Sheena lowered her voice as she looked at my expressionless face.

"Stop pretending. I'm not joking. Take this money—buy a decent place to live, get a better car, find an easier job, or start a small business."

"Stop driving for ride-hailing apps. It's too exhausting, and it's not something you should be doing."

I shook my head, my gaze drifting past her, landing on the mottled bark of the old locust tree in the distance.

"Thanks, but no. I like it this way."

"Charles!"

Her voice suddenly rose, making the stall owner nearby glance over before lowering her head again and returning to work.

Sheena seemed to realize she had lost control. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice once more.

"Don't be stubborn. You know exactly what kind of life you're living now."

"This three million means nothing to me."

"Just take it as... take it as a complete end to our past relationship."

"We're even, okay?"

Clear and settled.

Those words were like an extremely thin needle, gently pricking a corner of memory that had long been sealed away.

Five years ago, the final round of a university debate.

The topic was whether technological development necessarily leads to the alienation of human emotions.

As the main speaker for the affirmative side, I was fully prepared and brimming with confidence.

The opposing team's main speaker was a girl with a neat ponytail and a calm, composed expression.

During the free debate session, my teammates and I launched fierce attacks, presenting carefully prepared data and cases one after another.

When it was her turn, she didn't directly refute the statistics.

Instead, she told a story.

An elderly resident in her hometown lived alone. Her children were away, and she suffered from constant melancholy and illness.

Through a simple companion app developed by community volunteers, she learned to make video calls.

Being able to speak to her grandson daily brought smiles to her face and improved her health.

Her delivery was calm, without flowery words—just plain, sincere narration.

Yet the warmth emerging from everyday life instantly captured the audience's attention.

"Technology is a tool," she concluded, her gaze clear.

"The tool itself is neither warm nor cold. What matters is the heart of the person using it."

"When we use technology to bridge gaps and connect people, it doesn't create indifference—it becomes a different form of companionship and care."

At that moment, it felt as if all the lights on the stage focused on her.

I forgot my prepared rebuttal, staring at her in awe.

Not because she was beautiful, but because of the light in her eyes.

In the circles I was used to—full of wealth and superficiality—I rarely saw anything so real.

I was captivated. I pursued her relentlessly, using every method I could imagine.

Expensive gifts, carefully orchestrated "chance encounters," grand declarations that stirred the entire campus...

To me, they were just ordinary tactics.

To Sheena, they were overwhelming, even burdensome.

She saw me as a typical rich heir, amusing myself with a regular girl for fun.

So she rejected me decisively, even avoiding me whenever possible.

But the more she resisted, the stronger my determination became.

Looking back now, it was almost a borderline obsession.

I even used connections to "dissuade" other boys who liked her.

After a year of relentless pursuit, I finally won her over.

To ease her psychological burden, I suggested we start a business together after graduation.

Half the shares each, sharing risks and profits equally.

Sheena thought about it for a long time before finally agreeing.

In the beginning, the company consisted of just the two of us and a part-time assistant.

She handled the core planning and execution, while I took care of external relations and resource connections.

When the company stabilized and began to take shape, I proposed to her.

She cried—then smiled and nodded.

I thought that was the future I wanted.

I even started planning how to gradually pull away from my family, from the endless social obligations and power games I had grown sick of.

I imagined living a simple life with Sheena, running our company together, building something of our own.

Then everything changed—without warning.

Her childhood friend returned from overseas.

His name was Cooper.

He began appearing frequently, inserting himself into our lives again and again.

Sheena believed he meant well, that it was just concern between old friends.

But to me, his intentions were painfully obvious—barely concealed desire.

Arguments followed.

She said I was paranoid, that I had become no different from the arrogant rich heir who once relied on power and intimidation.

I said she couldn't see through Cooper's motives, that she didn't understand the importance of boundaries.

The cracks between us widened.

Until the night of the engagement party.

Cooper got drunk—and kissed Sheena in front of everyone.

Months of suppressed rage shattered my reason in an instant.

I rushed forward and broke his leg—cleanly and brutally.

My family tried to suppress the incident, but they couldn't bury it completely.

Sheena asked me to apologize to Cooper, to find a way to settle things privately, but I refused.

I even swore I would kill him.

My father was so furious that he publicly declared I was disowned from the Ramirez family—cut off permanently.

Before I went to prison, Sheena didn't come to see me.

She only had someone deliver a letter.

She said she would wait for me. She told me to reform myself properly.

Less than a month later, I received another piece of news.

She and Cooper had registered their marriage.

"We're even..."

I repeated the words slowly, the corner of my mouth lifting into a faint curve that could hardly be called a smile.

"Sheena, that line was drawn seven years ago."

She froze.

"Take the money back," I said calmly. "I don't need it. This life is my own choice, and I'll earn my own living."

"It's hard, yes—but it's clean. And it lets me sleep at night."

"As for the past..." I paused briefly. "That's already behind us. You chose your life. I chose mine."

"We've been even for a long time now."

Sheena stared at me, as if searching my face for even the slightest trace of pretense—resentment, regret, bitterness.

She found none. Her fingers slowly loosened around the bank card.

"You've really changed, Charles."

I smiled faintly. "People always do."

She hesitated for a long time, but in the end, she still let me walk her home.

On the way, the rain began to fall again, soft and steady.

As we passed through the narrow, slippery alleys of the old district, she walked slowly.

The air was filled with the damp, earthy scent of rain-soaked walls, mixed with the aroma of stew drifting from some unseen kitchen.

"Charles."

She suddenly stopped, her voice sounding distant through the rain.

"Do you... regret it?"

I answered slowly, my tone steady. "No."

She turned to look at me, her gaze complicated.

"I'm an adult," I continued as I walked on, my voice even. "I'm responsible for the things I've done."

"Responsible?"

"Don't you think the price was too high?"

"All because of one moment of impulse—you broke Cooper's leg!"

"And the result was seven years in prison, and losing your... fiancée."

"You've gone from being the heir of the Ramirez family to... this state."

Sheena didn't finish her sentence, but the meaning was clear enough.

I remained silent, saying nothing.

The alley was quiet, filled only with the sound of rain and our footsteps.

My silence seemed to soften her.

She reached into her exquisite handbag and pulled out the bank card again, shoving it into my hand without asking.

"Take it."

"Stop being stubborn. I'm begging you, alright?"

I didn't take it.

The card slipped across my fingers and fell onto the damp ground.

She froze, bent down to pick it up, and pressed it into my hand again—this time with force.

"Charles, just look at yourself!"

"You eat at street stalls, wear faded old clothes, live in a tiny, leaky attic, and drive for over ten hours a day just to make a few coins!"

"How long are you going to keep pretending, keeping up that pathetic sense of pride?"

Her breath was slightly ragged, her chest rising and falling as her eyes bore into mine.

It was as if she wanted to burn a hole right through me.

"Do you know? With your current situation, it'll be hard to even find a decent girlfriend!"

"Who would want to spend their life with a broke guy like you?"

I looked at her flushed cheeks, the thin sheen of moisture in her eyes.

Once, such a gaze would have softened me, made my heart flutter.

Now, it stirred nothing—only calm. Not a ripple.

I was about to respond when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out. The screen lit up, displaying a message.

[Honey, our baby is almost done with school. Don't forget to pick her up from kindergarten.]

The sender was saved as "Wife."

My thumb paused over the screen. Before I could put the phone away, Sheena's eyes fell on the message.

Time seemed to stop.

The agitation, anger, and that condescending pity on her face drained away like the tide receding.

All that remained was shock and disbelief.

Rain dripped from her hair, unnoticed.

"You..."

"You're married? And... have a child?!"