Chapter 3

3.

I ignored her screaming demands and said quietly, “I got hurt.”

“At the venue, someone trampled my glasses into pieces.”

Miranda didn't hear a single word. She just kept whining.

“When are you transferring the money?”

“Wade is catching a cold out here in the drafty lobby!”

“Tyler! If you’re being petty about paying, just say so! Why do you always make up pathetic excuses like a coward?”

Her words sliced straight into my chest like frozen blades.

They reminded me of how laughable my devotion had been.

Miranda didn't love me, so of course she wouldn't care if I lived or died.

I told her I was bleeding and blind in an unfamiliar country.

Her entire world still revolved around Wade’s slight sniffle.

There was nothing left to say.

After a pause, I said coldly, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not transferring a dime.”

Miranda choked on her words, thinking I was bluffing.

“Stop playing games. This isn't funny.”

“I’m not joking,” I told her with absolute clarity.

“From now on, pay for your own dates with Wade.”

“Tell him that if he’s any kind of man, he shouldn't rely on another guy to finance his woman.”

Before she could explode, I ended the call and blocked the number.

The security guard gently handed me a fresh tissue.

I looked at her. Having realized earlier that I spoke Russian fluently, she switched to her native tongue, her voice warm and smooth.

“Don't be sad. Losing you is entirely her loss.”

I agreed with her completely.

Yet, watching the couples embracing warmly around the airport terminal, a pang of bitter grief still washed over me.

Seeing my exhaustion, the guard offered to stay with me in the VIP lounge until boarding time.

Sitting in the quiet lounge, memories of Miranda flooded my mind uninvited.

We had first met at a collegiate aerospace summit five years ago.

Back then, she was completely different.

She was petite and dressed in faded denim, but when she stepped up to the podium to present her drone aerodynamics thesis, she practically radiated light.

She caught my attention instantly.

Later at the mixer dinner, when a greasy corporate sponsor tried to pressure her into drinking, I stepped in and took the drinks for her.

After that, I pulled out every stop to win her heart.

Yet no matter how many bouquets of roses or designer jewels I sent, she remained completely indifferent.

“Mr. Cross, I know you come from great wealth, but we belong to different worlds.”

“My passion is pure science, not material vanity.”

I had met plenty of shallow socialites, but Miranda’s stubborn pride struck a chord deep within me.

After that, I changed my approach entirely.

I stopped buying flashy gifts and instead packed a backpack to sit beside her in lecture halls every day.

From undergraduate labs to her master’s program and doctoral candidacy, I attended class after class with her, turning myself into half an aerospace engineer in the process.

Even Miranda’s supervising mentor, Professor Harrison, thought I had immense potential and offered me a funded PhD spot in his lab.

I turned it down.

Not because I lacked passion, but because there was only one open slot in his lab that year.

If I took it, Miranda would have had to wait another year.

For her, I was willing to surrender everything.