I rarely took him directly to the boutiques. Every time I stepped into one, the store manager and sales associates would line up in two neat rows, bow, and chorus, “Welcome, Miss Carter, it’s an honor to have you here!”

It was so awkward I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Instead, I relied on the luxury brands’ monthly service of bringing the latest collections to my home for private selection.

Three months ago, on his birthday, when I gave him a scarf, Ryan wrapped his arms around me and said, “Baby, you’re so good to me.” That image now overlapped with the flushed, thick-necked man in front of me, panting like a bull.

“Break up!” Ryan yanked off the scarf and slammed it onto the table. “I can’t believe I let a fake socialite fool me for half a year!”

He turned to leave. Instinctively, I almost followed, but then I saw Chloe standing a short distance away.

Ryan slid an arm around her shoulders and disappeared into the crowd without looking back.

I stood frozen in place, feeling the blood drain from my body.

My phone buzzed again—it was another message from my mom:

“The savings account interest rate is ridiculous—twenty million in there and it’s only $450 a day!”

“Anyway, I can’t chat now. Your Aunt Julie needs a fourth for mahjong. Playing every day has my back aching.”

I stared at the words “twenty million” on the screen and suddenly burst out laughing.

The girls at the next table glanced over with sympathetic eyes, probably thinking I’d lost my mind from the shock.

So that was it.

Ryan thought I was poor, so he turned on me instantly.

He thought my bags were fakes, that I’d been pretending to be a rich girl all along.

On the way back to the dorms, the campus radio was playing “The Actor.”

I walked in step with the beat, and when I passed the bulletin board, I noticed a new poster for the Campus Singer Competition.

In the bottom right corner was a small sponsor logo: Adams Construction.

Chloe’s family business.

My phone buzzed in my pocket—it was my best friend, Emily Johnson.

“Vanessa! Ryan and Chloe just posted a photo together on Instagram!”

I opened it. In the nine-square collage, Ryan had his arm around Chloe as they posed in a high-end Japanese restaurant where the average bill per person was over a hundred dollars.

The caption read: “Finally found the right person. It feels so secure.”

No need to guess—clearly, Chloe had picked up the tab.

The comments were full of “a perfect match.” One mutual friend even wrote: “Definitely better than that girl with the fake bag.”

So in less than three hours since we broke up, my “fake bag” reputation had spread to every corner of the campus.

“You okay?” Emily asked gently. “Want me to come keep you company?”

“No need.” I looked at the brand-new Mercedes C200 parked under the dorm—it was Chloe’s twentieth birthday present.

“Do me a favor,” I said. “Find out if Adams Construction is bidding on the Southside Development Project.”

After hanging up, I opened my wardrobe.

At the very back hung a Dior early-spring dress, tags still attached.

Mom had bought it last month, saying she’d noticed I hadn’t bought any new clothes in a while. At the time, I thought it was too flashy.

Now, it felt perfect.

The next day for my major class, I arrived ten minutes early.

I picked the perfect seat and set my bag to one side.

When Ryan and Chloe walked in hand in hand, the entire class fell silent for a moment.

Chloe was dressed head-to-toe in the current Miu Miu collection, an Hermès Picotin dangling from her arm, its handles crowded with colorful charms that jingled annoyingly with each step.

She deliberately slowed her pace, and as she passed my desk, she suddenly let out an “Oops!”

“Ryan, my charm got caught on something dirty!” she said in a sugary voice, tilting her bag toward me.

The metal clasp of a Disney princess keychain scraped across my Chanel, leaving a clear mark on the leather.

Ryan immediately leaned in. “Let me see.”

He made a show of inspecting it, then gasped theatrically. “Oh my God, Chloe, is your Hermès okay? You don’t want some knockoff scratching it.”

Chloe covered her mouth and laughed, her eyes curving into crescents. “It’s fine, genuine quality doesn’t damage that easily.”

Then she glanced down at me from above. “But your bag, senior… oh dear, that scratch is so obvious. Fake bags really can’t take much wear, can they?”

I slowly raised my head, meeting Ryan’s gaze as he watched for my reaction.

Too bad for him—I didn’t have one.

It’s just a bag. If it’s ruined, I’ll replace it.

Just like this man—once he’s rotten, he’s out.

When I didn’t respond, Chloe snorted and sashayed forward.

“Some people have the nerve to bring a fake bag to class?” She dropped into the seat in front of me, her voice dripping with syrup as she deliberately slammed her Hermès onto the desk. “Right, Ryan?”

Ryan didn’t answer right away, but I noticed his eyes lingering on my bag for a few seconds.

The vintage Chanel’s edges were slightly worn, and the metal clasp bore faint traces of oxidation.

His lips curled into a mocking smile as he ruffled Chloe’s hair.

“Fake is fake. Nothing like our Chloe here, a true heiress.”

He deliberately raised his voice. “If you ask me, people who carry fake bags are just driven by vanity—pretending to be a socialite when their family’s just average, mooching meals, gifts, and affection.”

Chloe jumped in right on cue. “Exactly. I even heard she tricked an upperclassman into buying her gifts!”

