The very first thing I did the second I opened my eyes in this life was take my boyfriend’s Social Security number and driver’s license and secure a fifty-million-dollar predatory loan in his name. In my previous life, Conrad had looked me in the eye and told me he lost five million dollars in a disastrous private equity venture. To keep the debt collectors from tearing his life apart, I worked three jobs around the clock. Graveyard shifts at a convenience store, freelance bookkeeping until dawn, catering on the weekends—I ran myself into the ground until my shoes wore through. Until the afternoon I wandered into Harry Winston on Fifth Avenue to pick up a courier package, and saw him. He was standing by the velvet display cases, dropping 1.8 million dollars on a diamond collar for his childhood best friend, Cecilia. I stood paralyzed behind an arrangement of white lilies as his easy, careless laugh floated across the showroom. “I just wanted to see if she was after my family’s trust fund,” he murmured, swirling the champagne in his flute. “Who knew she’d actually believe I was ruined? She never questioned it for a second.” Cecilia leaned against his chest, her manicured fingers grazing his lapel. “And how long do you plan on testing the poor girl?” Conrad paused, his voice dropping into an amused, low murmur. “Our three-year anniversary is in two weeks. I’ll come clean then and sweep her off her feet.” I didn’t hear the rest. Numbness seized my limbs. I stumbled out of the boutique like a ghost, blind to the world, and walked straight into the path of an oncoming truck. The screech of tires and the sickening crack of metal were the last things I knew. Then I woke up. Right back at the small kitchen table of our rented apartment, exhausted and hollow-eyed, in the thick of killing myself to pay his phantom debts. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled up the private credit syndicate app on my phone, entered his details, uploaded the biometric scans he had so conveniently stored in our shared cloud drive, and drew fifty million dollars against his name. If Conrad Price loved playing the bankrupt pauper so damn much, I was more than happy to make it his reality. 1. The fifty-million-dollar wire had barely settled into his verified accounts before my phone lit up with his name. “Willa, the lenders called again,” Conrad’s voice came through the receiver, sounding perfectly frantic, laced with that practiced, breathless panic I had once bled for. “They said if I don’t produce something this month, they’re going to show up at my mother’s house. Can you spot me a little more? Just a few grand to keep them quiet? I swear, Willa, the second I’m back on my feet, I’ll pay back every cent.” In my past life, hearing him sound so desperate would have sent me into an immediate tailspin. I would have transferred my entire checking balance before he even hung up the phone. Now, I leaned back against the worn cushion of my chair, my voice dead and flat: “You took out the debt, Conrad. Why should my paycheck pay for it?” A stunned silence pooled on the line. It took him several seconds to find his footing, his tone shifting from fragile vulnerability to sharp disbelief. “Willa? What is that supposed to mean?” “It means what it means.” “I wouldn’t be asking if my back wasn’t against the wall,” he said, indignation creeping around the edges of his voice. “You’re my girlfriend. What’s the big deal about helping me through an emergency?” I listened to him, feeling nothing. No fury, no grief. Just the quiet chill of absolute clarity. In the beginning, it had always been a few thousand for “emergencies.” Then it became tens of thousands. Then it was co-signing credit cards, exhausting my personal credit lines, and selling every piece of jewelry I owned. “I’m not your ATM, Conrad,” I said quietly. “And I’m done paying your debts.” “Don’t talk to me like that!” His voice flared, losing its polished veneer. “Who treated you like an ATM? I only took those investment risks to build a future for the two of us! I went under trying to give us a life, and now you won’t even give me pocket change?” I had zero interest in running through his script again. “Conrad. We’re done. I’m breaking up with you.” “Willa!” His shout rattled the speaker, the mask slipping off entirely. “Are you out of your mind? I’m drowning here, and you’re walking away from me?” He caught himself, taking a ragged breath, trying to dial the venom back into wounded romance. “You’re joking, right? Willa, please. You’re the only person I have left in this world. You can’t abandon me now.” My grip tightened around the glass of cold water on the table. “I have never been more serious. As of this second, we have nothing to do with each other. Don’t call me, and don’t expect another dollar.” “Is that what this is?” he snarled, dropping the act entirely. “Because I’m broke? You look down on me now? All those times you swore you loved me for who I was, that money didn’t matter—it was all a lie! But don’t you dare forget, Willa: I am in this ditch because of you!” I hung up. I didn’t waste another breath. I blocked his number on the spot. A moment later, an iMessage from an unlinked iCloud account pinged across my screen: “You’re cold, Willa. Truly cold. But don’t think you can just throw me away like trash.” I deleted it, blocked the address, and closed my eyes, letting the quiet settle into my bones. I knew him. I knew his wounded pride wouldn’t let him leave it there. But I hadn’t expected him to be quite so reckless. 