“Ethan may not come from a rich family like yours,” Sophie said coldly, “but at least he worked his way up from a small town to get into this university. He’s better than you spoiled brats born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Don’t you see how hard he’s worked?”

Listening to her repeatedly harp on about “money” and watching her bend over backwards to defend Ethan, I felt nothing but disgust.

If it weren’t for my family’s support, she’d still stuck in that rundown trailer park, probably pressured into marrying someone twice her age just to help her family scrape by.

If I hadn’t persuaded my parents to give her extra living expenses, if I hadn’t constantly bought her luxury goods and helped her build this false image of being a refined young lady from a wealthy background—where would she be now?

Yet here she was—ungrateful, repulsed by the very money that changed her life. And worst of all, she used that money to help Ethan, knowing full well he was trying to replace me.

The memory of her clinging to Ethan in my past life made my stomach churn.

Without hesitation, I opened my phone and sent a message to my father:

"Starting today, stop all support for Sophie. She and Ethan can work their part-time jobs together to build their future."

While I was still tapping on my phone, Sophie grew more agitated.

“Julian, are you even listening? Don’t you think you’ve done something wrong?”

She crossed her arms and snapped, “I, Sophie, can’t be with a domineering, unreasonable guy like you. If you still have a conscience, you should apologize to Ethan—and compensate him. Otherwise, I—”

“What? What will you do?” I asked, my voice calm.

Thinking I was flustered, she raised her voice dramatically, “If you don’t apologize, I’ll break up with you!”

In the past, the mere threat of a breakup would’ve terrified me. After all, she once saved me from drowning, and I’d always treated her with devotion out of gratitude.

But not anymore.

Not after I died, a strange, lonely death—betrayed by the very people I cherished.

“Then break up,” I said.

I looked up from my phone, locking eyes with her.

“But since you hate that I use money to pressure others, you must really look down on my wealth. In that case, return everything I’ve spent on you. All of it. Every dollar. The total is 42,000. Transfer it to me now.”

Her expression shifted. At first, startled by the breakup, she relaxed when I brought up money—thinking I was just throwing a tantrum.

After all, I’d always been generous. She believed there was no way I’d seriously ask for it back.

With a fake air of confidence, she said, “Fine. I’ll pay you back. I don’t need your money.”

But Ethan’s face darkened. The man who copied me using my own money couldn’t stand the idea of giving any of it back.

“No! Julian, what kind of man are you? Asking a girl to return money spent during a relationship?” he barked. “Besides, didn’t Sophie spend anything on you? Maybe she gave more than you think. Are you trying to take advantage of her now?”

Sophie looked uneasy. She knew how much she spent on me, and it wasn’t much—but she still pretended to be generous.

“It’s fine, Ethan,” she said, putting on a noble act. “Julian is my boyfriend. If he wants the money, I’ll give it to him. I’m not that petty.”

She winked at me, clearly hoping I’d drop the subject.

In the past, I would’ve let it go—for her so-called “dignity.”

But not anymore.

I opened my gallery and pulled up photos of the gifts she’d given me.

“You gave me a single rose in May 2023. A silver earring in August—which you wore yourself. And a handmade ceramic bowl in October.”

I looked up at her, voice steady.

“That’s everything you gave me in our three-year relationship. Combined, they’re probably worth less than 70 dollars.”

The color drained from her face.

I tilted my head slightly. “Sophie, should I list every transaction in front of our classmates? Or would you prefer I forward the receipts to the class group chat, so everyone can decide whether or not you're a gold digger?”

Sophie’s eyes froze for a moment as she studied my expression.

She realized I was serious this time. But even so, she refused to apologize in front of everyone.

Her tone turned cold as she gritted her teeth.

“Fine. It’s just 300,000. I’ll transfer it.”

She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen a few times, pretending to complete the transaction.

“I’ve sent it. Don’t ever talk to me again!”

Despite her performance, no transfer notification came through.

Ethan, unaware she was faking it, reached over excitedly to check her phone so he could withdraw the money.

