The scissors in my hand went snip—and sliced through the fabric at the wrong angle.
The man standing before me, radiating confidence and wealth.
It was my boyfriend. The one who was supposed to be in his basement studio right now, gnawing on cold bread.
Dirk Harding.
He wore an impeccably tailored suit, and on his wrist gleamed a Patek Philippe worth millions.
That watch—I'd seen it in magazines countless times, never daring to even dream of touching one.
Amy clung to his arm and pouted up at him.
"Look, this lady ruined one of your shirts."
Dirk's gaze landed on me.
No surprise at seeing me again.
No panic at being caught.
Just the kind of disgust reserved for something crawling beneath his shoe.
"Someone at this level was allowed into my home?"
His voice was cold enough to freeze.
My hand trembled around the scissors.
"Dirk, didn't you say you were holed up in your studio?"
Amy let out a laugh.
"Dirk, you know this maid?"
Dirk unfastened his cufflinks with unhurried precision.
"No."
"Probably some debt collector from one of the studios."
He pulled Amy close and walked deeper into the house without sparing me another glance.
"Babe, hire someone professional next time. Don't just drag in any piece of trash off the street."
I stood rooted to the spot, ice flooding my veins.
The shirt I'd just ruined was the one Amy had specifically pointed out to me.
It was Dirk's favorite brand.
I stared at the shredded fabric on the ground and almost laughed.
Five years. For five years, I'd skipped buying skincare products just so I could afford his art supplies. My hands were covered in calluses and tiny scars from years of authentication work.
And he'd been living a life of luxury I couldn't even imagine.
Amy walked up to me, looking down her nose like I was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
"Did you hear him? Dirk told you to get lost."
"That dress was eighteen thousand dollars. It's coming out of your paycheck."
I lifted my head and locked my eyes on Dirk's retreating back.
"Dirk, you don't think you owe me an explanation?"
He stopped.
He turned around, his eyes full of mockery.
"Explain what?"
"Explain why I never told you I'm the sole heir to Harding Group?"
"Or explain that these past five years were just a little role-playing game called 'the struggling couple'?"
He walked up to me, pulled a stack of cash from his pocket, and flung it in my face.
Bills scattered across the floor.