2. The next morning, I had barely stepped through the revolving doors of our corporate office when a hand clamped down on my wrist like a vice. “Willa. You’re going to talk to me today.” Conrad stood in the center of the marble lobby. His collar was slightly rumpled, his hair artfully disheveled, his eyes ringed with theatrical red. Heads immediately turned. Whispers rippled through the commuter crowd like dry leaves in the wind. He kept his grip tight enough to leave a mark, pitching his voice so every junior associate and senior manager within twenty yards could hear: “Willa, please… are you really throwing away three years just because my venture went under? I took those loans trying to give you the life you deserved! How can you be so ruthless?” I saw the looks shift in real time. “Did she dump him because he went broke? That’s brutal.” “I remember him—he used to send her massive floral arrangements at her desk. The minute he hits hard times, she cuts him loose?” “He ruined his credit for her, and she walks away? What a mercenary.” Conrad caught the murmurs, and a flicker of smug triumph flashed through the depths of his eyes before melting back into heartbreak. “I know I’m poor now, Willa,” he choked out, bowing his head. “I know I can’t give you the luxury you want. I didn’t come here to ask you to pay my debts. I just… I just needed you to hold my hand while I tried to survive.” The surrounding hum grew louder, sharper, entirely aimed at me. “Look at him, practically begging her. She doesn’t even flinch.” “Unbelievable. Some women only stick around when the black card works. The minute the bill comes due, they’re out the door.” Brenda from accounting stepped out of the elevator bay, marched right over, and placed a maternal, sympathetic hand on Conrad’s shoulder. “Conrad, sweetheart, don’t break your heart over this. Some people only know how to take. When tragedy strikes, true colors show.” Conrad nodded, blinking back non-existent tears. “Thank you, Brenda… I just don’t understand what I did wrong.” “You did nothing wrong,” Brenda said loudly, throwing a venomous glare in my direction. “The mistake was giving your heart to someone who only loves you when the sun is shining.” A faint, mocking smirk curved the corner of Conrad’s mouth. He leaned in close to my ear, his breath hot against my cheek, and whispered so low only I could catch the venom: “Take it back right now, Willa. Tell them it was a misunderstanding, or I swear your reputation in this building is over.” I looked down at his white knuckles, then back at his face. And then, I smiled. “Conrad,” I said clearly, letting my voice carry across the marble floor. “You keep saying you took out five million in debt for me. So show us.” His expression stiffened. “Show us the loan agreements,” I continued, unblinking. “Show the promissory notes. Show the wire statements from the lenders. Show a single piece of paper proving this five-million-dollar hole actually exists.” Conrad’s face went pale, then mottled with anger. “What are you talking about? You think I’d fabricate something like this? You just want to humiliate me in front of everyone!” Brenda scoffed, stepping between us. “Willa, honestly! The boy is on his knees, and you’re demanding paperwork? Have some decency!” I looked Brenda dead in the eye. “If you feel so deeply for his plight, Brenda, why don’t you co-sign his loans? Take him home. Pay off his creditors.” Brenda’s mouth snapped shut. She froze, shifting uncomfortably, and stepped back. Conrad’s patience cracked. The pity-party act fell apart at the seams. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Waiting for me to stumble so you’d have an excuse to find someone richer?” I almost laughed at the absurdity. “Conrad, I will say this once more. I am leaving you because of who you are. The phantom money has nothing to do with it.” Fury flared in his eyes. He shoved me. Hard. My shoulder slammed into the concrete load-bearing pillar behind me, a sharp, blinding ache radiating down my spine. The pain took the air clean out of my lungs. A collective gasp went up around the lobby. Conrad froze for a fraction of a second, realizing he had broken character in public, but the humiliation drove him past caution. