My cousin, Myra Walsh, leaves a voice message in the family group chat in a mean and uncouth manner.

"Mom, I'm not meeting that guy who drives a rundown car. One look at him tells me that he's a single pathetic loser."

She then kicks my chair. "Hey Sam, that useless piece of shit is a good match for you. Why don't you take my place on the blind date?"

I follow Myra's line of sight. There's an old-looking car parked outside, and the owner, Henry Quinton, is currently reclining against the car while smoking.

My entire family thinks he's just an ex-convict who has just gotten released from prison and is unable to land a job yet. I'm the only one who knows that's not the truth.

Last week, when I was carrying out my internship at a bank, I witnessed the bank manager inviting Henry into the vault. Apparently, the trail of numbers Henry has in his savings is as long as a phone number.

After putting on some makeup on my face to make me pure and innocent, I put on an oversized shirt before heading out of the apartment.

In the cold wind, I cower slightly from the cold as I hand a thermos flask over to Henry.

"Sir, Maya said she's not a match for you, so I'm here in her place."

Henry snuffs out his cigarette, his gaze fixing on my flapping hem for three seconds.

"Lass, if you want to be with me, you'll have to suffer tremendously in life."

"I'm willing to go through anything as long as I get to be with you."

That night, Maya flaunts photos of the bag a rich scion has given her. As for me, I've gone over to Henry's apartment.

When I opened the car door, a sharp, stale stench of cheap tobacco hit me in the face.

The passenger seat was coated in dust. It was as though the car had just been dragged out of a junkyard.

Henry Quinton gave me a sideways look. Holding a cigarette, he made no move to roll down the window.

I didn't frown. Instead, I took out a pack of wet wipes from my bag and carefully cleaned the seat. Only after that did I sit down obediently, placing my bag neatly on my lap like a grade schooler riding in a car for the first time.

Henry let out a cold laugh and flicked his finger.

A speck of burning ash dropped straight onto the hem of my white dress, scorching a tiny black mark into the fabric.

He waited for me to scream, or at least show some disgust.

But I only paused for a second. Then I quickly pulled out a tissue, not to wipe my dress, but to brush off his pant leg instead.

"Mr. Quinton, be careful," I said softly. "Don't burn yourself."

His hand froze midair, and a flicker of surprise flashed through his eyes.

He suddenly slammed his foot on the gas, and the beat-up Geely roared like a tractor.

Instead of slowing down over the speed bump, he sped up.

The jolt threw me upward, causing my head to knock against the roof. I clenched my teeth and didn't make a sound.

Finally, the car stopped at the entrance of a run-down alley in the slums.

Dirty water pooled on the ground, and the walls were covered with scrawled ads for fake IDs and drain-cleaning services.

"We're here. Get out."

He led me into a tiny, single-story shack barely over a hundred square feet. Empty bottles littered the floor, and the air was thick with the smell of mold. The only piece of furniture was a darkened, stained mattress.

He pointed at it and commanded, "Sit."

Without hesitation, I dropped onto it and reached down to set a fallen bottle upright.

"With a little cleaning, this place could feel pretty cozy," I said, looking up at him, my smile bright and full of admiration. "It faces south, too. Great lighting."

Henry said nothing. He turned and shut the door behind him with a sharp click.

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

He stepped closer, and his tall frame swallowed me in shadow.

A gleaming switchblade slammed onto the rickety wooden table beside me.

The blade glinted coldly, hovering only an inch from my hand.

"I'll be honest with you," he said, bending down until his face was right in front of mine. His breath reeked of alcohol.

"I just got out. I owe millions to loan sharks, and I've got enemies everywhere. If you stick with me, you could get hacked to death any day. Scared?"

My body trembled violently, and tears instantly welled up in my eyes.

It was a visceral, instinctive fear, but I didn't back away.

Instead, I reached out with a shaking hand. Not to push him away, but to grab the handle of the knife.

I snapped the blade of the knife shut and pulled it back.

Henry froze.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked up, and my voice came out choked with emotion.

"I'm scared, but I'm more scared that you'll hurt yourself with the knife. If you owe money, we can pay it back together. I've got hands and feet. I can take care of you."

Henry stared at me intently, as if trying to find a crack in my expression. But he failed.

Even I was almost convinced by the sincerity in my eyes.

As someone who had worked in a bank, I knew the first rule of training all too well—when dealing with a major client, you had to love him more than his own mother ever would.

The ferocity in Henry's gaze faded, replaced by something unreadable, almost amused.

He yanked open a greasy drawer and casually tossed something at me.

"Catch."

I scrambled to catch it, and when I looked closer, I saw that it was a ring bound with a red string, set with a red stone about the size of a fingernail. It looked poorly made, like something from a roadside stall.

"I got it for five dollars from a roadside vendor," he said. "Take it as an engagement token. If you think it's ugly, just throw it away."

He then lit a cigarette and turned his back on me.

I lowered my head and looked at the stone.

It was a deep crimson, rough ruby, with a rich, saturated color and a vivid, fiery glow.

I didn't need it cut or polished to know that it was worth a fortune. Only the richest of the rich would toss something like this into a drawer to gather dust.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, but my face broke into a bright, delighted smile.

I didn't care if it was dirty. I slipped it straight onto my finger and held it up toward the dim bulb above.

"It's beautiful! It's red like blood."

I ran over and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face against his vest that hadn't been washed in days.

"This is the most expensive gift I've ever received, Mr. Quinton. I'll wear it for life."

