Three years ago, my rich boyfriend, Steven Delaney, went into bankruptcy. He decided to break up with me so that he wouldn't drag me down.

As I looked at his broken expression, I steeled my heart and ripped the overseas college application I had just received.

"I'll stay with you. Together, we can rebuild your legacy."

Everyone told me that I was nuts. Still, I decided to move into a damp basement room with Steven. After that, I took on a job out in the streets that allowed me to earn money the fastest, which was promoting beer to the customers.

One day, when I'm delivering beer to the customers, one of them calls out to me.

"Hey, this lady looks like you!"

There are two screens being shown on a livestream, that's being replayed. The left screen shows me crouching at the doorway of the basement while washing shirts for Steven. It's so cold that my fingers have gone completely red.

The right screen shows him all dressed up in a smart-looking suit. He has an arm wrapped around a beautiful and well-dressed woman, and they're both sitting in a luxury car.

Steven smiles at the camera and says, "This is my third year lying to my girlfriend about my financial situation. Till now, she still hasn't realized the truth! She really is a pathetic idiot!"

The live comments keep popping up on the side.

"You really know how to make things interesting, Mr. Delaney! I can't believe you're capable of coming up with the whole 'pretending to be broke in order to test your girlfriend's humanity' act!"

"What exactly is that lady aiming for, honestly? She's just someone who sells beer! Does she seriously think she's in a romance drama?"

"Oh, this is hilarious! That penniless girlfriend of his is even washing underwear for him! The truth is, the underwear belongs to the Delaney family's household staff!"

I stared at the screen in disbelief, my ears ringing as Steven Delaney's mocking smile stared right back at me.

That face was far too familiar to me. On the corner of his right eye was the scar he'd gotten fighting for me back then.

Steven had laughed and said it was a badge of honor for loving me.

But now, he was mocking me together with others, calling me a "beer lady", when he knew perfectly well how much I hated that nickname.

It was as if my heart stopped beating in that instant. I stood frozen in place, so out of it that I didn't even notice the customer sliding his hand onto my waist.

He said, "So, it really is you in that live stream? You're better off coming with me, missy. It's better than serving someone who treats you like a joke—"

I snapped back to my senses when the customer's greasy breath brushed against my ear.

Not bothering to wipe away my tears, I instinctively pulled a can of pepper spray from my bag and sprayed it straight into his eyes. Then, I turned and ran.

I slipped and fell in the pouring rain, as the customer's furious curses rang out behind me. "Stop acting so high-and-mighty when tens of thousands of people have seen you washing Mr. Delaney's underwear!"

As if I couldn't feel the pain, I ran back to the dive bar without looking back.

Only after I reached the kitchen did I realize that my right leg had been scraped open at some point. Blood trickled down my calf into my socks, sticky and cold.

"What are you doing spacing out, Melanie? The customers are waiting outside! There are still 20 crates of beer to move!"

I immediately shot up, numbing myself as I gritted my teeth and carried crate after crate of beer.

I was exhausted, but I dared not stop.

That was because the moment I stopped, the live stream comments would come rushing back, mocking the three years I'd sacrificed under the guise of love.

…

It was already midnight by the time I finally clocked out. With my injured leg, I took the long way to the five-star hotel.

Lately, Steven had been obsessed with their foreign cuisine. Even after his family went bankrupt, and when one meal meant my entire day's salary was gone, he still insisted on having their late-night snack.

"You're late today," he said without looking up from his game.

"There are more customers during the weekend…" I explained quietly, setting the takeout on the only wooden table in the apartment.

Steven glanced at it and frowned. "Why is it soggy? Don't you know that ruins the flavor of the dish?"

I apologized almost instinctively. Only then did he wave his hand impatiently.

Steven took two bites before pushing the takeout aside.

I sat blankly on the plastic stool until a sharp twist in my stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten all day.

Just as I was about to make do with last night's leftovers, Steven suddenly asked, "What happened to your leg?"

He finally noticed something was off ten minutes after I got home.

