Her face turned cold. "This is your fault. You just had to hesitate."

"You don't love me enough. This was a test. If you hadn't hesitated, you would have gotten it."

It was the first time Sophia had gotten mad since we got together. She left in a huff.

And honestly? What she said made sense. I'd overthought it and missed my chance.

I pulled out my phone and dialed.

"Has the limited-edition LV bag arrived? Pull out a black one for me."

That night, I brought the bag and asked her out.

In the coffee shop, we sat facing each other. She kept her head turned away, tear tracks still visible on her cheeks.

"John Weiss, do you think I'm with you for your family's savings?"

"I'm telling you—I, Sophia Finch, am not that desperate. I can afford that bag myself. I just wanted to see your attitude!"

"Someone like me—what kind of rich guy couldn't I get? Why would I be so devoted to you?"

She started crying again.

I quickly opened the gift box and pushed the bag toward her.

"Sophie, don't be upset. I got it."

She stared at the bag, eyes going wide.

She picked it up, and you could tell she loved it.

Then she smiled through her tears. "You can't even find this online anymore. How did you get one?"

"This bag is so rare—you definitely paid extra, right?"

Seeing that she'd forgiven me, I said something cheesy for once.

"You deserve the best."

That night, we talked for hours.

From the bag to houses. In everything she said, she was thinking of me.

She said if a new place was too expensive when we got married, we could start with a secondhand house.

Seeing her consider my situation like that, I felt genuinely happy.

We talked until eleven before I took her home.

But the next day, while I was at work, Sophia showed up downstairs.

I went down in a good mood—but her face was ice-cold.

Confused, I asked what was wrong.

"John Weiss, let's break up. I really can't stand you anymore!"

I was stunned. We'd been so happy last night. Why break up now?

My mind raced. Did she think the bag was fake? Given what she knew about my "status," maybe she doubted it was real.

Should I come clean? Tell her that getting this bag was nothing for someone like me?

I asked carefully: "Sophie, why break up? Is it the color of the bag? I can exchange it."

But she twisted my words.

"I bring up breaking up and you bring up the bag? Are you trying to get it back?"

"You're disgusting."

She stormed off without looking back. She never explained why.

I really liked her. After this, I couldn't focus on work at all.

I called in my assistant and asked him to look into whether Sophia had run into any trouble recently.

He worked fast. He didn't know about my relationship with her.

He said she hadn't run into any trouble—but her social circle abroad was extremely complicated.

Always pretending. Dating as a cover to squeeze luxury goods out of boyfriends, then flipping them for cash.

But those sweet moments from the past few days kept replaying in my head—the way she said she thought of me in everything. I couldn't bring myself to believe it.

I had to find her. I needed answers.

I bombarded her with texts and calls. Nothing. Radio silence.

Finally, I switched to a different number. Only then did she pick up.

My voice came out sharper than I intended. "Sophie, why are you breaking up with me? Just tell me the reason."

She sounded like I was wasting her time.

"Do I really need to spell it out?"

"I stayed up all night thinking about it. I asked you to buy me one bag and you hemmed and hawed like it was going to kill you. What kind of future would I have with someone like that?"

I exhaled slowly. So that was it. A reason I could fix.

I apologized, over and over. Promised I'd buy her the same bag in white if she'd just calm down.

She laughed—cold, mocking.

"What are you even talking about? There are only ten of those bags in the entire world. What, you're going to track down some high-end knockoff to fool me?"

"Or wait—is this about the bag? Now that I'm dumping you, you actually want it back?"

"Fine. Come get it then. You pathetic loser."

"That's not—" I scrambled to explain. "Sophie, I gave it to you. I'm not asking for it back."

"I just think there's been a misunderstanding. Can we at least talk face-to-face?"

My pleading got me nothing but ice.

"John, can we just end this with some dignity?"

"Don't make me walk away thinking you're nothing but a pathetic, disgusting loser."

Click.

Anxiety clawed at my chest. This relationship—I'd fought so hard for it. How could it just end like this, with nothing resolved?

I grabbed my bike and rode to find her. I needed answers.

That's when I passed a secondhand luxury shop—and spotted the exact bag I'd given her yesterday, displayed front and center.

My girlfriend was inside, chatting with the owner, negotiating the price.

Rage flooded through me. The woman I'd given my heart to had been playing me the whole time.

I shoved the door open, demanding an explanation.

But the owner's face lit up when he saw me. He rushed over, practically bowing.

"Mr. Weiss! What brings you here in person? Whatever catches your eye, I can have it delivered to your home. You really didn't need to trouble yourself."

Sophie froze. "Mr. Weiss? Which Mr. Weiss?"

The owner leaned toward her, lowering his voice. "Which one do you think? Mr. Weiss from Baoli Department Store."

Her jaw dropped. "You're saying he's the president of Baoli Department Store?"

"You just got back to the States, so you wouldn't know. Mr. Weiss is one of the most respected entrepreneurs in the area…"

She stared at me, completely stunned.