Henry's body stiffened, but he didn't push me away.

…

The next day at noon, I was eating a bowl of beef stew outside the company building.

Henry showed up.

He wore the same torn tank top, flip-flops, and an unshaven beard, looking as though he had just crawled out of a back alley.

The office workers around us instinctively covered their noses and detoured away, but I lit up like I had just seen a celebrity and waved excitedly.

"Mr. Quinton, over here!" I called out.

He walked up and sat across from me like he owned the place, casually resting his feet on the chair bar.

"This is what you're eating?"

"It's good," I said, pushing my bowl toward him. "Try it, Mr. Quinton."

Just then, my phone rang. It was my cousin, Myra Walsh, on a video call.

I answered without bothering to hide Henry.

On screen, she appeared fully made up, sitting in an upscale restaurant.

"Samantha Walsh, where are you?"

Her eyes landed on Henry in the background, and she immediately burst out laughing.

"Oh my God, isn't that the ex-con? Why is he dressed like a beggar? Sam, are you so broke that you can't even afford a meal? Do you want me to have Jasper send you a couple of hundred dollars?"

The man beside her flicked up his wrist, showing off a designer watch, and scoffed.

Henry continued eating his stew, his expression blank, acting as though he had heard nothing.

I turned on the speakerphone and cranked the volume up.

Several nearby tables started looking over.

I propped the phone on the table and glared at Myra.

"Watch your mouth, Myra. He's my boyfriend. Don't you dare talk about him like that."

Myra laughed so hard that she nearly cried.

"Boyfriend? A garbage-collector boyfriend? Sam, you're really hopeless."

I snatched the fork from Henry's hand and slammed it onto the table.

My eyes went red in an instant. My voice trembled, but I kept it steady.

"He may not have money right now, but he treats me well! I don't want your dirty money, and I don't want your branded watch either. In my eyes, Mr. Quinton is a thousand times more attractive than your rich playboy!"

Without waiting for her reply, I hung up the phone immediately.

Henry looked at me with a deep, unreadable gaze and asked, "Was it worth offending your relatives for an ex-con?"

I sniffed lightly, then grabbed his hand and pressed it against my cheek.

"As long as it's you, it's worth it."

Just as we finished dinner and stepped out of the small eatery, a red Ferrari roared up and screeched to a halt by the roadside.

The window rolled down, revealing Myra's smug face. In the driver's seat sat a blond-haired rich man. That man was Jasper Ceylon.

"Hey, so you're really begging here?" Myra remarked as she looped her arm through Jasper's, watching us as though she were watching a show.

Jasper looked Henry up and down and let out a contemptuous sneer. Then he pulled out a thick stack of cash, probably around a thousand dollars, and casually flicked it forward. The bills scattered through the air and struck Henry's face like falling petals.

"Hey, old man, my tire's dirty," Jasper drawled. "Clean it properly, and this is yours."

The bills landed on Henry's worn vest and then dropped to the ground, quickly getting stained with dust.

Myra clapped her hands in delight. "Sam, tell your convict to pick it up. That's enough for stew for a month!"

Henry stood there without moving. His fists tightened slightly at his sides.

I knew he was holding himself back. He was waiting for my reaction.

Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, I suddenly rushed forward. I grabbed the money from the ground, but instead of keeping it, I flung it straight back into Jasper's smug face.

"Do you think having money makes you so great?" I snapped.

The bills smacked against Jasper's face, and he froze.

I stepped in front of Henry, with my arms spread wide. My frame was thin, but I stood there like a wall.

"Take your filthy money and get lost! Don't underestimate someone just because they're young and struggling. I believe Mr. Quinton will be far richer and far more successful than you ever will!"

I shouted until my throat went raw, and tears streamed uncontrollably down my cheeks.

The surrounding crowd had already gathered to watch. Jasper felt humiliated and cursed under his breath as he tried to get out of the car and start a fight.

At that moment, Henry suddenly stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder.

He looked at Jasper coldly. There was no anger in his eyes, only a chilling indifference, like he was looking at a dead man.

Jasper inexplicably shivered. He spat out another curse, called us insane, then slammed on the accelerator and drove away.

Henry lowered his gaze to me, and a faint, amused smile tugged at his lips. "Don't underestimate someone just because they're young and struggling? I'm almost 40."

I turned around and wrapped my arms around his waist, wiping my tears against his shirt.

"Mr. Quinton, you're not old," I said firmly. "You're a high-potential asset."

That night, we received some news. Jasper's Ferrari was impounded by traffic police for suspected illegal modifications and license plate violations. His family company was also raided by tax authorities for inspection.

Myra, however, still refused to give up. On the third day, she sent me a photo. It was slightly blurry, but Henry's figure was clearly visible.

He was wearing a sharp suit, walking out of a five-star hotel, and bending slightly as he got into a Maybach with a license plate full of eights.

Myra also sent a voice message. "Sam, I was wrong about that so-called old loner. It turns out he's a gigolo. I knew that there was no way he could afford to support himself, so he must have been serving rich women instead. Sam, have you been with him, too? What if you catch something from him?"

My heart pounded violently as I stared at that photo.

That was his car. That was his true identity, but I couldn't show that I already knew.

Soon after, Myra came straight to the dormitory and shoved her phone right in front of my face.

"Have you seen it clearly now? This is your so-called high-potential asset."

The dorm mates murmured in low voices, looking at me with disdain.

I stared at the photo, and my hands started to tremble uncontrollably. My face turned deathly pale in an instant, and tears began to well up in my eyes.