I replied, "A customer got handsy when I was delivering beer today. I shoved him away and ran into the rain. I accidentally fell—"

Before I could finish, Steven walked over and dropped to one knee. Then, he lifted the hem of my skirt.

The pain made me flinch, but he tightened his grip around my ankle.

"Don't move." He turned on his phone camera. The flash that went off was so bright it forced my eyes shut.

"Be more careful next time," Steven simply said before turning his attention back to his phone.

I knew exactly what he was doing.

Aside from live-streaming, Steven's account had thousands of videos uploaded.

There were clips of me being forced to scrub the floor after getting doused in beer by customers. There were also clips of me gathering my belongings, which were thrown into the trash can when I couldn't make rent, in humiliation.

All of it had become Steven's content without exception.

Looking at his back, I finally worked up the courage to speak. "I don't want to sell beer anymore…"

Steven paused, then turned around to coax me. "Don't fuss over something so trivial, Mel. Besides, aren't you already used to this kind of thing?"

His words felt like cold water down my back.

Of course, getting groped by drunk men while working at a dive bar was nothing unusual. Steven would just brush it off and tell me to put up with it every time I told him about it.

It turned out that my fear and humiliation had been nothing more than content for him.

The bulb above us flickered a few times before it went out, plunging the basement into complete darkness.

Steven cursed under his breath before grabbing his jacket without looking back. "I'm going to work overtime in the office."

The door slammed shut.

I habitually pulled out a flashlight, reached under the bed, and took out a cookie tin. At the very bottom lay an acceptance letter from Karnell University.

It wrote, "Dear Ms. Reid, we would like to inform you that this position will remain available to you for a period of three years. We truly hope you will reconsider your decision."

Three years of poverty flashed before my eyes.

I took a deep breath and typed out an email to the listed address. "I've made my decision, Professor Donovan."

…

Late at night, while lying on the damp floor, I tapped into Steven's live stream without even realizing it. On the screen, he was lazily lounging on a designer couch, with a glass of red wine in his hand.

"Guys, I made it out!" Steven laughed into the camera. "That basement is unlivable. Mold on the walls, a leaking toilet, and cockroaches all over the floor… But that's the only way to prove she really loves me."

My body started trembling uncontrollably as I watched the smug curve of his mouth.

The live stream comments flew by.

"Mad respect, Mr. Delaney! Bet your broke girlfriend's crying by candlelight right now."

"The show's getting boring lately, Mr. Delaney. Isn't it time to spice things up and mess with her again?"

A familiar sneer tugged at Steven's lips as he swirled his wine. "Sure. Honestly, I'm getting a little bored, too."

"Get her to sell her blood!"

"Pretend you're terminally ill and see if she'll donate an organ!"

"Didn't she save up a million dollars for your startup fund? Hire someone to rob her."

My heart plummeted, my fingers involuntarily clenching tight at the blanket.

For the past three years, I had lived on as little as possible, saving every dollar I earned and putting it into the bank as Steven's startup fund.

He knew exactly how hard I'd earned that money.

They came from the tears I swallowed when customers harassed me at the dive bar. They were gathered from my cracked, bleeding skin from washing piled-up beer glasses in the dead of winter. They were also scavenged from the meals I skipped daily, eating only once just to save a little more.

"That's a great idea!" Steven suddenly shot up straight, eyes lit up. "I'll gather a few guys together to put on a show tomorrow!"

Tears spilled onto my phone uncontrollably the moment the screen went dark.

I recalled how I'd taken three jobs at once last winter, just to make more money.

One night, as I got off work at 3:00 am, I slipped on an icy road and ended up smashing my knee open. But that was also the day my bank balance finally crossed six figures.

Suppressing my tears, I forced a smile, took a photo, and sent it to Steven.

He'd praised me for doing a good job, then turned around and posted a screenshot of my stupid grin in the group chat.

Steven wrote, "A hundred thousand dollars is nothing. The necklace I bought Selena today cost ten times that."

…

The next morning, the door was kicked open just as I finished getting ready for work.

A man with a slash scar across his face dragged Steven in, throwing him at my feet. "I heard you're the one willing to pay off the Delaneys' debts. Perfect. He still owes me 100 thousand dollars. Hurry and pay up now!"

