The sludge reeked—wet decay and floating trash swirling in brown-black water.

"Let go!" I thrashed, gagging as the filth hit my throat. "I have to find the ring!"

"You're gonna die over some dumb ring?" Jack shouted, yanking me toward shore.

Sharp stones tore at my knees, but I kept digging through the muck, refusing to quit.

Up on the bank, the woman crossed her arms, smirking. "Jack, really? You jumped into this sewage pit for HER?"

Jack's face twisted.

He dragged me out and slapped me, hard. "Can you stop humiliating yourself?!"

I collapsed onto the muddy bank, soaked and shaking, hair dripping filth.

My fingers were empty.

The ring—gone for good.

"Bella..." Jack's voice softened. He crouched beside me, reaching out. "Stop. I'll get you a new one, okay? Diamonds, gold—whatever you want."

I looked at him—his designer shirt stained yellow, his pricey watch full of sludge.

But his eyes? No guilt. Just annoyance dressed up as pity.

"Jack," I rasped, "you'll never get it. Some things money can't buy."

I stood there, drenched, freezing water sliding down my skin.

The woman strutted closer, heels clicking, lip curled. "Jack, THIS is who you've been with for three years?"

And just like that, a memory hit—three years back, pouring rain.

Jack stood outside my skewer joint, drenched, holding a vanilla latte.

"You said you liked this flavor. I went to every store to find it," he'd said, eyes shining.

That same Jack now looked at me like I was dirt.

"Jack..." My voice shook. "Was all of that fake?"

The woman laughed, sharp and smug. "Don't tell me you actually said 'I love you' to her?"

She tilted her head, eyes raking me. "A street food seller? Seriously?"

Jack's face went stone. He suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Bella, that's enough."

He dropped his voice. "Stop making a scene."

I stared at him—same face, but it felt like looking at a stranger.

Last winter flashed in my head. I was burning with a 102 fever, still opened the joint.

He'd looked wrecked. "What if something happened to you?"

Now his grip just hurt.

The boy who once cried over me? He never existed.

"Do you remember..." I choked, "you said you'd give me a home?"

The woman snorted. "A home? Jack, don't tell me you actually showed her the one you called your 'wedding house'?"

Jack froze.

A sharp stab hit my chest.

Even that was part of the act?

"He said once we got the house back, we'd get married."

When he pointed and said, 'This is where the crib goes'—was he laughing inside the whole time?

"Bella," Jack said gently, reaching to wipe my face, "I meant every promise, but—"

"But what?" I pulled back. "You couldn't give me status, just cash?"

Jack yanked at his tie, irritated. "Bella, that's not how the world works."

And that's when it hit—deep, sharp, gut-level.

All those home-cooked meals, the vitamins I bought instead of my own meds?

Meant nothing. Less than nothing.

I turned to leave.

The woman called out, "Wait."

She pulled out a wad of cash and tossed it at my feet. "For your ring."

The bills landed in the filthy water.

I bent down, picked them up one by one, and hurled them in her face.

"I don't want your dirty money."

Then I turned and walked toward the road.

Jack's voice exploded behind me. "Bella! Don't you dare walk away!"

I didn't flinch. Just kept walking.

Straight to the airport.

What Jack didn't know?

I'm the heiress of the Beaumont family—the powerhouse behind Beaumont Group.

He faked being broke to screw with me?

Fine.

I'll show him what it means to go really bankrupt.