For three years, I had been supporting a girl in all means, covering all her education and living expenses. But now, she’s flaunting designer brands and parades around in expensive heels, all while holding hands with my utterly useless boyfriend. She had the nerve to mock me. When she called me “unwanted and worthless,” I immediately cut off her financial support. The very next day, she was at my doorstep, begging for forgiveness.

——

“Uncle…”

She appeared again, the same girl who had tried to buy me off just the day before. But now, she was on her knees, clutching my leg, pleading desperately.

Never had she imagined that she would ever surrender to my dare to “say uncle”. Life sure has a twisted sense of humor. But let me take you back a few years to where this all began.

One day, feeling bored and idly surfing the internet, I stumbled upon a funding website filled with profiles of many students in need.

With some extra cash on hand and a whim in my heart, I decided to support one of them—a girl whose name caught my attention. Each month, I sent her a steady 1,370 dollars.

The organization kept me updated on her progress, and she seemed to be doing exceptionally well. By the time she took her college entrance exams, I was already a sophomore. When I heard she passed with flying colors, I sent her a little extra cash as a reward.

In my freshman year, I joined a board game club and met Simon Charles, the guy who would become my boyfriend. We spent a year together, enjoying the simple things. I never told him about my family's wealth—my mother often reminded me to keep a low profile when I was out and about, so I never revealed my true financial situation to anyone. He believed I was just an ordinary girl from the city. In reality, my family owns a significant portion of this city, and my father's money funded much of this private university.

When it was time for the freshmen to arrive, Simon asked me to help out at the welcome event. But I had strained my back playing golf the day before and decided to rest instead.

Simon, as the club president, spent the day helping new members move in and organizing the event. When I finally made it to the club the next day, there were plenty of new faces.

“Nikki, my cute little kitten!”

Every time Simon called me that, I couldn’t help but cringe.

“Please, Simon, drop the pet names. We’re not in high school anymore.”

When the others laid eyes were on us, Simon then introduced me, “This is Nicole Monroe, a sophomore from the Computer Science and one of our club’s senior members.”

I expected him to mention that I was his girlfriend, but he didn’t.

Even when some of the freshmen asked for my contact info, he remained indifferent.

It wasn’t until later when I returned to the dormitory that I realized Simon had caught the attention of several new female students at the event.

“I didn’t sign up for this drama when I agreed to date him.” I was disappointed.

Seeing all the posts about Simon on the Confession Wall gave me a headache. The truth is, the reason I started dating him was that we both got hooked on a role-playing game of murder mystery. I’m the kind of person who would easily invest emotionally, so I fell for the game and the player. When Simon confessed, I just went along with it.

I was still wondering whether I had fallen for the character he played in the game or the real Simon.

Sophomore year hit hard. To avoid getting a lecture from my father during my next visit home, I made sure to attend every class and keep up with my studies.

The school’s schedule was brutal, also rather poorly arranged. After a long day full of classes, I was exhausted and drained. “I need to have a word with Dad about these ridiculous schedules when I get home—such classes are hardly fit for university students.”

Scrolling through short videos on my phone, I was relaxing in bed and watching some muscle-bound men at a nearby bar, when suddenly my roommate, Rosie Ward, from the lower bunk started pounding on my bed frame, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

“Nikki, check this out!”

Without warning, Rosie thrust her glowing phone screen in front of me. The screen showed a picture of a couple kissing.

“Isn’t this your boyfriend? What’s he doing kissing someone else? And why is it all over the Confession Wall?”

I grabbed my glasses from the side of my pillow and immediately recognized the jacket in the photo—it was a high-end, custom-designed piece I had my friend bring back from abroad. There was only one in the world, I had specially ordered for Simon’s birthday a couple of months ago, and now it was worn by the man in the photo. There was no mistaking it—that was Simon.

I realized I was cheated on and jumped out of bed, slipping on my slippers and heading to the door. “Be right back.”

“Damn you, Simon Charles, seriously. You couldn’t even get me a limited-edition gift in time, but you’ve got time to cheat on me?”

Instead of heartbreak, I felt a wave of anger, like having something valuable snatched away.

My anger overshadowed any sadness I might have felt. As I walked to the bar near the school gate, where the photo was taken, I imagined a dramatic confrontation, like in the movies about catching a partner cheating.

But when I arrived, even though they were still cozied up before my eyes, the dramatic confrontation I had imagined didn’t unfold.

