He Starved My Cat, I Destroyed His Life

Of course skinny is prettier. Little kitty looks just like Mommy today.

The voice dripped with sickening sweetness, punctuated by the sharp click of a camera shutter. On the screen, Brooke pursed her lips in a playful pout, posing happily next to a cat that looked more like a skeleton wrapped in fur.

My eyes locked onto the image. That filthy iron cage couldn't have been more than fifteen inches wide.

Inside, the white creature was panting, its chest heaving in rapid, shallow gasps within the cramped, rusting cage.

But it was the black, heart-shaped marking on its rear trembling violently along with its protruding spine that made my world stop.

Three months.

I had spent ninety agonizing days turning this entire city upside down. I tore through alleyways, plastered telephone poles with flyers, and screamed her name until my throat bled.

And all this time, she was right here.

She was rotting in the apartment of my boyfriend's closest female friend. Starving to death while Brooke took selfies.

Rage hit me like a physical blow, molten lava surging straight to my skull. I swear I could hear the capillaries in my eyes bursting, a high-pitched ringing drowning out the room.

I snapped my head around, glaring at the man leaning against the doorframe, the man still trying to protect her.

Harrison.

My voice shook like a dead leaf in a gale, but underneath the tremor, there was nothing but ice.

"Is this what you meant when you said she ran away?"

Chapter 1

Just like the last two hours.

Harrison's eyes were glued to his monitor. His fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard, the plastic clack-clack-clack filling the suffocating air of the apartment.

"How many times do I have to answer this?"

He didn't even look up, his brows knitting together in annoyance.

"For a cat, Harper? Are you seriously not done with this yet?"

For the three months Angel had been missing, I had exhausted every resource. I spammed the homeowner groups, hounded the security guards, and followed up on every vague lead.

The only person I hadn't pushed too hard was Harrison.

The culprit.

"She bolted the second I opened the door. By the time I chased her, she was gone."

I could still see the expression on his face when he told me that lie. His eyes had drooped, his lips pressed into a tight, white line. He stood at the complex gate in his slippers, six-foot-three and looking like a toddler waiting for a timeout.

Back then, I thought it was guilt.

Angel had lived with us for over six months. She was family. I didn't think Harrison was capable of tossing a family member into the street.

But looking at him now, I realized I was an idiot.

That tight line of his lips? He wasn't holding back tears. He was holding back laughter.

Because what could be funnier than taking your girlfriend's beloved pet and gifting it to the girl you actually wanted?

"Harrison, you're wasting your talent. You should be in Hollywood."

I shoved my phone in front of his face, the screenshot of Brooke's post glowing bright and damning. I didn't wait for an answer. I grabbed the empty cat carrier by the door.

"Next time you do something this twisted, make sure you and your little bestie get your stories straight."

My tone was pure acid.

Harrison's eyes flicked to the screen. The annoyance on his face shattered, replaced instantly by panic.

"Harper!"

He scrambled up from his gaming chair, the headset clattering to the desk. He crossed the room in two strides, blocking my path.

"What are you doing?"

He continued, desperate.

"I already gave the cat to Brooke. If you go over there now and demand it back, you're slapping me right in the face. Do you have any idea how bad that makes me look?"

He was worried about his face.

If something had happened to Angel, I didn't want to slap his face. I wanted to carve him into pieces.

I didn't waste another breath on him.

I dodged his grasp and sprinted down the stairs, hailing the first cab I saw.

Brooke had a habit of tagging her location in every single post to show off her high-end apartment complex. It made finding her effortless.

"Harper?"

The door swung open. Brooke stood there in a full face of makeup, her eyebrows arching in a performance of mild surprise. She took a dainty, confused breath.

"Why are you here?"

I didn't speak. I just held my phone screen inches from her fake, perfectly contoured face.

"Give Angel back."

She knew.

She knew that was my cat. She knew I had been losing my mind for three months searching for her.

And yet, she kept Angel locked in a cage, watching us suffer, feeling entitled to my pain.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, forcing the red haze in my vision to clear. My voice was deadly calm.

"Give her to me right now, and I can pretend this never happened."

Chapter 2

"Well"

Brooke's expression flickered.

Her hesitation vanished the second she saw Harrison sprinting down the hallway behind me. She planted her feet, a smug confidence settling over her features.

"Harper, honey, Angel was a gift from Harrison."

