The Hidden Heiress He Left in Economy

"Economy? For me?" I stared at the boarding pass while my boyfriend's new "business partner" got first class instead. "You're just my plus-one," Cedric said. "The sponsor won't cover you." I said nothing and boarded the plane. What he didn't know was that if I wanted to, I could buy the entire airline.

——

"Cedric, why do the five of you have first-class tickets, while my boarding pass is for economy?"

I looked at the ticket stub in my hand and confronted him.

My boyfriend, Cedric, frowned, a flash of impatience in his eyes.

"Sierra, the first-class tickets to Paris for the Global Architecture Summit are a team perk from the sponsor."

"You're just coming along as my plus-one. The sponsor won't cover that."

"Besides, you usually think even taking a cab is too expensive, so aren't you quite used to economy class? You're not going to throw a tantrum over something this petty, are you?"

Beside him, Genevieve covered her mouth and chuckled softly.

"Yeah, Sierra, Cedric is just thinking about the team. You're so understanding, I'm sure you get it, right?"

People bustled back and forth outside the VIP lounge at New York's JFK International Airport.

I stood there, gripping that economy boarding pass.

Looking at the man before me, the man I had loved for three years.

Cedric was wearing the Savile Row bespoke suit I had bought for him with my hard-earned savings.

On his wrist was the Rolex he had bought on an installment plan.

In the way he looked at me, there wasn't a shred of guilt—only a condescending scrutiny.

That look seemed to say: It's already a massive favor that you get to go to Paris with me.

"Team perk?"

This trip to Paris for the Global Architecture Summit was a crucial turning point in Cedric's career.

To help him revise his competition drafts, I had stayed up late for half a month straight.

The core load-bearing structures and spatial flow in those blueprints were all meticulously adjusted by me, stroke by stroke.

Yet he publicly claimed it was entirely his own hard work.

Now, he used the sponsor's money to buy first-class tickets for his assistant and his draftsmen.

He even bought a first-class ticket for Genevieve, the senior partner who had just parachuted into his studio.

And me.

His actual girlfriend, who helped him complete the core design and stayed by his side through the hardest days of his startup, was shoved an economy ticket.

"Sierra, could you not be so materialistic all the time?"

Seeing my silence, Cedric's tone hardened a bit, taking on his usual lecturing manner.

"I always thought you were different from those gold-digging women. You're independent and tough; you don't care about these vain things."

"Genevieve is different. She grew up in a privileged family and can't handle the cramped space of economy."

"You've always been able to rough it, haven't you?"

I looked into his eyes.

He never used to be like this.

Back when he pulled all-nighters drawing blueprints in a basement, it was so cold in the winter, yet he couldn't even bear to buy himself a decent cashmere coat.

But for our anniversary last year, he bought me a scarf I had just casually mentioned.

"Sierra, when I succeed, I promise I'll give you the best the world has to offer."

I had once been moved to tears by those words.

I had always looked forward to marrying him, even planning in my heart to reveal my true identity to him as a surprise on the day we got our marriage license.

But every time I brought up marriage, he would always brush it off.

He said he needed to achieve great success in his career before he had the confidence to give me a proper title.

And so, the marriage talk kept dragging on.

I used to believe his words without a doubt. But today, looking at this unfairly given economy ticket in front of me, a strong sense of unease suddenly surged in my heart.

Now that he had gained a bit of fame, he started demanding that I "bear hardships" and emotionally blackmailing me about "not being materialistic."

"Oh, Cedric, don't talk to Sierra like that."

Genevieve stepped forward and intimately linked her arm through Cedric's, exuding the scent of expensive Jo Malone perfume.

She looked at me with a pitying gaze:

"Sierra usually just does those cheap interior designs, so of course she hasn't really flown first class."

"How about this? I'll go talk to the flight attendants and see if they can move the passenger next to me to economy, so Sierra can come sit with us?"

"No need, Genevieve."

Cedric immediately stopped her, even patting the back of her hand reassuringly.

"Why should you have to go beg someone? If she doesn't have the money to buy a first-class ticket herself, she should face reality."

"I'm bringing her to Paris to broaden her horizons, not for her to enjoy a vacation."

I looked at his hand.

He was using his thumb to gently stroke the back of Genevieve's hand.

The gesture was incredibly natural.

So natural that it seemed as if they were the real couple.

I suddenly found it all so laughable.

Three years ago, I hid my identity as the sole heiress of the Vance Group, pretending to be a poor, independent designer to be with him.

I yearned for a pure love that didn't care about social status, only the soul.

I thought I had found it.

But now, looking at his face, distorted by an inflated ego over a tiny bit of success.

I only felt a wave of nausea.

"Fine. I get it."

With that, I pocketed the economy boarding pass and turned toward the security checkpoint.

Cedric called out from behind me:

"Sierra! What kind of attitude is that? If you're going to be so unreasonable, then just don't go to Paris at all!"

I didn't look back; I just silently answered in my heart:

I'm definitely going to Paris this time.

Just not as your plus-one.