But after scanning for a while, confusion crept over his face.

“Wait… Sophie, I don’t see any transfer record. Which app did you use? Which bank? Tell me—I’ll get the money out.”

I nearly laughed out loud. Sophie’s face flushed crimson. She snapped at him in a panic:

“Shut up!”

She tried to drag him away, but I stepped forward and blocked them.

“If you really wanted to transfer the money, just do it honestly. Why the show? I haven’t received anything. So what are you trying to pull here?”

“You look down on my money, but still enjoy eating soft rice? Hypocrisy much?”

Just to be clear, I held up my phone and opened all the major payment apps, showing everyone there were no incoming transfers.

Sophie hadn’t expected me to completely strip her dignity like this in public. Her expression stiffened.

Then she forced a smile.

“It’s probably a network delay. The money didn’t go through. I’ll send it again.”

This time, the payment notification chimed loudly.

[You have received 42,000 dollars]

She looked like she’d just swallowed poison, but still tried to keep her pride:

“See? I don’t care about your money. I can buy whatever I want with or without you.”

I smiled as I checked the balance.

“Good. The money’s in. Now we’re done. Clean break. From now on, we have nothing to do with each other.”

I turned to leave with Liam.

But Sophie grabbed my arm.

“Wait! You haven’t apologized to Ethan yet! You still owe him an explanation for isolating him!”

Her voice rang out in front of the whole class.

Ah, right—Ethan hadn’t finished smearing my name yet.

Thankfully, I used to dine in private rooms at my family’s restaurant, and there were always surveillance cameras running.

I made a quick call and soon after, posted a video clip to the class group chat. It showed all four of us dining together—no one left out.

“If you’re wondering whether we excluded him, just check the video in the group.”

With that, I walked out with my roommates.

By the time we arrived at the salon, the class group chat was already exploding:

[Seriously? He’s been crying poor this whole time while freeloading off others? Gross.]

[Forget Julian Reed—if I saw someone like Ethan coming, I’d cross the street.]

Ethan, seeing the backlash, sent a crying emoji and claimed I faked the video out of spite.

But no one was buying it.

His act had collapsed.

He started spamming my phone with messages, begging me to explain and “clear things up.”

Not long after, Sophie messaged me too:

[Julian, I’m so disappointed in you. Just a little misunderstanding, and you had to slander Ethan like that?]

[He’s emotionally devastated. You need to apologize, return the 300,000, and transfer 100,000 more as compensation—or I’ll never forgive you. We’re over for good.]

Her righteous tone while asking for money was so ridiculous, I actually laughed.

Did she really think I was her personal ATM?

That’s when a memory suddenly resurfaced.

In my previous life, after Ethan started changing his hairstyle, hiring a personal trainer, and buying luxury brands, people had asked him how he could afford it all.

He always answered smugly, “From part-time work.”

I believed him—until I overheard him and Sophie whispering about how they’d milked me dry.

How he mocked me for being born lucky, all while sucking me dry without guilt.

Thinking about it again now ruined my good mood.

I typed a final reply and hit send:

“Get lost.”

Just as I was about to block Sophie for good, a new notification popped up—an intimate payment alert.

It was a charge from the hair salon.

My hand froze.

Anger surged through me as I opened the detailed transaction history. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the long list of charges.

Men’s underwear. Condoms. Restaurant bills. Hotel stays.

The earliest transaction dated back to March of last year.

So they had already started betraying me that early?

Without hesitation, I posted a screenshot directly in the class group and tagged Sophie.

[@Sophie] So this is how you’ve been using my intimate payment service? Keeping a man on the side while spending my money?

Before she could reply, I tagged Ethan too.

[@Ethan] Having fun? Happy now? A scumbag and a gold digger—what a perfect match.

I immediately unlinked the payment connection and began calling every business I’d ever recharged a membership card with.

Effective immediately, no one could use my name or money except me.

---

Meanwhile, Sophie had just paid for Ethan’s first perm using the intimate payment service—only to find the payment didn’t go through.

