Our breakup was ugly. In the year he loved me most, I took three million dollars from his mother, terminated our pregnancy, and betrayed him. He knelt outside the operating room, crying and begging me not to be so cruel. He said he would hate me for the rest of his life. Six years later, we met again. He had a beautiful, well-connected girlfriend, and they were about to be married. And I, a complete wreck, had to find him and ask to borrow money. He forced me to come to his wedding, to watch with my own eyes as he married another woman. He asked me, "Do you regret it?" What he didn't know was that I had been raising our son alone. And that our son was sick. He was dying. 1. Six years after we broke up, I ran into Ian Ross again at the lowest point of my life. It was a class reunion. No one expected Ian to show up. Someone joked, "Mr. Ross never keeps in touch. What brings you to the reunion this year?" "Did you hear Chloe was coming? Still thinking about her, came to find her?" Sitting in the corner, my back went rigid. I looked up and saw Ian, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes cold as he stared at me. Everyone knew how much Ian used to love me. He was the rich young master of a powerful family, but for me, it was love at first sight. That year, he cut ties with his family, gave up his power and his money, and fought like hell just to be with me. We lived in a tiny apartment, sharing a single bowl of ramen, a single bowl of congee. Life was hard, but we were happy. Every night, we'd hold each other, our fingers intertwined, and swear we'd be together forever. Until I got pregnant. His mother offered me three million dollars to get rid of our child and leave him. That day, Ian knelt outside the operating room, pounding on the door. Over and over, he cried and begged me, "Chloe, my sweet Chloe! I'll work hard, I'll make money, I'll provide for us. I'll make so many millions, and they'll all be yours to spend, okay?" "Please, I'm begging you, don't leave me. And don't leave our baby…" I lay on the operating table, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood, trying not to let a single sob escape. Through that thin door, I heard Ian say he would hate me for the rest of his life. 2. No one knew how ugly our breakup had been. Someone pushed me toward Ian, laughing as they did. "Mr. Ross used to love Chloe so much he would have died for her. How could you ever let her go?" Everyone was jeering, calling for us to get back together. Ian's best friend shot me a look, a sneer playing on his lips. "Ian can have any woman he wants," he said suddenly. "Who the hell is Chloe to think she's unforgettable?" He told everyone that a new woman had been with Ian for three years. A woman who was gentler, more beautiful, and a much better match for Ian than I ever was. They had been together for three years, all the friends called her "sis-in-law," and rumor had it, they were about to be married. The laughter died down. Only Ian's friend was still smiling as he invited everyone to the wedding. He tossed an invitation at me. It hit my face before falling into my lap. I looked down and saw Ian's name next to another girl's. Her name was Grace. Even the name sounded lovely. I imagined she was more sensible than me, sweeter, better at caring for him. She wouldn't always be making him miserable. It had been six years. To see him again after so long, to know he was doing well… that was good. I fought back the tears that threatened to fall and looked up at Ian. "Congratulations," I said. He stared at me, his gaze intense. When he heard my words, a cruel smile spread across his face. He crushed the cigarette in his hand and said flatly, "Chloe, don't bother coming to the wedding." "My fiancée will be upset if she sees you. And I don't like it when she's upset." I clutched the thin, red invitation, my mind blank for a moment. Then I smiled and nodded. "Okay," I whispered. 3. That day, everyone said it seemed like Ian really didn't love me anymore. No one could have guessed that after a love as deep as ours, he would be getting married, and the bride wouldn't be me. Everyone had assumed he would wait for me forever. Now, they were all buzzing with curiosity about this girl, Grace, and what made her so special that Ian would be so captivated, so devoted to her. I knew Ian didn't want to see me again, so I left the reunion early. On the way home, a friend sent me a picture of Grace. She looked pure and sweet. I heard she had a lovely laugh and a playful, coquettish side—exactly the type of girl Ian adored. My friend texted me: Chloe, don't you think she kind of looks like you when she smiles? Do you think Ian still loves you? Is it really over between you two? I let out a slow breath, silent for a long time before typing back with a smile, It doesn't matter. I don't care anymore. I didn't want to be entangled with Ian ever again. And I thought, he will never know that I hid it from everyone and secretly gave birth to our child. That our son was sick. He was dying. 4. This was the hardest, most destitute year of my life. I worked myself to the bone, desperate to earn enough money to get my son the best medicine, to ease his pain even a little. For money, I could swallow my pride and show up at a class reunion to hit up old acquaintances. For money, I could work at a high-end lounge, drinking with clients until my stomach bled. I thought that reunion would be the last time I ever saw Ian. But a few days later, the girl named Grace found me. She must have heard that people thought we looked alike and wanted to see for herself. She came to the lounge with a few friends and specifically asked for me. One of the girls sized me up. "So you're Chloe? Ian's first love?" Her eyes were filled with contempt as she took in my heavy makeup, her expression screaming one word: filthy. I clenched my fists, trying to keep my temper in check. I just wanted to get this over with. "Are you ordering drinks?" I asked. If not, they were wasting my time, and my time was money. The girl seemed to take my directness as an insult. "What kind of attitude is that?" she snapped. "I'm talking to you, are you deaf? Don't be so ungrateful." She pointed to a bottle of hard liquor on the table. "Fine, Chloe. You like money, right? Finish this bottle in one go, and I'll give you two hundred thousand dollars." Drinking that entire bottle would land me in the hospital. Grace feigned concern, trying to calm her friend. "We agreed we were just coming to see her, not to give her a hard time, right?" she said sweetly. "I know everyone says she's good at seducing men and told me to be careful. Even Ian said I'm too naive and that she might bully me." She smiled a serene, innocent smile. "But I'll be fine." I listened to her, and I