Dating a Poor Girl… Who's Actually Rich

After my girlfriend's father hit someone with a car, he took his own life because he didn't want to get arrested. But in doing so, he left behind a huge debt he had racked up.

In order to help my girlfriend pay off the compensation, I work around the clock as a food deliveryman. Every day, I sleep less than four hours just to squeeze in more work.

But when I finish delivering a new order, I notice a man clad in a bathrobe standing in front of me at a hotel suite's doorway. He's completely covered in hickeys.

A young woman dressed in a sexy nightgown hugs him from behind.

"I'm absolutely famished right now because of how long you've been tormenting me in bed earlier, darling! Hurry up and grab the takeout!"

I can only stare at the woman, completely shell-shocked. That's when the bag of takeout slips off my fingers and crashes onto the floor.

The woman takes a step backward. Her brows drawn into a frown, she exclaims, "How are my boyfriend and I supposed to enjoy the food now that it's all dirty?"

After that, she kicks the takeout at me right away, spilling grease all over my clothes.

I remain rooted to the spot, still stunned.

This woman… is Irene Swensen, my girlfriend who's about to get engaged to me.

"Hey, sonny. You should leave as soon as possible after you're done delivering the food. The heiress here has a very hot temper."

The janitor who was pushing her cart past me suddenly spoke to me, giving me some kind advice.

Meanwhile, I stared at her in confusion.

She continued speaking in a low voice.

"You know about Swensen Group, don't you? They don't just own this hotel—they even own all of the other shops and buildings along this street."

Then, I looked into the trash can on her cart and saw a whole mountain of freshly used condoms.

Just a few days ago, I was still overjoyed that my little home business was starting to pick up and happily thinking that I could finally afford to buy my girlfriend, Irene Swensen, some presentable dresses after all.

But now, someone else was telling me that this hotel, along with the other buildings in the central district of Attingsdale, belonged to the Swensens?

I couldn't help but recall the many times Irene had helped me out in my little breakfast shop, mixing pancake batter and rolling out the dough for homemade breakfast buns while chatting amicably with me.

When the morning rush was over, we'd even made plans to buy a modest, secondhand apartment in the suburbs as our new home after we got married.

But now, Irene turned out to be a rich heiress after all, and she even had another boyfriend too?

Then what was I to her? Was I just the clown there to provide her some comedy relief? Or, was I the homewrecker after all?

I stood outside the door, wondering if I should knock on the door once again. Just then, a few young women walked toward me as they chatted and joked among each other.

"Really, do you even know how long Irene has been in the hotel room with Kevin Pickett? Isn't she worried that she won't be able to walk afterward?

"Say, do you think that she's also that horny when she's rolling in the sheets with that idiot who owns the breakfast shop?"

That idiot.

So, this was what they all thought of me behind my back. They spoke in such a mocking, disdainful tone that I didn't even want to think about how lowly they must have thought of me over the past few years when I'd been unaware of everything.

A short while later, Irene opened the door, slammed her palm against the side of the door, and glared aggressively at her friends who were trying to peek inside the room.

"What are you looking at? Didn't I tell you not to disturb me?"

Her friends immediately looked away and chuckled awkwardly.

"We were just here to take a peek at your fiance. Of course we'd never dare to steal him away from you once you'd set your eyes on him.

"It's just that we thought of inviting him along with us to the newly opened bar nearby."

Irene slammed the door shut with a cold expression on her face. A few minutes later, she appeared at the door again, fully dressed, holding hands with a man I could only assume was Kevin, her so-called fiance.

I hid behind the emergency exit door not too far away, feeling like I'd just lost all of my energy in my limbs. My eyes were also rimmed red.

I should have run up to her and demanded answers then and there, but I didn't have the courage to do so.

Meanwhile, I kept getting new order notifications on my phone, and I had no choice but to suppress the upset feeling in my chest and run out of the hotel in my disheveled state.

While about to leave on my bike, I accidentally lightly scratched it against the luxury car parked opposite me.

The owner of the car was none other than Irene. She was sitting lazily in the driver's seat, looking classy and elegant. I could also clearly see the tiny mole in the corner of her eye.

One of her hands was draped over the steering wheel, whilst the other held Kevin's hand.

Kevin smiled at me and said, "You're the food delivery guy from earlier, aren't you? Since my girlfriend soiled your clothes just now, and you scratched my car this time, we'll just call it even, alright? You can just leave."

Irene then glanced at me momentarily and said in a cold voice, "Since my boyfriend's already said the word, then hurry up and get out of my face! You're not going to be this lucky next time!"

She probably couldn't recognize me because I always wore a mask on my face and pulled my cap low over my eyes when doing deliveries.

Then, she started up her car and drove off. I sat on my scooter bike, watching her car roar off in the distance and noticing her vintage car license plate that had to have cost a small fortune.

The price of her license plate was enough to pay for a sizable house in the suburbs.

Just some time ago, Irene was still lying on a secondhand mattress with me back in our tiny apartment.

"Justin Larson, when I've finally paid off all my debts, I'll buy you a nice little car. That way, you won't have to worry about getting drenched in the rain anymore."

But now, I witnessed her driving a luxury car worth hundreds of thousands of dollars with a license plate that was worth more than what I could ever earn in the next 20 years.

After getting back home, I went online and searched for more information on Swensen Group. I found out that the chairman was none other than Irene's dad, Joe Swensen.

So, her dad wasn't dead after all—in fact, he was one of the richest and most influential businessmen in the city.

What else had Irene lied to me about?

Later that night, I heard the sound of the door being unlocked from the outside.

Irene was back, and she was wearing the cheap dress I'd bought on sale for her for less than ten dollars.

"Are you hungry? Should I make you some dinner for tonight?" she asked as soon as she saw me. "There was a sudden huge order tonight, and we all had to stay to work overtime. But I guess the good thing is that we all get paid for that."

I watched her as she continued mumbling softly to herself while preparing dinner for me. The sour, aching bitterness of betrayal rose in my throat, and my heart sank like a stone.