On Valentine's Day, my best friend and I went to a new upscale restaurant for dinner.

Only I never expected to run straight into my boyfriend — the one who'd told me he was working late doing food deliveries.

"What? Done playing poor for that little girlfriend of yours?"

The girl sitting across from him asked the question.

He gave a scornful click of his tongue and slid a Patek Philippe watch across the table to her.

"She's just an ordinary girl. Average family, no background. Fine for a little fun."

"Wasn't it settled? A few years of playing around, then our two families do the marriage."

Looking at that Patek Philippe, I thought back over these three years of dating him.

He only ever took me out for a bowl of spicy ramen.

For gifts, he only gave me nine-dollar lipsticks.

Even when we went away, he only ever booked a fifty-dollar budget motel.

I'd thought he was genuinely poor, so I gave in to him on everything, afraid of bruising his pride.

Never once did I imagine he was faking poverty right back at me.

My best friend's fingers flew across her phone.

"Got it. Small-to-midsize company. No wonder I didn't recognize the name from anyone in our circles."

I glanced at the message on her screen, then texted my assistant.

"Draw up an acquisition agreement for me."

...

After sending it, I went to the restroom to wash my hands before leaving.

But the moment I stepped out, I came face to face with Antony Wiley and Carol Vance.

Antony looked stunned to see me.

"What are you doing here?"

I said nothing, but he'd already drawn his own conclusion, his tone thick with disdain.

"Didn't I tell you I was working late on deliveries tonight? What are you doing picking up work here? Aren't you embarrassed?"

I looked up at him. "You're not working late on deliveries?"

His expression faltered for a split second before he smoothed it into a look of helplessness.

"My boss called me in last minute to keep a client company. Nothing I can do. That's the job."

He lowered his voice, impatience already leaking through. "Hurry up and go. This isn't a place for you. Don't cause me trouble."

I stayed where I was.

The woman beside him slowly turned around and looked me over from head to toe.

"So this is the little girlfriend you were talking about. She does look meek enough. Just... too cheap."

The next second, she pretended to knock the delicate dessert plate off the edge of the table.

The crack of shattering porcelain burst through the corridor, dessert scattering across the floor.

She arched a brow and looked at me.

"Sorry, my hand slipped. Aren't you working here? Clean it up."

I glanced down at the mess, then lifted my head again.

Antony had stood beside her the whole time, without saying a word.

I turned to look at his face, and he didn't just stay silent. He shoved me.

"Pick it up! Standing there making a fool of yourself in front of my client. Have you no shame?"

I didn't move, so he pushed again, harder, his hand pressing down on my shoulder to force me down.

I suddenly thought of last winter, when he'd said money was tight and I'd stood in the freezing wind at the street corner handing out flyers, my hands numb with cold.

The money I earned went to buying him a warm coat, while I couldn't bring myself to spend it on a single hot meal.

I thought of every argument, how I was always the one to apologize first, afraid of wounding his pride, afraid of embarrassing him, afraid he'd think I didn't know any better.

I thought of the countless nights I believed I was aching for him, loving him.

All of it a joke.

My giving in, my understanding, every time I lowered my head.

In his eyes, it only proved I was cheap.

The corridor went quiet for two seconds.

Then my best friend strode over, yanked his hand away, and pulled me behind her.

"Smash something, make her clean it up, hold her down to make her apologize. Where do you two get the nerve?"

Antony frowned and started to speak.

But she'd already turned and pulled me away.

She pushed open the restaurant's glass door, then stopped, turned back to me, her chest still heaving.

"I'm so furious. You just let that scumbag walk all over you like that! You should've just thrown your identity in their faces and scared them to death!"

I smiled and patted her arm.

"There's no fun in exposing him now. He thinks I'm an ordinary girl, so let him keep thinking it."

"Blowing it all up now would let them off too easy. I want them to destroy everything they have with their own hands."

Back home, I looked around the rental Antony and I had shared for two years.

The paint on the walls had yellowed, the water heater quit every few days, and the stairwell always carried a smell of mildew.

Back then he'd said he was just starting out and couldn't afford anything better, so I hadn't thought much of it and moved in to share the place with him.

I never imagined it would turn into a joke.

Antony came home at dusk. The moment he was through the door, he opened with a probing question.

"Who was that girl who bailed you out tonight?"

