Chapter 3

Cecilia's POV

1 AM, I finally returned to my shabby Queens apartment.

The hallway's motion sensor lights had been broken for months. I fumbled for keys in the darkness. When the lock turned, I nearly collapsed.

This was mine and Adrian's love nest.

The walls were covered with our photos—from shy first-date pictures five years ago to last month's sweet Central Park selfies. Every photo mocked my stupidity.

I turned on the lights. The dim glow made this small apartment look even more pathetic. The beat-up secondhand couch, coffee table from a flea market, that ancient TV in the corner...

And the Adrian I'd just seen sat on a sofa worth tens of thousands, holding expensive whiskey, wearing a suit I couldn't afford with a year's salary.

"DAMN IT! DAMN IT!" I rushed to the wall, frantically tearing down photos.

One, two, three... each tear broke my heart a little more.

"I'm an idiot! A FUCKING idiot!"

Tears blurred my vision, but my hands didn't stop. Our first kiss photo, his birthday cake photo, our matching T-shirts photo...

ALL destroyed!

I grabbed the mug from the coffee table—Adrian's gift last year reading "World's Best Girlfriend." How ironic now.

"Best girlfriend?" I laughed hysterically, my voice echoing in the empty room. "More like STUPIDEST test subject!"

"CRASH!"

The mug shattered against the wall, white fragments scattered like my broken heart.

I collapsed on the floor, finally breaking down. My chest felt torn apart, each breath accompanied by stabbing pain.

"Why... why do this to me?"

Five years... five whole years... I gave him my best youth.

I remembered every night when he said he had no money for food, and I immediately transferred money.

I remembered every month when he claimed delayed paychecks, and I silently covered rent.

I remembered eating ramen for a month to buy his birthday gift.

And he... he drank expensive whiskey at the Wall Street Club, treating me like a DAMN sociological research sample!

Just then, urgent knocking came from outside.

"Cecilia? Cecilia! Are you in there?"

Jessica's voice!

I froze, tears still on my face.

"Cecilia, I heard noises inside. Are you okay? Open up!" Jessica's voice was full of concern.

I wiped my face, stumbling to the door. When I opened it, Jessica held a beautifully wrapped box—clearly just back from a business trip.

"My God, Cecilia!" Seeing my swollen eyes and disheveled hair, Jessica immediately dropped the box, nervously checking for injuries. "What happened? I heard crashing and crying, thought maybe..."

Her gaze moved past me, seeing the chaos inside—scattered fragments, torn photos, overturned furniture.

"What is this?" Jessica pushed inside, closing the door. "Cecilia, what the hell happened?"

Seeing my friend's concerned eyes, I couldn't hold back anymore.

"Jessica..." my voice choked. "Adrian... he's been lying to me for five years!"

"What?" Jessica helped me to the couch. "Take it slow. What happened?"

Through tears, I told her everything from tonight at the Wall Street Club. The familiar laugh, Adrian's true identity, his fiancée, those cruel conversations about "experiments" and "sociological research."

Jessica's expression changed from shock to anger, finally to ice-cold fury.

"That BASTARD!" Jessica angrily stood up, pacing the living room. "That fucking asshole! Treating you like a lab rat? Observing class differences in romance? Who does he think he is? GOD?"

"Jessica, I'm just a joke, aren't I?" I smiled bitterly. "A poor fool played by a rich man."

"BULLSHIT!" Jessica spun around, eyes blazing. "You're not the joke—that rich boy pretending to be poor is the real joke! A pathetic worm who needs deception to get real love!"

She sat beside me, hugging me tightly.

"Cecilia, listen to me. You're the kindest, most genuine girl in this world. You gave him the purest love, and he treated it like a game. HE'S wrong, not you!"

"But I was so stupid, Jessica." I cried in her arms. "Five years, and I never suspected anything. I actually thought I was happy, thought I'd found true love..."

I sobbed freely in Jessica's embrace, tears seeming endless. Time passed, and gradually the sobbing subsided, that heart-wrenching pain temporarily numbed.

After Jessica left, I was alone again. I dried my tears and mechanically began searching through drawers like a zombie.

I needed to know exactly how much money I'd been scammed out of over five years.

Bank statements, credit card bills, cash receipts... I numbly spread all financial records on the coffee table. Each paper was like a slap across my face.

"March 2019, transfer to Adrian, $800. Note: rent."

I ate ramen for a whole month.

"May 2019, cash, $200. Note: Adrian's birthday gift."

I remembered being happy as a child that day, thinking I was the world's luckiest woman.

"August 2019, transfer, $1,500. Note: technical school tuition."

I used all my savings, even borrowed from colleagues.

"January 2020, transfer, $600. Note: work accident, medical bills."

I remembered feeling heartbroken, wishing I could take his place.

Every record was a knife cutting my already wounded heart. Every number represented my trust, my love, my stupidity.

I pulled out my calculator, mechanically pressing numbers. 500, 800, 1200, 1500...

My fingers trembled, but I forced myself to continue. I needed to see clearly how stupid I'd been.

Finally, the calculator displayed: $32,847.

I stared at that number, feeling my soul emptied.

Thirty-two thousand eight hundred forty-seven dollars.

For me, that was a year and a half's salary. Blood money saved by bringing lunch to work daily, staying home weekends, pinching every penny.

For him... for that Adrian Blackwell sitting in the Wall Street Club, it probably couldn't even buy one watch.

I thought of the down payment contract in my nightstand. I'd saved three years, finally scraping together $80,000 to buy a house. Without five years of "supporting" him, I'd have over $130,000 now.

"Thirty thousand dollars..." I spoke to those numbers, my voice hollow as if from another world. "What's that to him? One dinner?"

I began cleaning up the fragments. Piece by piece, like cleaning up my shattered life.

Each piece reminded me of a beautiful memory. Every memory now turned into a joke.

I collected the torn photos too. Those fragments in my hands, like our five-year relationship—broken beyond repair.

When everything was restored, I heard the lock turning.