Chapter 3
That night, Sloane added me to a group chat.
It was called “Gold Digger Countdown.”
There were more than twenty people in it, all Julian’s friends.
The messages poured in the moment I joined.
[I bet she apologizes before midnight.]
[Midnight’s too late. A girl like her wouldn’t dare lose her meal ticket.]
[I bet she shows up outside Julian’s office and begs him on her knees.]
[Loser buys drinks for a month.]
Sloane sent a voice message.
“You’re all giving her too much credit. She’s at home right now, waiting for Julian to come back. Packing, canceling the party, returning the gifts. That’s textbook playing hard to get. If she really wanted to leave, she wouldn’t make such a scene. She wants everyone to know, so Julian will come running to win her back.”
Someone asked how she could be so sure.
Sloane laughed. “How many times do I have to tell you? I used to do this. A poor girl who lands a man like Julian has basically won the lottery. Do you know anyone who tears up a winning ticket instead of cashing it in? Only an idiot would do that.”
The chat exploded with laughing emojis.
Julian was in the group, too. He never said a word. But he never told them to stop, either.
I left the chat.
Ten seconds later, Sloane added me back.
[Don’t leave so fast.]
[Didn’t you want to break up? Let’s see how long you can keep up the act.]
[Why don’t you place a bet, too? What time will you come crawling back to Julian?]
I left again.
Half an hour later, an unknown number called.
“Is this Julian Whitmore’s girlfriend? Mr. Whitmore has been in a car accident. He’s in surgery right now.”
They had played this exact game before.
The first time was three years ago, right after we started dating. I was in the middle of my professional engineering licensing exam. Someone called and said Julian had been in an accident. I walked out without finishing the exam and raced to the hospital like a madwoman. When I pushed open the door to his room, I found a table full of food and drinks. They all laughed and said I was just terrified of losing my meal ticket.
The second time, my mother was in the hospital back home with a high fever. They called again and said Julian was hurt. I left my mother in the care of a neighbor and took a five-hour train back to the city. It was another test. They watched me cry and praised my acting.
This time, I kept my voice flat.
“If you need someone to sign anything, call his family. We broke up.”
There was a pause. Then laughter exploded on the other end.
Sloane took the phone. “Look at you. You’ve wised up. You know we’re testing you. But don’t think playing it cold is going to scare Julian.”
I hung up.
The next morning, I dragged my suitcases to JFK.
Just before I went through security, a colleague called.
“Julian’s assistant just called and asked if you’d really taken the Doha posting.”
I stopped walking. “What did you tell him?”
“Before I could say anything, I heard some woman in the background say you were just trying to force him to propose. Then the line went dead.”
I didn’t need to ask who that was.
At 8:40, they started boarding. I looked back toward the entrance.
Julian wasn’t there.
My phone buzzed. Sloane had sent me a video.
Julian sat in the club lounge, still in last night’s clothes, a drink in front of him. They had clearly been up all night, waiting for me to cave.
Sloane’s voice came from off camera. “Relax. She won’t leave. She’s probably hiding somewhere near the airport, waiting for you to chase her. If you go, she’ll hold this breakup over you for the rest of your life.”
Julian looked up. “What if she really leaves?”
Sloane didn’t miss a beat. “If she actually has the guts to leave, I’ll apologize to her in front of everyone.”
The video ended.
I turned off my phone and walked toward the gate.
I didn’t need her apology. She could keep it.
