Chapter 1

To scrape together enough cash for a train ticket back home for New Year’s Eve, I clicked into a random giveaway livestream while looking for quick gigs.

A gorgeous girl in a silk robe rested her chin on her hand, a lavishly decorated mansion sprawling behind her.

“I am so bored being cooped up in this mansion,” she pouted. “My sugar daddy gives me way more cash than I can ever spend. Help me burn through some of it, will you?”

My hands trembled with excitement as I tapped and claimed several fat cash drops in a row. It looked like I was finally going to have enough for our tickets home.

Suddenly, the girl leaned close to the camera.

“He always tells me that the mole under my eye looks just like his girlfriend’s,” she sneered. “Honestly, it is so gross that I share a beauty mark with a total pauper.”

My finger froze over the screen. I had an identical teardrop mole right below my right eye.

A comment flashed across the screen: “Why would a billionaire have a broke girlfriend?”

The girl touched up her makeup and chuckled dismissively. “He is just playing with her. He tricked her into believing he owes a million in debt, and the poor idiot actually works multiple jobs to help him pay it off.”

My blood ran cold. My boyfriend, Beckett, was also drowning in a supposed million-dollar debt.

“The funniest part is, he just spent three days in bed with me,” she bragged. “When he was leaving, I asked if he had any energy left for her.”

“He laughed and said all he had to do was say he was hauling rebar on a construction site, and that naive fool would feel so bad for him she would deliver food all night to comfort him.”

Ding. Another massive cash drop hit my wallet, and my ticket fund was finally complete.

Right then, my phone rang with Beckett’s exhausted voice on the line.

“Maisie, we are still short on the ticket money,” he rasped. “I made two hundred bucks hauling rebar tonight. I am on my way home now.”

1

It was one in the morning, and I could barely hold my phone.

Was the sugar daddy in that giveaway stream really Beckett?

Noticing my silence, Beckett raised his voice slightly.

“Why are you quiet? Are you not feeling well?”

My throat felt bone-dry.

“Which construction site were you working at so late?”

“Just... one near the old industrial district,” he said, his speech speeding up. “I will be home soon. Let me transfer the cash to you first.”

He hung up, and the livestream kept rolling.

“My daddy just wired me another million to buy the newest designer lingerie set,” the girl chimed.

“That man has zero concept of money. The set only costs two hundred grand at most, so I have eight hundred grand left over. Here, take it all!”

Enormous cash drops flooded the screen one after another. Numbly, I tapped them over and over.

My balance skyrocketed from five hundred to twenty-five hundred, then three thousand, then four thousand.

Ever since I got together with Beckett, I had managed all our wages and side-hustle earnings. Every time I saved two thousand, I handed it to him for his debt, keeping only a sliver for groceries and rent.

Having four thousand dollars in spare cash was something I had never even dared to dream about.

My phone buzzed with an incoming transfer from Beckett: $212, with the note “hard labor wages”.

My hand shook as I locked the screen. The dark glass reflected my pale, ghostly face.

The light brown teardrop mole under my right eye stood out vividly, like a drop of fresh blood on a white wall.

Half an hour later, Beckett walked through the door.

He wore the same dusty gray work jacket from three days ago, mud splattered across his pant legs. He pulled a paper bag from his coat.

“Maisie, I kept eight bucks to buy you a warm roasted sweet potato. Eat it while it is hot.”

I took it in silence, feeling the warmth seep through the paper into my palm.

Every winter since we started dating, he would find extra work just to buy me roasted sweet potatoes.

I hated wasting money, but I loved him. We used to split the warm potato, chatting about better gigs and cheaper grocery stores.

In our scraping-by life, that sweet potato was the one comfort that kept me grounded.

Tonight, I took a bite, and it felt like gravel stuck in my throat.

Could it really be Beckett? Was it just a coincidence?

“I wanted to buy it the moment I got back from my business trip yesterday,” Beckett explained smoothly. “But a buddy said a site needed heavy lifters, so I rushed over to make some extra cash.”

“The moment I got paid tonight, I ran across town to grab this for you before the market closed.”

His story was airtight, even accounting for his three-day absence.

He smiled and leaned in, opening his mouth for me to feed him.

I did not move. I just looked at him.

“Is the site far? Let me go with you next time.”

His smile vanished instantly. He turned toward the bathroom.

“It is filthy and rough, full of rowdy men. I would never let you go there.”

“Let me shower first. I am covered in dust.”

Shower.

Before signing off, the streamer’s final words echoed in my head.

“We promised to FaceTime while he is in the shower. I will show you his killer abs in a bit!”

Less than five minutes later, she posted an update.

It was a photo of a man’s chiseled abs glistening with water droplets. His face was cropped out, but the bathroom tiles in the background belonged to our tiny rental.

In the corner sat the plastic caddy holding the cheap dollar-store soap and shampoo I had bought.

It was Beckett.

Right now, in our cramped apartment, he was showering while on a video call with his kept mistress.

The sound of rushing water never stopped. I closed my eyes, forcing myself not to lose control.

Yet the cold reality was staring me right in the face.

I opened the app again and saw a comment under Brielle’s post: “Bragging about being a kept sugar baby when the man has a real girlfriend? You are just a side chick no matter how you spin it.”

Brielle replied instantly: “He treats that broke girl like a stray pet. I am the one he actually loves. Want to bet he will sprint to me with a single text?”

A second later, the bathroom door clicked open. Beckett rushed out, throwing on a hoodie.

“Maisie, there is an emergency at the company, I have to run over right now...”

My nerves snapped. I grabbed his wrist with all my strength.

“Beckett, can I come with you?”