She thought it was a bug. Logged out, logged back in. Tried again.

Nothing.

The hairdresser grew suspicious, watching her every move like she might run off.

Ethan, oblivious, urged her under his breath.

“Sophie, come on. Just pay it first. I’ll make it up to you later.”

With no other choice, she switched to her personal account and paid with her own money.

When the confirmation beep sounded, Sophie let out a shriek.

“4,000?! For one haircut? Are you serious?! Ethan, were we scammed?!”

The stylist raised an eyebrow and sneered.

“This is a premium salon. 4,000 is standard. If you can’t afford it, don’t sit in the chair.”

Sophie’s face turned pale, then flushed with humiliation.

At that moment, her phone buzzed wildly—99+ unread group messages.

She nearly fainted.

She tried to message me in fury, but realized she’d been blocked.

---

I, on the other hand, was in a good mood, enjoying my new hairstyle.

Liam dyed his hair a bold blond. Noah went with a Morgan perm.

I chose a slicked-back style—clean, cool, and impossible to copy.

When I thought about Ethan’s face the next day, I almost laughed out loud. I nearly posted it to my Instagram story but held back. No need to tip him off too soon.

---

The next morning, just before class, I stepped into the corridor.

Someone called out my name—but it wasn’t directed at me.

I turned my head just in time to see one of the class committee members smiling… at Ethan’s back.

Ethan had gotten his hair permed to mimic mine again.

He turned around with a smug grin. “Hey, I’m not Julian. Guess I just look too much like him, huh? You’re not the only one who’s been confused today.”

I walked over, eyes cold, and cut in:

“Alike? You and me? Really, Ethan? I’m taller, my skin’s lighter, and my eyes aren’t tiny slits. Let’s not lie to ourselves, okay?”

The class rep blinked, finally noticing my new look. His eyes widened.

“Oh wow—yeah, you two don’t look alike at all. I just saw the same American front fringe and got confused.”

Then he clapped me on the shoulder, beaming.

“But dude, your new hairstyle is amazing. Way cooler than before. Who’s your stylist? Hook me up—I want the same treatment.”

Other classmates chimed in:

“Yeah, you look like Beckham with that slick-back. It suits you perfectly.”

“This is definitely a custom style. If anyone tries to copy you now, it’ll be obvious who came first.”

Ethan’s face turned bright red. His mouth twisted, and he stomped his foot.

“What are you trying to say? That I copied him? That I want to look like him? What’s so great about being a spoiled rich second gen anyway?!”

But even as he ranted, his envious gaze lingered on my hair.

“It’s so ugly. Who told you to get a slicked-back hairstyle? It doesn’t suit you at all!”

Ethan’s voice dripped with bitterness, but I couldn’t even be bothered to get angry.

Instead, I casually ran my fingers through my hair and smiled smugly.

“Oh? I happen to like it.”

I brushed past him, but he chased after me again.

“Sophie won’t like this new look! She liked the old you better—you should change it back, quickly!”

Afraid I wouldn’t believe him, he dragged Sophie over and shoved her in front of me.

“Right, Sophie? Tell him. You liked the way he looked before, didn’t you?”

Sophie looked at me, her ears turning red, lips trembling like she was about to seize. She said nothing.

Ethan, frustrated, shoved me and stormed off toward the classroom.

“You’re insane! If something’s wrong with you, go get treatment!”

I calmly pushed him back. “And if something’s wrong with you, go back to the factory settings.”

---

During the break, Noah returned from the restroom and leaned in close, whispering:

“I just caught Ethan on the phone—he scheduled a tattoo appointment this afternoon. Guess what design he gave the artist? The one you sent in our group chat two days ago.”

He glanced around and lowered his voice further.

“If I hadn’t accidentally glanced at his screen, I wouldn’t have known he was still spying on you.”

That sparked a little idea in my head.

I had originally planned to block him and be done with it—but this was too good to pass up.

“That’s great,” I said. “Maybe I should change my tattoo now.”