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “You’re going to regret this, Willa. You’ll wake up one day and realize that without me, you are absolutely nothing.” I pressed one hand against my bruised shoulder, stood straight, and met his eyes. “The only thing I will ever regret is wasting three years learning your name.” His jaw clenched until the muscles twitched. He turned on his heel and strode out into the morning glare. I watched his silhouette disappear into the street, listening to the silent countdown in my head. The high-interest clock on fifty million dollars was ticking. 3. By Saturday, I checked myself into the outpatient clinic at Mount Sinai for a comprehensive check-up. In my past life, those three years of surviving on instant coffee, convenience-store sandwiches, and four hours of broken sleep had wrecked my health. Chronic gastric ulcers, iron-deficiency anemia, irregular heart palpitations—I had slowly traded my body for his twisted psychological game. This time, I was going to heal. While waiting at the billing kiosk on the third floor, a sweet, high-pitched voice drifted down the corridor from the private elevator: “Conrad, honey, is the VIP suite ready? Are you sure this blood draw isn’t going to bruise?” I looked up. Conrad was walking out of the executive concierge suite, holding Cecilia’s hand. Around her wrist blazed the Harry Winston diamond tennis collar—the very piece I had watched him purchase in that showroom before I died. He hadn’t even waited for our anniversary in this timeline. He had gifted it to her immediately. Conrad was in the middle of laughing at something she said when his eyes collided with mine. His smile vanished, replaced by an ugly, defensive sneer. “Willa? Are you stalking me now?” Cecilia paused, turning her head with deliberate grace, looking me up and down like a stain on the carpet. “Conrad… is this the ex? The one who abandoned you the second she thought you were poor?” The patients and nurses in the waiting area turned their heads. “Wait, isn’t that Conrad Price? The Price Group heir?” “Is she insane? She dumped a billionaire’s son because she thought he was struggling?” Conrad drank in the murmurs, puffing his chest out as his voice dripped with condescension: “I might as well tell you the truth, Willa. That whole five-million-dollar debt? It was a test. A simple loyalty test. And you failed it spectacularly. The second the money was supposedly gone, you ran. And now? You tracked me all the way to a private hospital hoping to crawl back? You disgust me.” Cecilia leaned against him, her voice smooth as silk and dripping with venom. “Conrad, be gentle. Maybe Miss Warren really is unwell. Though, Miss Warren, once a man is done with you, clinging to him like a beggar only embarrasses yourself. Have some dignity.” I looked Cecilia in the eye, my voice perfectly level. “Who said I was here for Conrad?” Her breath hitched, caught off guard by my complete lack of tears. A well-dressed woman sitting nearby sneered. “Oh, please. You followed Mr. Price in here through the main entrance. Everyone saw it. You wanted the trust fund, blew it, and now you’re playing hard to get? Shameless.” “Exactly,” a man added, eager to curry favor with the Price heir. “Don’t let her off the hook, Mr. Price! Women like this will walk all over you if you give them an inch.” Conrad looked down at me from his pedestal, his chin tilted high. “Don’t bother trying to guilt me into taking you back, Willa. The more games you play, the less I think of you.” “Are you finished?” I asked, looking past him to the receptionist. “Because you’re blocking the line, and I need to pay my co-pay.” His face darkened instantly. “You really think playing the ice queen is going to win him back?” the woman beside us laughed. “If she had any shame, she’d get down on her knees and beg Mr. Price for forgiveness!” “Yes! Make her kneel!” someone else chimed in, caught up in the cheap thrill of a public spectacle. “Teach her a lesson!” Cecilia’s eyes lit up with malicious glee. She gently swayed against Conrad’s arm. “Conrad, they have a point. The way she humiliated you in public… an apology on her knees is the bare minimum.” Conrad stared at me for two long seconds, a cold, sovereign authority washing over his face. “Kneel, Willa,” he said softly. “Get on your knees, admit you were wrong, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll let you explain yourself.” The waiting room went dead quiet, watching like vultures. “Did you hear him?” someone barked. “He’s offering you an olive branch! Drop to your knees!” A stranger beside me actually reached out, grabbing my sleeve to force me downward. “Stop acting so proud! Kneel!” Pain spiked through my wrenched shoulder as I struggled against the pull. Right at that exact second, the sharp, shrill vibration of an incoming phone call tore through Conrad’s jacket. He frowned, irritated by the interruption, and swiped to answer without checking the screen. “Who is this?” Within three seconds of listening, every drop of blood drained out of Conrad Price’s face.
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