"She carried herself like someone with real weight. No small player."

Hearing that, I more or less understood.

My best friend had moved in top-tier circles since childhood, appearing in public on her family's behalf. Carol must have recognized her.

Antony was testing me, trying to find out whether I was hiding some kind of background.

The outside world all believed it was my younger brother running the family's affairs.

He was flashy and played the crowd, the face the family always showed the public.

But no one knew that the person who actually held those assets, who signed those agreements, was me.

I came out holding a glass of water, my face blank, my voice a little dazed.

"Probably the restaurant manager. Saw them giving me a hard time and came over to say a few kind words, I guess."

Antony stared at me for two seconds.

Then he laughed.

"That's what I thought."

He leaned back into the couch and crossed his legs.

"With your circles, there's no way you'd know a big shot like that."

"From now on, stop crowding into things like that. Behave yourself, stay in your place, and quit trying to climb above where you belong."

I stood where I was and looked at his face.

Three years, and this was the first time I saw him clearly.

Before, I'd always told myself he was just under too much pressure, that his temper slipped now and then.

Only now did I understand that he had never once treated me as a real person.

He'd confirmed I had no background, no one behind me, and that put him at ease, and every ounce of that superiority buried in him came right out.

"Pour me a glass of water, and while you're at it, wash tonight's clothes and mop the floor. My feet are stepping on filth."

He said it like it was simply owed to him, the way you'd summon a tool.

I thought of his birthday, when I bought him the sneakers he'd been eyeing forever.

He tried them on and only said the color was okay. He didn't even thank me.

On my birthday, he handed me a crumpled paper bag with a lipstick in it, the kind that goes for nine ninety-nine with free shipping.

He said, "You don't dress up anyway, this is enough for you. Don't waste money."

Back then I actually thought he was truly broke, that maybe even the nine ninety-nine had been squeezed out through gritted teeth.

Remembering it now, a wave of disgust rose in me.

"I'm not waiting on you anymore," I said.

Antony blinked and looked up. "What did you say?"

"I'm tired today." I said it again. "Do it yourself."

His face changed in an instant.

"Your temper's getting worse and worse, isn't it?"

"I work hard for money every single day, and I ask you to do a little housework, what's wrong with that? You can't even be considerate about this much. I've really spoiled you rotten."

I looked at him and said nothing.

He thought I was throwing a mood, thought I was still the person who would slowly soften in the silence and end up bowing her head to apologize.

So he waited a moment, and when I didn't move, he stood up, put on his shoes, and tossed out one cold line.

"Go reflect on yourself. Come talk to me when you've thought it through."

Then the door shut, and he was gone.

The apartment went quiet. I stood there for a while.

My phone screen lit up. A message from my assistant.

"Miss Gilbert, the acquisition is fully prepared. The agreement is ready to proceed. Please confirm the timing."

"Begin," I replied.

Antony didn't come back for two days. Then, the second night, he called me.

"Company dinner tonight. Wear something nice and come with me. I'll let you see how the real world works."

I was bored out of my mind, and honestly curious what scheme they were cooking up, so I threw on a plain little black dress and went.

The banquet hall blazed with light, crystal chandeliers pouring down over a room full of tailored suits.

Antony's company was only second-tier in the local business scene, but this dinner had been dressed up to look grand.

He'd have invited every important face in the city if he could, all just to squeeze his way into that circle.

The moment I walked in, I saw exactly what he was planning.

For an occasion like this, he'd never bring Carol.

Carol was the chip for the arranged marriage. She had to be kept dignified, kept precious, never touched by the greasy air of a night like this.

I was the one who could be used.

He exchanged pleasantries with a few bosses, pushed me forward beside him, introduced me with a quick "my friend," and let go, turning away to court the connections that actually mattered.

I stood there holding a glass of red wine, and it wasn't long before the first one came over.

Early fifties, balding, a suit stretched around a gut, eyes narrowing to slits when he smiled.

"All alone, sweetheart? Come on, let me have a drink with you."

I turned him down politely. "Thank you, but I'm not much of a drinker."

He didn't leave. He leaned in a little closer, his voice thick with oily coaxing.

"So you can't drink, still have one with me. Look how many big bosses are here tonight. A girl as pretty as you, it'd be a real shame not to have a little."