She blocked the doorway, crossing her arms.

"She eats better than I do. Every day is a vacation for her here."

She tilted her head, her voice dripping with fake concern.

"If you take her back well, let's be real. Can you really afford to give her the life she deserves? Why burden yourself?"

I used to judge those parents on the news. The ones who skipped calling the cops and went straight to kicking down doors when their kids were bullied. I thought they were unhinged.

I got it now.

When someone tortures the thing you love most, rationality isn't an option. Its an obstacle.

I didn't answer. I just shoved Brooke aside.

I stormed into the apartment, scanning the room. My eyes locked on the open-air balcony.

There.

In the corner sat a rusted iron cage, barely fifteen inches wide.

Brooke looked like she had just stepped out of a Sephora ad, manicured from head to toe. But Angel? The pampered cat?

She was curled up in a litter box that hadn't been scooped in weeks. It was a solid block of waste.

Her food bowl was empty. Not a single crumb.

The water bowl was bone dry, coated in a layer of gray dust.

Angel's noseusually cold and wetwas cracked and parched.

My vision blurred. Not with tears, but with a red-hot pressure behind my eyes.

"Im sorry. Im so sorry."

I unlatched the cage door. Angel flinched. Her ears flattened against her skull. I reached in, desperate to pull her into my arms.

But she didn't see her mom. She saw a hand coming to hurt her.

Slash.

Angel swiped. Claws tore through the skin on the back of my hand.

"Hss!"

I recoiled, clutching my wrist. Bright red blood welled up instantly, trickling down my skin and soaking into my sleeve.

"Harper, seriously? That's enough!"

Harrison's voice cut through the air behind me, cold and bored.

"Look at you. Bleeding over a cat. Is this really worth the drama?"

He sneered.

"She doesn't even want to go with you. Did you see that?"

He gestured vaguely at the cage.

"She's going to suffer with you. Brooke's monthly allowance is more than youll make in a lifetime. The cat is better off here. Stop being stubborn."

For a second, I genuinely wondered if Harrison was blind.

Couldn't he see the ribs poking through her fur? Couldn't he see the tremors shaking her tiny body?

He stood there, towering over me, spewing absolute garbage.

I ignored the stinging in my hand. I reached back into the cage. This time, I didn't hesitate. I scooped Angel up, ignoring her weak struggles, and secured her in the carrier.

Brooke had money. That was a fact.

But you don't keep something alive with a bank account balance. You need a heart.

Seeing my silence, Brooke stepped forward, holding up a bag of kibble like a trophy.

"Harper, look. This is premium import. Fifty bucks a pound. You can't afford this kind of food. Just leave her here."

"Leave her?"

I let out a short, cold laugh.

"So I can wait for you to post her taxidermied corpse on Instagram next week?"

I grabbed the handle of the carrier and stood up. I didn't scream. I didn't shout. I looked Brooke dead in the eye.

"You better pray Angel survives this, Brooke. Because if she doesn't I will make you pay."

Chapter 3

Brooke blinked rapidly, her eyes widening with practiced innocence. She looped her arm through Harrisons, leaning into him like a fragile flower.

"Harrison did I do something wrong?"

I didn't have the stomach for their performance art. I gripped the handle of the carrier and turned for the door.

I barely made it two steps.

Harrisons hand clamped around my wrist. Hard.

"Harper! Im going to say this one more time. Leave the cat."

"Why?"

I yanked my arm, but his grip didn't loosen. I threw my head back, locking eyes with his stunned expression.

"Because she has money?"

He didn't answer. He just stared.

A bitter, hollow laugh clawed its way out of my throat. The sadness washed over me, heavy and suffocating.

"You love money that much? Then you stay."

I ripped my arm free from his grasp, the friction burning my skin.

"A professional freeloader like you belongs here way more than Angel does."

I turned my back on them and walked out.

I hailed a cab and screamed the address of the citys top veterinary emergency center.

While the vet rushed Angel into the exam room to check her vitals, my phone buzzed in my hand.

Brooke.

The texts popped up one after another, practically vibrating with smug satisfaction.

"Harper, how can you call Harrison a freeloader? Did he seriously never tell you?"

"Youve been together for three years. Don't tell me you paid for everything that whole time?"

"Hes really pissed because of you. I don't think hes coming home tonight."