“Nikki!” seeing me approach, Simon looked startled, quickly pushed the girl away.

“What’s going on, Simon? So, this is why you said you were too tired to hang out after classes? Busy kissing someone else, I see.”

“Let me explain,” Simon said, tried to reach for my hand, but I stepped back and turned away, avoiding his touch.

I restrained myself from hitting him and was still trying to decide how to handle this gracefully when the girl beside Simon stood up.

She pulled Simon into her arms and, right in front of me, planted a kiss on him. Then she turned to me with a sly smile. “Hi, senior, or Nikki if I may. Thanks for taking care of Simon for a while. But from now on, he’s with me. It’s not your business anymore."

Just as Simon tried to stop her, she cut him off and pulled out her card, telling the waiter in a carefree way, “All tables are on me tonight.”

Cheers erupted in the bar. The crowd fueled by free drinks, quickly joined in to deride me.

“She’s really lost it if she thinks she stands a chance.”

“Look at her, all pitiful and still hanging on to a guy who clearly doesn’t want her. Why not spend that time on reflection?”

“Wearing slippers and looking like that? No wonder Simon upgraded. How can you compare yourself with Miss Monroe? She’s the daughter of the city’s richest family.”

I didn’t care much about what they said, but the last comment hit me hard.

Since when did my dad have another daughter that I had no clue about?

The drama at the bar spread like wildfire, becoming the talk of the campus overnight. As I walked to class the next day, I could feel the eyes on me, the whispers following my every step. Thanks to my ever-resourceful roommate, Rosie, I got all the dirt dug up on that girl.

Quinn Monroe, a freshman in Animation Design, Class of 2023, and a local from H City.

“I heard Quinn Monroe threw 2,740 dollars in the school’s main group chat last night. Now everyone’s flocking to her side, and the crowd has turned against you,” Rosie Ward whispered as she walked beside me.

It was just 2,740 dollars. That was all it took to turn the tide?

Our school had a tradition of mixing students from different majors and years for elective courses. For instance, the Music Appreciation class I was heading to had many freshmen from various departments.

Fate seemed to enjoy its little jokes. As soon as I entered the classroom, there was Quinn Monroe, surrounded and fawned over by a throng of admirers. They were clearly trying hard to win her favor, and as soon as they saw me, their looks turned hostile.

“Some people really have no shame, showing up for class after making a scene with someone else’s boyfriend,” someone in the crowd sneered.

Thanks to last night’s drama, my reputation had been flipped from being the wronged party to someone accused of stealing someone else’s boyfriend. Quinn had certainly gone to great lengths to tarnish my image.

“Forget it. Simon Charles wouldn’t even look twice at someone like her. She’s not worth talking about.”

“She’s just jealous because Simon dumped her for someone better.”

“Quinny is so much classier than her.”

What a smug, the words ran through my mind.

Just then, our Music Appreciation teacher entered the room. Once the bell rang, the roll call began.

“Luna Halle.” “Here.”

“Rosie Ward.” “Here.”

“Nicole Monroe.”

No one else stood up, so I casually responded as if she’s not calling me, “Here.”

I was focused on my makeup powder, and for a moment, the classroom fell into an awkward silence. When I looked up, I met the teacher’s terrifying gaze.

I glanced around; Rosie shot me a puzzled look, unsure of what was happening.

“Nicole Monroe, what do you think this classroom is for? It’s meant for learning, not for you to play with makeup. University is for studying, not for a beauty contest!” The teacher’s scolding echoed through the room, leaving everyone stunned.

This wasn’t my first time in her class, but it was the first time I’d been singled out like this. Sure, I had been touching up my makeup, but others were just as distracted with their phones, snacks, or whatever. Yet she only targeted me.

My classmates casted me pitying and mocking glances, as if they were watching a show.

“Teachers should guide students, not humiliate them,” I reminded myself, keeping my tone as mild as possible while defending myself.

“Out! Stand outside and reflect on your behavior!”

Not keen on staying there, I packed my things and moved to the door.

“Students, let this be a lesson. There are some bad examples in class that you should not follow. Girls should take care of themselves and not live with such poor conduct,” the teacher continued, her voice full of reprimand.

The roll call resumed, but when she called out “Quinn Monroe,” her tone was notably softened, likely influenced by the events of the previous night and her biased view of me.