She turned and winked at me. “Senior, you do know fraud is illegal, right?”

A few chuckles rippled around us.

I tightened my grip on my pen, nails digging into my palm.

Trading insults was pointless. Arguing with them would only trap me in an endless loop of defending myself.

Better to wait until later—see who gets slapped in the face.

Ryan, emboldened by my silence, leaned over my desk, the scent of Chloe’s perfume heavy on him.

“Vanessa, you know something?” he said in a low voice that carried across the room.

“One of Chloe’s family projects is worth over ten million. Her real bags could buy out your whole closet of fakes.”

He straightened and smirked. “A little nobody like you could never come close.”

Chloe lifted her wrist at the perfect moment, flashing a diamond-studded Cartier bracelet.

“Daddy just bought this for me yesterday, to celebrate the company winning the Southside Development Project.”

She looked at me with a pointed smile. “Want to touch it, senior? After all, it’s something you’ll never afford in your lifetime.”

Ryan burst out laughing, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Don’t be so hard on her. Her mom works two days in construction just to make $130. Not like our Chloe—her allowance starts at $5,000 a month.”

It wasn’t until the professor walked in that the perfect little couple reluctantly separated.

Before sitting down, Chloe suddenly turned back, flicking a gold-embossed business card at my face.

“Oh, by the way, senior, my company’s hiring a receptionist—$25 an hour. A lot easier than your mom’s construction work!”

I took the card, running my fingertips over the gold letters Adams Construction.

“Thanks, but I’ve been busy with the campus singer competition.”

“Singer competition?” Ryan finally spoke again, his tone dripping with mockery.

“You really think you can sing? Have you seen the poster? Chloe’s family is sponsoring it this year.”

Of course I’d seen it.

If her family weren’t sponsoring, I wouldn’t even bother with such a low-level event.

After all, when I was fifteen, I’d skyrocketed to fame on YouTube under the persona of The Masked Diva.

A few reality shows later, my total fan base across all platforms had passed thirty million.

But my parents worried that if I ever revealed my face, people would discover my true identity—and with it, every detail of a top heiress’s life. It would be far too unsafe.

So they insisted I keep things this way: focus on my studies and management training to prepare for inheriting the family business, while also developing my hobby on the side. It worked out fine for me.

In freshman year, Ryan and I had competed together in several school contests. I found him clever, grounded, able to think of things that never occurred to me—so different from the boys of my own social circle.

I didn’t care that he had a gambling father, a sick mother, a younger brother in school, and a generally messy life.

To me, the money I spent on him was less than what I’d spend on a purebred dog.

But from the first time Chloe laid eyes on Ryan after enrolling, she’d been hooked on that seemingly innocent face of his—and had been targeting me ever since.

If I didn’t teach these two a lesson, I’d never swallow this anger.

I slipped the business card into my bag, and when I looked up, I caught Chloe’s smug little smile.

She pulled a diamond-encrusted lipstick from her bag and waved it in front of me.

I frowned, curious. From the way she acted, she didn’t seem to know what she was holding.

“Country bumpkin. Just proves you’re a fake socialite—don’t even recognize a Louboutin lipstick when you see one?”

“Oh… it’s a Louboutin? But isn’t this particular design a limited edition—only ninety-nine in the world, each with its own number? And aren’t they all in the hands of royalty and society elites?”

I leaned in, examining it closely.

“Let’s see… your number is… ninety-nine?! Isn’t that the one they made exclusively for the brand’s ambassador?”

I gave her a cold smile—because that ambassador was me.

And that number had been made just for me.

I’d assumed she was just flaunting some limited edition she’d managed to buy somewhere. I hadn’t expected her to walk right into the line of fire.

Chloe’s face instantly went pale. Her fingers clamped around the so-called limited edition, knuckles turning white.

Ryan noticed and quickly stepped forward, throwing an arm around her shoulders while sneering at me.

“Well, look at that. Our little fake socialite doesn’t have two nickels to rub together, but she sure knows her online gossip. Chloe’s family is loaded, obviously she got it from knowing the Masked Diva—must have been a gift from the ambassador herself.”

I nodded as if I believed him. “Oh? Chloe, you really know the Masked Diva?”

It was like tossing her a lifeline—her expression lit up with smug confidence again.

“Yes, the Masked Diva is my best friend. She gave me this lipstick herself!”

I let my face fill with admiration. “Wow. In that case, since you’re really close, asking her to be a guest at our campus singer competition should be no problem, right?”

Chloe, of course, had no idea of the Diva’s true identity. She just wanted to brush me off, biting her lip and keeping up her haughty act.

“You don’t get it. Her schedule is packed—it’s not like she can just come whenever she’s called. Not everyone’s like your construction-working mom, available on demand.”

I blinked innocently. “I was just curious. I mean, if such a precious lipstick was a gift from a true friend, getting her to show up shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

Seeing Chloe cornered, Ryan jumped in to change the subject.

“Vanessa, stop pretending you’re somebody. You can’t even afford a real bag—who are you to comment on anyone else?”