I didn't reply. I squeezed my eyes shut and hit Block.

My thumb hovered over Harrisons chat window. I wanted to type something. To scream. To demand answers.

But as I stared at his name, the anger drained away.

All that was left was disappointment. A vast, empty ocean of it.

I met Harrison the year I turned eighteen.

I was the only kid from my dead-end town to get into college. My parents packed my life into two battered, oversized plaid laundry bagsthe kind you see at bus stations, holding everything a person owns.

I took a Greyhound, then a subway, then a city bus. Thirty hours of travel.

When I finally stood in front of the massive iron gates of State University, I was exhausted, grimy, and trembling.

All those late nights studying by flashlight. All the skipped meals to save for application fees. It hit me all at once.

I had never felt so happy.

Until the students walking by started to stare.

"Whoa, check her out. When was the last time she saw a shower?"

"Look at those clothes. My grandma wouldn't even use that fabric for curtains."

"Total hillbilly. I bet she smells like manure."

I froze. The joy evaporated.

Even the security guard frowned. He stepped out of his booth, one hand on his belt, waving me away like a stray dog.

"Move along! Go panhandle somewhere else. We have orientation today."

The acceptance letter sewn into the lining of my jacketmy most precious possessionsuddenly felt like a branding iron against my ribs.

I stood there, clutching my plastic bags. I didn't belong. The shame was a physical weight, crushing me into the pavement. I wanted to dig a hole and bury myself.

That was when Harrison appeared.

Chapter 4

He strode toward me, cutting through the jeers like they didn't exist. Tall, lean, with silver hair that blazed in the sunlight. He looked less like a student and more like a deity descending to earth.

"Freshman? What major?"

Just like that. One sentence, and the mockery around me shattered.

My throat felt like Id swallowed sandpaper. I gulped, twice, before forcing the word out.

"Communications."

"Oh."

Harrison pointed to a group of guys goofing off a few yards away.

"He's in your program."

He didn't even look back at me. He just cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Bryce! Get over here and give her a hand."

Bryce jogged over, groaning dramatically as he hoisted those massive, ugly bags onto his shoulders.

I was a wounded animal in a city of predators. I couldn't reject even a scrap of kindness.

From that day on, my eyes were always on Harrison. I wanted to thank him. I wanted to be near him.

Fate threw me a bone.

The basketball game between State and Tech was the event of the season.

Harrison was the king of the court. The star player. The stands were packed with screaming fans, half of them there just to watch him breathe.

Every time he ran, every time he jumped, the crowd roared.

Maybe he was shining too bright.

By the second half, three players from the opposing team formed a wall around him. They were suffocating him.

Harrison didn't care. He launched himself into the air, fading back for a three-pointer despite the triple coverage.

Swish.

The ball snapped through the net.

But as he came down, a Tech player slid his foot right into Harrisons landing zone.

It was a dirty play. A classic undercut.

Harrisons ankle rolled at a sickening angle. He hit the floor hard, his face draining of all color. He couldn't stand.

The gym exploded. Players shoved each other. Fans screamed insults. Foam fingers and rally towels flew through the air like missiles.

In the chaos, I saw Harrison limp out of the gym. I didn't think. I just ran.

I barely knew him. But I caught up to him in the hallway, breathless. I offered to help him to the campus clinic.

He stopped. He looked down at me with clear, confused eyes.

"Student do we know each other?"

The memory I had cherished, the moment that saved me? To him, it wasn't even a footnote.

I froze, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. I didn't know how to introduce myself. "I'm the charity case you saved?"

Bryce, who was supporting Harrisons weight, squinted at me. Then he slapped his forehead.

"Holy crap! It's Bag-Lady! It's you, right?"

He grinned, a cruel, teasing glint in his eyes.

"What? You fall in love with Harrison or something? You chased him all the way out here to confess?"

It was the hottest summer on record. Even the cicadas sounded exhausted.

But my blood was boiling.

I stood there in my cheap, scratchy plaid shirtan outfit worth less than the socks Harrison was wearing.

I looked at him. I looked at the boy whose socks cost more than my family's food budget for an entire year.

I didn't back down. I laid my cards on the table.

"Yeah. I think I do like him."

Chapter 5

Harrison was my first love.

He wasn't just a crush. He was a supernova exploding in the desolate black void of my life.