Steven's face was badly bruised. He collapsed to the floor and started playing his part. "Please, give me a few more days!"

"A few more days, my foot!" Scarface swung his baton and smashed the breakfast I just made. "If you can't pay up, I'll take one of your legs instead!"

Trembling, Steven turned his helpless gaze toward me.

It was just like three years ago.

I started shaking. Not out of fear, but because of how shocked I was at the show Steven had put on.

He'd really put in the work when it came to lying to me.

Just as Scarface and his crew were about to start trashing the apartment, I suddenly pulled out a bank card. "There's 100 thousand dollars on this. Is that enough?"

Steven froze, even forgetting to keep up his act. "Have you gone mad, Mel? This is the startup fund you saved for me. You can't give it to them!"

He lunged at me, grabbing my wrist like he'd lost his mind.

However, I tossed the card onto the floor, near Scarface's feet. I even added on, "The PIN is 888888."

The room fell completely silent.

Steven's expression went rigid. He stared at me in disbelief, completely forgetting to keep up his act by now. "So, you're just giving it away like that? Have you lost your mind, Melanie? You're just handing money away when someone asks you for it?

"That's the money you worked your ass off for! Why didn't you just go on your knees and beg them? It'd be done with as long as you humble yourself and beg for forgiveness!"

Steven grabbed my head and slammed it down toward the floor.

Digging my fingers into my palms, I suppressed my tears and said, "I'm calling the police if you don't leave right now."

The thugs exchanged glances. Eventually, Scarface picked up the bank card and walked out.

The moment the door slammed shut, Steven kicked over a chair in rage. "Are you stupid? That's 100 thousand dollars! You should've begged them not to take it at the very least!"

I slowly looked up and reached out to touch the bruise on his face, but he jerked away sharply.

"Money will never matter more than you to me," I replied.

It was as if something had caught in Steven's throat. He froze, then turned and stormed out without another word.

I let out a bitter laugh as I watched his retreating back. I knew that his live stream comments had to be blowing up right now.

The whole performance was staged just so they could watch me humiliate myself, begging on the ground just to hold onto the startup fund even if it meant losing my dignity.

But now, I have ruined their show.

I opened the live stream. Sure enough, Steven was complaining.

"This woman must have gone mad today. She actually handed the money over just like that! But this also proves she really loves me, or she wouldn't have given the money so easily. Don't worry, guys. I've still got ways to test her," he said.

Steven ended the live stream.

I didn't know what he meant, but it was time to end this farce. I returned to the basement and started packing.

My belongings weren't much, with only two sets of clothes, my acceptance letter, and the only family portrait I'd always kept with me. That was the only thing my parents left behind after the car accident.

The door was pushed open just as I finished packing up.

Seven or eight well-dressed men and women followed Steven in, holding cakes and gift boxes in their hands. The looks they gave me were openly mocking.

"Happy birthday, Mel! I even brought a few colleagues over to celebrate with you," Steven said.

A woman dressed in a Chanel dress covered her mouth, her eyes flicking over my unwashed hair and the pilled sweater I was wearing. "So you're Steven's girlfriend? You're… really something."

The others stifled their laughter, but my eyes remained fixed on the woman.

I knew who she was.

Selena Smith was the Delaney family's intended match for Steven's marriage. She was also the same woman he'd been holding in his arms in the live stream.

I caught a whiff of her expensive perfume. It clashed violently with the beer smell clinging to me and with the damp, moldy odor that came from living in the basement for too long.

They wandered around the basement as if they were touring the zoo, snapping photos of the moldy walls and leaking ceiling.

"Why is this mattress so hard? You're really cruel to yourself, Steven," someone commented.

Out of my line of sight, Steven slipped an arm around Selena's waist. "She doesn't mind it hard. She clings to me every night."

The room erupted in hoots and teasing. They started egging him on to spill more details.

But this wasn't their luxury home but a dilapidated basement. Every word carried clearly into my ears even with a wall between us.

Humiliated, I fled and locked myself in the bathroom.