red skirt shimmering in the light. She looked radiant and confident, like a little sun that would never dim. The photo was clearly taken secretly – her face was a bit blurry. But there was a small birthmark on her lower back. In the same spot as mine. With Olivia, Logan was experiencing first love – gentle, protective, carefully building her up. But with me, it was wild abandon. Beneath the refined shirt and tie was a violent beast waiting to be unleashed. Logan wore royal blue silk pajamas, even the gold trim on the cuffs perfectly pressed. The top button was undone, revealing his defined collarbones. His skin was an unhealthy pale from overwork. When I came out wrapped in a towel after my shower, I saw Logan sitting on the sofa, chin propped on his hand as he stared at his laptop, lost in thought. That hand with its elegant knuckles was especially beautiful when signing checks for me. What was he thinking about? The weather turning cold? Which company to bankrupt next? Just then, my phone on the table rang – a video call from Zack. “Heard you’re in quarantine, sis! When are you coming – holy shit! Answering a video call right out of the shower, trying to challenge your bro’s moral limits?” Zack was a guy I met when I was working part-time in college. He stood up for me when customers harassed me, insisting I was his little sister in a past life. We became sworn siblings and with his protection, my days working at the food court became much easier. He was handsome and popular, ran a tattoo shop, and had girls chasing after him everywhere. “Wait, is that a guy behind you? It is, right!” “You’re cheating! Aria, you player!” I stiffly turned around to see Logan’s expressionless face. His look clearly said: “The contract states that Aria seeing multiple people counts as a violation.” I panicked and quickly cut off Zack’s wailing on the other end: “Bro! Stop messing around!” Then, considering my bright future prospects of picking up cute boys with Zack, I turned back to Logan’s now calm face with a big grin: “What nonsense! This is my uncle!” Logan’s smile froze. I placated Zack for a bit and promised to call him back that night. “I didn’t know you had a brother.” There’s a lot you don’t know about me. “Zack helped me out when I faced some trouble at my old job.” To prove it, I lifted my bangs and leaned in to show him the scar on my temple: “See, someone hit me with a plate.” I didn’t expect Logan to actually lean in and examine my scar closely. With his high brow bone, the crystal chandelier cast shadows in his eye sockets, making his gaze seem tender: “Who hurt you?” I have to admit, he could be quite charming when gentle. But Logan was still Logan – in the next moment he reverted to type: “I thought you were always the one doing the deceiving.” My heart skipped a beat at the mention of deception. …Logan couldn’t have discovered something, could he? If he found out I had deceived him, with Logan’s abilities, he’d probably make me give back everything I’d gotten from him. Summer in River City brought frequent rain. It started pouring again in the evening. For several days, Logan and I kept our distance. I made meals and he appeared right on time to eat. But tonight was different. The soy milk by my hand had cooled, but he still hadn’t come down. I was woken in the middle of the night by the sound of the coffee machine. I saw him in the kitchen, looking lost as he guzzled coffee, dark circles under his eyes. Had he lost a bid? Been dumped by Olivia? Whatever happened, don’t waste food! I picked up the tray of food and knocked on his door. No response, but the door was ajar and swung open with a push. Logan had fallen asleep slumped over his desk in the dark. Golden flecks of rain reflected on the floor-to-ceiling windows cast a lonely glow on his profile. I felt his forehead – no fever, but his hands were cold. He must have gotten chilled from the air conditioning and exhaustion. I turned off the AC, dragged him to the sofa, and covered him with a jacket. Logan looked quite intimidating even when silent. He seemed so peaceful lying there, his breathing becoming more even. Logan woke up in the middle of the night. The light was still on in my room, and he knocked softly on the door. I opened it a crack, eyeing him warily. What now? Was the capitalist going to make the working class get up and cook for him at this hour? Logan’s gaze flitted around before finally settling on my eyes: “…Thank you.” “The food on the table was very good. I reheated it.” “…Get some sleep soon.” I nodded and closed the door. I closed the door, but I sensed Logan was still standing outside. Logan had been acting very strangely these past few days. The next day I mentioned I was going to make noodles with vegetables. When I finished brushing my teeth and went to the kitchen, I found Logan washing the greens. The pink apron looked a bit awkward on him. Noticing me behind him, Logan explained: “I was just helping out.” After we finished eating, the high school kid next door came by to pick up some homework. That’s when Logan learned I was tutoring the neighbor’s child in exchange for vegetables. The greens in his bowl were what I had earned by staying up late solving practice problems. That evening, he surprisingly invited me into his study. We put our heads together to tackle the last bonus question. I was scribbling calculations on scratch paper when I suddenly looked up, catching Logan staring at me. He had been watching so intently that my sudden movement startled him. “I wasn’t looking at you!” He blurted out before I could say