But my honesty didn't earn me a confession. It earned me humiliation.

Harrison didn't say a word. But Bryce? Bryce laughed so hard he doubled over, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Bag-Lady, do you even own a mirror? Look at you. And look at him."

He wheezed, pointing a shaking finger at me.

"You think you have a shot at the swan? You're a toad."

"Bryce."

Harrison's voice was a low warning. He didn't look at me. He didn't defend me. He just turned and limped toward the campus clinic.

After that, Harrison became a ghost. If we crossed paths on the quad, hed stare at a wall. He dodged me like I was contagious.

His friends weren't so subtle.

They treated me like the help. Theyd corner me in the cafeteria, braying with laughter.

"Hey, Bag-Lady! Go get us some Gatorades."

"Busy."

I kept walking. I was here on a scholarship. My parents were back home, breaking their backs so I could be here. I had to make them proud.

After the hundredth time I shut them down, Bryce blocked my path. He rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing.

"Bag-Lady, you're playing hard to get. Makes me wonder if that day at the gym was a hallucination. Do you actually like Harrison, or was that just a fever dream?"

I looked him dead in the eye.

"Guess."

For the next three months at State, I evolved.

I grew my hair out until it cascaded down my back. I studied fashion magazines like they were textbooks. I worked three part-time jobs and funneled every spare cent into clothes that fit. My roommates dragged me to Pilates until my core burned and my posture straightened.

Finals week. The awards ceremony.

I walked onto the stage in a white dress that hugged every curve. I didn't just participate; I dominated. I swept four, maybe five major academic awards.

Thunderous applause shook the auditorium.

I looked up.

Dead center of the front row. Harrison.

He was sitting perfectly still. His eyes were locked on me. And the tips of his ears were burning a bright, tell-tale crimson.

It looked like a boy with a crush.

Under the stage lights, I smiled. A real, dazzling smile. Even if nothing happened, this victory was enough.

I was wrong. It wasn't the end. It was the beginning.

Harrison started showing up everywhere.

I tutored rich kids in the suburbs; Id come out to find his Porsche idling at the curb.

I swept floors at the music store in exchange for practice time. Hed appear out of nowhere, dismissing the instructor. Hed slide onto the piano bench next to me, his thigh brushing mine, his fingers guiding my hands over the keys to teach me a simple duet.

I studied in the library. My phone would vibrate, shattering the silence.

"Harper. Karaoke. Now."

His voice was loud, brimming with restless energy.

"No. Studying."

"Noooo, stuuuudying."

Bryces mocking voice echoed through the speaker. Then a chorus of laughter.

"Harrison, where's your game? Twiggy isn't biting."

Twiggy.

That was their new name for me. A cruel jab at my skinny frame. I tried to tell myself it meant growth. Nature.

Hearing it now? It sounded like "stick insect." It sounded like "ugly."

Suddenly, the background noise on the call cut out. A heavy door slammed shut. Silence.

Then, Harrisons voice returned. Low. Husky. It vibrated against my eardrum.

"Harper. Please come. I miss you."

Three words.

My defenses crumbled into dust.

Chapter 6

I abandoned my books and sprinted out of the library.

I pedaled my rusty bike like a maniac through the dark campus, my lungs burning for twenty straight minutes until I reached the club.

I skidded to a halt in front of Harrison. Before I could wheeze out a single word or catch my breath, Bryce cracked open a bottle of dark stout.

Foam spilled over his knuckles as he shoved it toward Harrison.

"Twiggy clocked in last, Harrison. Drink up."

I didn't get it.

Then I scanned the VIP booth.

I wasn't the only girl.

This wasn't a hang-out. It was a derby. A sick, twisted wager on which rich kid could summon their plaything the fastest.

And Harrison? He lost.

He lost because I was a student. I wasn't on his payroll. I didn't jump when he snapped his fingers. I didn't stroke his ego for a paycheck.

The other girls did.

They didn't get angry. They didn't feel humiliated. They cooed "Bryce, honey," and "Prince Charming," downing shots of tequila that sat on stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

Their eyes were glazed. Their legs were long.

I watched them, and suddenly, an invisible hand clamped around my windpipe. The oxygen cut off.

That was the first time the canyon between us became real.

He treated my heart like a poker chip.

A bitter, jagged smile cut across my face. I spun on my heel. I was done.

"Harper! Where are you going?"