Then came the second, and the third.

One after another, each one probing more openly than the last.

I turned down every glass, my smile courteous, my manner calm, not a trace of panic.

Antony watched from not far off. He didn't come over, and he didn't say a word.

I turned to look at him. He had a glass in hand, laughing and chatting with the person beside him, as if he saw nothing at all.

That was when I finally understood it completely.

This was exactly his plan.

Use me to trade for business resources.

In his eyes, I had never been a person.

I was a dish, a card, a thing he could hand off whenever it suited him.

I don't know who went and fetched Carol, but her voice arrived before she did.

"Don't you know how lucky you are?"

"A high-end business dinner like this, a nobody like you getting in at all is more luck than you deserve."

"These bosses are willing to toast you, to give you the time of day, and that's them doing you a favor. And you have the nerve to make a face and turn them down in front of everyone?"

For a heartbeat the room went quiet, then came the whispers.

I stayed where I was, saying nothing, only looking at her.

Antony came striding over, and I thought he meant to defend me.

Instead he said,

"Don't throw a fit. Be good."

"Mr. Lambert is an important partner of ours. Go pour him a few drinks, apologize properly, and stop causing me trouble."

I didn't move.

He came a step closer, dropping his voice.

"Better yet, just go upstairs with Mr. Lambert and sit a while, have a real talk, lock the deal down. It's good for both of us."

His words froze me on the spot.

I looked at the face in front of me.

Three years. The first face I'd seen every morning when I opened my eyes.

And he'd just told me to go upstairs with another man.

"What did you say?"

My voice came out soft, so held-in it sounded foreign even to me.

"I dated you seriously for three years. I roughed it with you, made every allowance for you, and now you're telling me to go entertain another man?"

The stir around us grew louder.

"Who is she? Mr. Wiley's girlfriend?"

"No, isn't Mr. Wiley marrying the Vance girl?"

Carol let out a cold laugh and stopped bothering to keep her voice down.

"Oh, you actually thought you were the lady of the house?"

Someone in the crowd looked to Antony, waiting for him to explain.

"Fine. Nothing to hide, I guess."

He turned to the guests around him, and there was even a note of smug pleasure in his tone.

"These past few years I've been playing poor with her. Honestly, it was just to test what kind of person she is."

"I'm the real boss of the company. She's stuck out the hard years with me, and I haven't forgotten it."

He made it sound good.

Like he was giving me my due, like a generous confession.

Then the tone shifted.

"But feelings are feelings, and business is business."

He looked at me, softening his voice, and the tenderness was pure performance.

"Be a good girl. Sit with Mr. Lambert tonight, just have a few drinks, and tomorrow I'll transfer you whatever you want."

"Besides, the company's about to go public. Play along with me and I'll keep you around a while longer. You'll live well off it too. What's not to like?"

I gave a small laugh.

Then I raised my hand and, with the clearest strength I've ever used in my life, slapped Antony across the face.

It was loud.

The whole banquet hall went silent for a full three seconds.

He clutched his cheek and stared at me in disbelief.

I lowered my hand, swept my eyes over him, then over Carol.

Then I turned and walked toward the door, through the crowd of people trading glances.

Outside, the night wind hit me full in the face.

I stood on the steps, took out my phone, and pulled up the chat with my assistant.

"Push the acquisition forward on schedule."

"And while you're at it, dig into the Vance family. Fold it all into the file."

The reply came fast.

"Understood, Miss Gilbert."

Antony came back two hours after the dinner ended. I was packing my things.

The moment he walked in, he threw his jacket onto the couch.

"Do you have any idea what you wrecked tonight?"

"Mr. Lambert's already put out the word. The deal's off. I spent three months working that connection. Three months, and you blew all of it in one night."

"What is even going on in your head? At a place like that, all you had to do was drink a couple with him. It's not like anyone asked you to do something shady. Who are you to give me attitude?"

His tone got more self-righteous by the second.

"Keep this up and we're done. Let's just break up."

He said it to watch me panic.

Waiting for me to soften, to cry, to apologize, to say I'm sorry, I was wrong, I'll listen from now on.

He waited a few seconds. Nothing came.

"Then let's break up."

I said it, my voice as calm as if I were remarking on the nice weather.

He blinked.

"Break up." I said it again. "I said, let's break up."