understood. She was here to show me how much Ian loved her, and how much he despised me. I smiled back, saying nothing, and turned to her friend. "We have a deal? I drink this bottle, you give me two hundred thousand. Right?" Then, I picked up the bottle and started chugging. Everyone froze, stunned that I would actually risk my life for money. Grace grabbed my arm. "Chloe," she whispered, her voice full of pity. "How can you degrade yourself like this for money? As women, we have to have some shame. I didn't want to say this, I was afraid of hurting you, but… Ian hates women like you the most." I finished the bottle, fighting back the searing pain in my stomach, and cut her off. "The money?" "What Ian likes or hates has nothing to do with me. I just want the two hundred thousand you promised." Grace frowned, looking at me with disappointment. "Honestly, Chloe," she said in her soft, delicate voice, "two hundred thousand is nothing to me. I could give it to anyone. But I can't give it to you. You can blame me, but I'm doing this for your own good. I can't watch you fall any further…" Her friend gave me a shove. "I was just messing with you," she laughed. "I'm not giving you a dime. What are you going to do about it?" My face was cold, but I started to laugh with her. Then I raised my hand and smashed the empty bottle on the table. Shards of glass flew, and one piece sliced across Grace's leg, drawing a line of red. Tears instantly welled in Grace's eyes. The noisy group of women fell silent. The next second, the door to the private room swung open. Ian was standing there, his gaze like ice. I froze, unable to meet his eyes. He had seen me like this—caked in makeup, drinking with men, forcing smiles for money. I wasn't afraid of what anyone else thought of me, but I never, ever wanted him to know how much of a wreck my life had become. But even that small wish was denied. I forced myself to look up, to pretend I didn't care, and watched as Ian strode over, gathered Grace into his arms, and gently wiped away her tears. Then he turned to me, his voice low and dangerous. "Chloe, who do you think you're bullying, right in front of me?" "You want money? Fine. Apologize first." Watching him protect her, I remembered a time, long ago, when he had protected me just like that. I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to grovel, to make Grace happy. Fine. For the money, I would do anything. Grace, hiding in Ian's arms, shot me a triumphant, secret smile. I looked at the cut on her leg, then picked up a large piece of broken glass and dragged it across my own arm, hard. I held out my bleeding arm, my voice calm. "Give it to me. Two hundred thousand." Ian stared at me, and his eyes suddenly went red. Grace saw his expression, and her smile faltered. She pulled a card from her purse and pressed it into my hand. "Chloe," she said softly, "I'm giving you this money today not because I owe you anything, but because I don't want to be like you, making such an ugly scene over a little bit of cash." I was done with her noble act. I took the card and turned to leave, but Ian grabbed my arm, yanking me back. He snarled my name, his teeth gritted. "Chloe, doesn't that fucking hurt? Will you die if you don't have money?" The way his brow was furrowed, he almost looked like he cared. I wrenched my arm free and turned back, a cold smile on my face. "I've always been a woman who loves money, Ian. Didn't you know?" "Mind your own business. And control your woman. Don't come looking for me again." 5. Ian stared at me, his eyes terrifyingly cold, like he wanted to devour me whole. My words must have reminded him of the past—how he had given up everything for me, only for me to abandon him for money. The pain in my stomach was excruciating. I didn't want to argue anymore. I turned to leave, but suddenly my feet left the ground. The next second, Ian had thrown me over his shoulder. He was like some kind of bandit, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he carried me out of the room. Everyone stared. I struggled, screaming at him to put me down. He slapped my ass, his voice a low growl. "Chloe, I must have owed you in a past life for you to put me through this hell!" He tossed me into his car, leaning over me to pin my legs down, and grabbed my face. "Sometimes," he hissed, "I really just want to kill you." His expression was one of pure hatred, but his eyes… his eyes always seemed to be telling me he still loved me. I was in too much pain to speak, cold sweat beading on my forehead as I glared at him. Ian's frown deepened. He opened the glove compartment, took out a stomach pill, and pushed it into my mouth. In the corner of the compartment, I saw it all: the tube of lipstick I’d used up but couldn't bear to throw away, a broken hair tie, the childish pink barrette he’d once bought for me… It was a shrine to me. In all the years I was gone, these little things had kept him company. Tears streamed down my face. I turned away, frantically wiping them before he could see. After all these years, he still remembered my stomach problems. Even when I wasn't there, he still kept medicine for me. And yet, I hardened my heart, gathered all my strength, and shoved him away. I forced a smile. "Ian, stop this, okay? This obsession is pathetic." "You probably don't know," I lied, my voice dripping with scorn. "I've been married. I have a kid." "You don't still want to get back together, do you? Don't be so desperate, Ian." He stumbled back, frozen. As I got up to leave, he lunged, slamming me against the car door, his hand closing around my throat. "Chloe, I don't believe you," he choked out, his voice trembling with rage. "You'd better tell me you're fucking kidding. Otherwise, I swear to God, I will kill you." I looked him straight in the eye, my voice calm. "Fine. I'll prove it to you." I took Ian to the children's hospital. It was nine p.m., but the lights in the inpatient ward were still on. I stood outside a room, and through the glass, I pointed to a small child reading quietly in bed. "That's my son." His name was Leo. He was my precious, beloved boy. He looked so much like me, but his personality was all Ian—thoughtful, gentle, with a stubborn, domineering streak. He had all of Ian's best qualities. He was such a good kid. But he was sick. Nearly six years old, he was painfully thin and small, yet so brave it broke your heart. Ian stared at the boy for a long, long time. Then he clenched his fist and slammed it against the wall. He hung his head, and I thought I saw a tear fall. I had never seen him so broken. The last thing Ian said to me that night was, "Chloe, you've got guts." He didn't ask who the father was. He didn't recognize his own son.
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