Harrison chased me out into the street. He sounded genuinely confused, like he didn't understand why the game wasn't fun for me.

He grabbed my hand. His skin was fever-hot. He pulled my palm up and pressed it against his flushed cheek.

He smiled. A boyish, lethal smile that could stop traffic.

"Thanks for coming. I think I think I'm falling for you."

He paused, searching my eyes.

"Do you want to try? Us?"

Eighteen-year-old Harper was an idiot.

One look at that smile and my bones turned to liquid. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, desperate to get out.

I forced my voice to stay steady.

"We can try. But don't ever bet on me again. It's stupid."

I meant that I looked stupid being played.

Harrison paused. His smile froze for a micro-second, his eyes flickering. Then he nodded, obedient as a puppy.

"Okay. Never again."

That night, we escaped the stale, smoke-filled air of the club, hand in hand.

Harrison, the billionaire heir, insisted on riding my rusty bike. I sat on the handlebars, clutching my backpack to my chest.

8:00 PM.

The campus radio station hummed to life, soft indie ballads drifting through the humid summer night.

I grinned until my cheeks hurt. I knew, with absolute certainty, that when I died, this was the moment that would flash before my eyes.

It was perfect.

I was so happy I forgot where I came from. I forgot the dirt roads and the plastic bags.

But when I slept next to him, the nightmares still found me.

In my dreams, Bryce would cackle, his face twisted and cruel.

"Bag-Lady," he would sneer, his voice dripping with acid. "You think a toad can keep the swan forever?"

I never told Harrison about the dreams.

But every time I woke up sweating, I worked harder. I clawed my way up. I took every opportunity, grabbed every lifeline.

I transformed.

The whispers changed. I wasn't Twiggy or Bag-Lady anymore. I was Harrison's Girlfriend. The Scholar. The Ace.

I had finally earned their respect. I was soaring.

Then lightning struck.

The Caelum family empire collapsed.

Bankruptcy.

Chapter 7

Overnight, Harrison went from the Crown Prince of New York to a pariah.

The Caelum family empire didn't just stumble; it imploded.

In a matter of months, the "brothers" who used to worship the ground he walked on vanished. The friends who claimed theyd take a bullet for him fled like rats off a sinking ship.

They treated him like he was radioactive.

Harrison shattered. He didn't just fall; he stopped trying to get up.

I was his girlfriend. I couldn't watch him drown.

So I stepped up. I worked myself to the bone. I took every gig app job, every overtime shift, sacrificing my sleep and my dignity just to keep him comfortable. To buy him the fine dining meals he craved. To keep the lights on.

So yeah, when I called him a freeloader today? I wasn't just being mean. I was stating a fact.

He was surviving on my blood and sweat.

"Angel's owner?"

The heavy swing doors of the OR pushed open. A doctor stepped out.

Broad shoulders. Tall. Surgical scrubs that fit a little too well. But his expression was grim.

Graham.

He didn't sugarcoat it.

"Her vitals are unstable. We need to keep her on aggressive fluid therapy."

He looked at the clipboard, then at me, his brows drawn tight.

"The next forty-eight hours are critical. If she stabilizes, we have a shot. If she crashes"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. The silence was loud enough, cold and terrifying.

My body went rigid. I locked eyes with him, fighting the tremor in my voice.

"Please. Do whatever it takes. Just save her."

"She underwent a spay surgery while in active estrus," Graham said, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with clinical disapproval. "Combined with severe malnutrition, her body is in systemic shock."

His eyes narrowed. The professional mask slipped, revealing a flash of judgment.

"If you care this much about her, why did you authorize a surgery like that during her cycle? You should have known the risks."

His words were a slap in the face.

I was pulled back to three months ago.

Before she vanished, Angel had been in heat. She was howling through the night, rolling on the floor, pressing her body against furniture, desperate and uncomfortable.

It killed me to watch her suffer.

I had called five different clinics. I did the research. Every single vet told me the same thing: Wait. The blood vessels are engorged. The risk of hemorrhage is too high. Do not operate until the cycle ends.

So I waited. I planned to schedule it the second she was safe.

But I never got the chance.

Harrison stole her during that exact, dangerous window. He gave her to Brooke.

And Brookeignorant, selfish Brookehad dragged her to a vet and had her cut open while her body was most vulnerable.

