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.

"It's impossible… Mr. Quinton is not that kind of person!" I insisted.

Myra let out a cold laugh. "Even with solid proof, you're still refusing to admit it? Then tell me, why would he go to a hotel? To fix a Maybach there?"

I suddenly shoved Myra's phone away.

"He was delivering food! That car… It just happened to pass by!" I retorted loudly.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, making me look both pitiful and stubborn. "I won't let you slander him!"

Ignoring Myra's mocking laughter, I stormed out of the dormitory.

That evening, Henry came as usual in that old, beaten-up Geely to pick me up from work.

He had changed back into his shabby clothes, and there was even a faint sour smell on him.

The moment I got into the car, I didn't even bother fastening my seatbelt. Instead, I lunged at him, grabbed his collar, and buried my face against the side of his neck, taking in a deep inhale.

Henry stiffened at once. "What are you doing? Are you getting horny or something?"

I ignored him and continued checking for any trace of perfume.

Fortunately, I only picked up the scent of smoke and sweat.

I released him, choosing not to ask about the Maybach or bring up the hotel. Instead, I took an envelope out of my bag. It was thick and packed tightly.

It was my first internship salary, totaling two thousand dollars.

I placed it into his hands.

"Mr. Quinton, this is for you," I said.

Henry frowned as he pinched the envelope. "What do you mean by this?"

I kept my head down, nervously fidgeting with my fingers.

"Stop taking those exhausting part-time jobs. They don't pay much, but at least it's clean money. I can eat less. I don't need makeup, and I can wear old clothes."

I looked up at him earnestly and continued, "I can support you. Really."

Henry stared at the two thousand dollars in his hand.

For him, it wasn't even enough to buy a single cigar. Yet as he looked at me, there was, for the first time, a flicker of hesitation.

"Sam, what exactly are you after?" he asked.

He grabbed my chin and forced me to meet his gaze.

"I've got no money, no house, and I'm an ex-convict. I've also got a terrible temper. With your looks, you could easily end up with a rich heir. Why are you staying with me and putting yourself through this?"

I didn't answer him immediately. Instead, I leaned my face into his rough palm like a kitten clinging to its owner.

After a long moment, I finally mumbled, "I like that you're a little rough around the edges. I like that you don't always bother to shower, and I like the way you still shield me from the wind, even when you're scolding me. Those rich guys look at me like I'm an object, but you look at me like I'm a person."

In truth, Henry looked at me like I was an idiot, but my words still managed to move him. In that instant, I had completely hooked him, tugging at both his pride and his protective instincts.

He released me, said nothing, and lit a cigarette in silence. In the haze of smoke, he pulled me into his arms. His movements were a little stiff, but firm.

"You idiot," he muttered.

I rested against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat.

From an angle he could not see, my gaze turned cold as I caught a glimpse of his wristwatch—a Celestara collection piece from Galaxia, worth over two million dollars.

…

I knew that Henry's real birthday was next week, and that it was also the day he would officially take over the family business and become the CEO of Quinton Group.

I took leave from work, telling them that I was going back to my hometown to visit relatives. In reality, I went to the black market in Solderton, wearing a cap and a mask.

I sold the only valuable thing I owned, which was the gold bracelet my grandmother had left me. It was the most expensive item I had.

With the money, I also took out several online loans using my ID, scraping together five thousand dollars.

I ran through the city's high-end boutiques and bought a ready-made suit. It wasn't custom-tailored, but it was the best I could afford. To pay for it, I would be living on instant Mac and Cheese for the next year while repaying my debt.