anything. When he saw me with my hair up bustling around the kitchen, he seemed to feel guilty. He put down his phone and came to help me carry dishes. As Logan reached for a plate, our fingertips brushed and he instinctively pulled back. My steaming bowl of fragrant rice crashed to the floor, the porcelain shattering. “That’s all the rice I made. Your portion is gone now.” As we ate, I noticed Logan seemed to want to say something several times. Finally, as he washed dishes and I went to get ice cream from the fridge, he set down the bowl and chopsticks and looked at my back: “I saw you listening to online classes the other day. Are you still in school?” “Mm-hmm.” “So when we first met, you were working part-time to pay for school?” “Mm-hmm.” “…Can you tell me more about yourself?” I looked up at him, ice cream stick in my mouth. The light above Logan’s head was dazzling, casting a halo around him. I was enveloped in his shadow – he looked almost saintly, so unlike the usual emotionless Logan. I suspected the overwork had addled his brain. I hesitated before speaking: “Why are you asking so much? Are you…” “Planning some targeted poverty alleviation?” Our relationship had thawed considerably. The night before quarantine ended, I ordered some late night snacks and opened Logan’s prized collection of liquor. We clinked glasses filled with amber liquid. “It’s been a pleasure working with you. Here’s to my sugar daddy finding his true love soon.” Logan looked at me hesitantly, but still clinked his glass: “Here’s to…” He didn’t know what to wish for me. “To getting rich,” I finished. That demon of a man actually smiled: “Alright, to getting rich.” Empty bottles were scattered across the table and floor. We drank our way from the table to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I skillfully opened bottle after bottle with chopsticks. “You’re quite something, little girl.” Even drunk, Logan’s gaze was sharp. He leaned against the wall, his words as cutting as ever: “That’s why when I first saw you, I thought you were a professional.” I turned my head to look at Logan, flashing him a smile: “You know where you went wrong?” “With your emotional intelligence, you’ll never match up to Jack even if you’re reborn twice.” “If you want to pursue Olivia, do it properly.” “If you truly loved someone, why would you need a substitute?” “Or…are you just insecure? Afraid you can’t measure up to your nephew?” I laughed at that point – how could someone as rich as Logan be insecure? If I had his money, I’d go after whoever I liked without hesitation. He was quite drunk, his shirt a wrinkled mess. He swayed unsteadily as he tried to come teach me a lesson, but he could barely stand. He collapsed into my arms. Propping himself up against me in his drunken haze, he mumbled: “What if I don’t love her…” “Then Aria, do you love me…” Love? Of course I love you. “Of course I love you.” I stroked his cheek tenderly. “Mr. Logan, you’re so rich – Aria White, Aria Black, Aria Rainbow all love you.” He seemed to find that hilarious, letting out a soft chuckle: “As expected of you, Aria.” “I knew early on you were different.” Early on? How early? “That day I saw you gleefully calculating all that money.” “And then I realized, in this very room, you were crying and professing your love for me over and over.” “Your acting skills are quite pleasing, but I know you’re just sweet-talking me. Your heart isn’t in it.” I lowered my eyes. That’s not so early, Mr. Logan. There’s still so much you don’t know. “Why did you agree to be with me?” “I didn’t have money for school. Accepting donations and reciting gratitude speeches in public was humiliating.” It felt like being stripped naked in front of everyone. I was well-developed, and even loose clothes couldn’t hide my figure. When I went on stage to give speeches, those balding middle-aged businessmen would look me up and down, their gazes lingering on my chest, making me uncomfortable. Logan froze for a moment, then said very softly, “I’m sorry.” See, that’s why I say he’s only a demon in the business world. In romance, he can’t even compete with a young upstart like Jack. He doesn’t know how to truly love someone. While Jack was holding hands and going for passionate kisses, Logan was playing the good brother role. All that pent-up passion in his suit was only unleashed on me. Thinking of how he had cornered me in the kitchen to ask about my past, was that pity or guilt on his face? I couldn’t tell. But what difference did it make if he knew? Would he pity or sympathize with me now that he knew? Someone like Logan, who had gained neither benefit nor love, had no right to pity me. So that day I looked up at him very sincerely, ice cream stick in my mouth: “Only a foolish girl who gets neither money nor love is pitiful. I’m only after one of those things – that’s not too greedy, is it?” What difference was there between his condescending pity and the scrutiny when he pinned me to the table? Slightly tipsy from the alcohol, Logan seemed to have fallen asleep, his head resting on my shoulder, his face flushed. The night was hazy with mist. I stroked Logan’s Adam’s apple, feeling it jump sharply under my cold palm. In his half-conscious state, he turned to speak to me, his lips brushing my earlobe, his hot breath tickling my ear. His voice was soft and gentle, like the wind, like mist, like the rain outside. So unlike him. With the cover of his drunkenness and the moonlight, he carefully caressed my cheek: “Aria, I’m sorry for before…”
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