They didn't just starve her. They butchered her.

I didn't try to defend myself to Graham. I didn't explain the ex-boyfriend or the theft. I just nodded, swallowing the bile rising in my throat.

I pressed my palms together.

"How much for the initial tests? I'll pay right now. Just please. Keep an eye on her."

"I treat every patient like my own, regardless of the owner," Graham said, his tone clipped.

He turned to leave, but stopped. His gaze dropped to my hand.

"You're hurt."

I followed his line of sight.

The scratch Angel gave me earlier. The blood had stopped flowing, but it had dried into a jagged, dark crust on the back of my hand. It looked angry against my pale skin.

"It's nothing," I mumbled, pulling my sleeve down to hide the evidence.

I wanted to ask more about Angel, but he had already turned on his heel, disappearing back into the restricted zone.

I swiped my credit card at the front desk, ignoring the painful dent in my savings.

I walked to the isolation ward. Through the thick glass, I watched Angel.

She looked so small. Tubes, wires, a plastic cone. Her chest barely moved.

A vice tightened around my heart, squeezing until I couldn't breathe.

She took up no space. She asked for nothing. How could she possibly have offended Harrison so much that hed condemn her to this?

He lived with her for six months. Did he feel nothing? Was he actually a monster?

The questions swirled in my head, dizzying and dark.

Ahem.

A soft, deliberate cough broke the silence behind me.

Chapter 8

The exam room door swung open again.

Graham was back.

He held a bottle of iodine and a fistful of cotton swabs. His eyes flicked to my bleeding hand.

"Sit. I'm cleaning that."

"I'm fine."

I waved him off, turning to leave.

He didn't even pause. He unscrewed the cap, the sharp, stinging scent of antiseptic filling the small space. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable but commanding.

"Sit down. I'll bill the first aid to the cat."

"Thanks."

I sat.

He peeled off his surgical gown, the blue cap, the mask, and the latex gloves.

I blinked.

Without the layers of sterile fabric hiding his face, the doctor who had just operated on my cat looked shockingly young.

Too young.

He didn't look like a seasoned vet. He looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ. Sharp jawline, perfect skin, eyes that were too intense for a dimly lit clinic.

My anxiety spiked. I shouldn't judge a book by its cover, especially not at the city's best hospital, but he looked like a med student on his first rotation.

"How old are you?"

The question slipped out before I could stop it.

He didn't look up. He soaked a swab in iodine and dabbed it gently against the scratch on my wrist. The sting was sharp, grounding.

He wiped away the dried blood with a wet wipe, his movements precise and efficient.

Finally, he looked me in the eye. His expression was completely flat.

"Old enough to be a father of two."

I left the hospital with my shoulders slumped, carrying the weight of the world.

When I got back to the apartment, it was pitch black.

Harrison wasn't home.

Just like Brooke had predicted.

The empty living room felt like a tomb. I didn't have the energy to eat. I barely had the energy to wash my face.

I collapsed into bed.

I wanted a drink. I wanted to scream. But corporate drones don't get to have breakdowns on Sunday nights.

I had work in the morning.

Maybe it was the trauma of the day. Maybe it was the empty spot beside me. But when I finally drifted off, the nightmares were waiting.

Brooke's texts flashed like strobe lights.

Hes not coming home.

Freeloader.

Then the image of Angel. Her ribs heaving. The dried blood. The cage.

I stepped off a cliff.

My body jerked violentlya hypnic kick that felt like hitting the pavement.

I gasped, sitting bolt upright in the dark, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I was drowning in air.

I checked the time.

2:00 AM.

The sheets on Harrisons side of the bed were smooth and cold. He hadn't even tried to come back.

I rubbed my chest, trying to massage the panic out of my heart. I got up, poured a glass of water, and unlocked my phone.

Doom-scrolling. Anything to numb the brain.

Then I saw it.

Harrison had updated his status one hour ago.

A video.

I tapped play. The silence of my bedroom was shattered by the thumping bass of club music.

The camera panned across a VIP booth.

There was Bryce.

The "brother" who had ghosted us the second the Caelum family fortune evaporated. He was back, sitting on Harrison's left, laughing with his head thrown back.

And on his right?

Brooke.

She was practically fused to him, her body pressed against his arm, her eyes crinkled in a smile of pure possession.

The booth was packed. All the old "friends." The fair-weather entourage that had treated Harrison like a leper for the last year. They were all there.

And the table

My breath hitched.

It was covered in bottles.

Not cheap beer.

Armand de Brignac. Ace of Spades. Gold bottles. Green bottles. Plus trays of shots and high-end mixers.

I did the math instantly. It was a reflex born of poverty.

Fifteen thousand dollars.

Maybe more.

That was one night of drinking. That was fifteen thousand dollars of alcohol spilled on a table while I was scraping together change for rent.

A cold wave of nausea washed over me.

Fifteen grand.

I didn't even have time to process the betrayal.

The video cut out. The screen changed.

Incoming Call.

Harrison.

Chapter 9

"Twiggy!"

I barely touched the answer button before Bryces voice shattered the quiet of the night. I frowned, pulling the phone away from my ear.

"Harrison is wasted. Get your ass down to The Onyx and pick him up."

He barked the order like I was an Uber driver. Then, a nasty, distorted laugh crackled through the speaker.

"Oh, right. Harrison said he's treating tonight. But since he's passed out don't forget your wallet. You're paying."

Click.

The line went dead.

I moved like a robot. My limbs felt stiff, disconnected from my brain. I walked to the nightstand and yanked open the drawer.

It was empty, except for one thing.

A heavy, thick envelope.

My life savings. The down payment for the house I wanted to build for my parents.

Fifteen thousand dollars. Cash.

I grabbed it.

The Onyx was the most pretentious club in the city. The air smelled of expensive cologne and desperation. Everywhere I looked, hot, sweaty bodies ground against each other under the strobe lights.

I kept my face completely blank. I cut through the crowd, ignoring the hands brushing against me, until I found their VIP booth.

I pushed the door open.

If the bass wasn't shaking the walls and the lights weren't blinding, they might have noticed that I looked like a walking corpse.

But they didn't look at my face.

They looked at my right hand. At the brick of cash I was gripping.

"Twiggy! You actually brought it!"

Bryce jumped up, a mix of shock and twisted delight on his face.

Brooke, lounging next to Harrison, arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Harper, honey, isn't that a little tacky? Everyone at this table has fifteen grand in their pocket. Carrying cash like that? Are you trying to advertise that Harrison is broke and living off you?"

Bryce froze, realizing the vibe had shifted. He let out an awkward laugh.

"Yeah, totally. I was just joking. We all know Harrison's situation. We wouldn't actually make you pay."

I didn't answer. I just curled my lip into a cold, mocking smile.

I looked across the coffee table, straight at Harrison.

He wasn't drunk.

His eyes were clear. He was sitting there, letting Brooke humiliate me. Letting Bryce treat me like a servant.

He was enjoying the show.

I raised my hand and signaled a server.

I didn't say a word to Harrison. I just slammed the stacks of bills onto the metal tray.

Thud.

Cash out.

The servers eyes widened. "Miss, that's a lot of cash. We need to verify it. We have to use the counter"

"Use it."

Thirty seconds later, a portable bill counter was placed on the table.

Zip-zip-zip-zip-zip.

The mechanical whir of the machine counting crisp bills cut through the music. It was the sound of money. It was the sound of my dignity being shredded.

The crowd in the booth started hooting and cheering at the display of wealth.

But Harrison?

Sandwiched between Brooke and Bryce, his face turned a sickly shade of gray. The arrogance drained out of him.

"Harper."

He gritted his teeth, his jaw muscles jumping. He stood up, shoving past Brooke's legs to get to me.

"You don't have to pay this."

Chapter 10

When the Caelum family empire crashed, the rats didn't just leave the ship. They set it on fire.

I was the only idiot who stayed in the wreckage.

I skipped meals until my ribs showed just so he could keep his reservation at Le Bernardin. I wanted him to taste the life he used to have.

I cancelled our anniversaries. I told him I didn't care about dates, just so he wouldn't have to feel the shame of showing up empty-handed.

I asked for nothing. I expected nothing. I cleaned his mess, I swallowed his temper tantrums, and I ignored his refusal to get a job.

I worked until my hair thinned from the cortisol. I scraped together every penny until my savings hit that magic number.

Fifteen thousand.

I remembered the night I showed him the balance.

"Fifteen grand is a fortune where I'm from, Harrison. That covers the materials for a real house. Two bedrooms. A porch."

I had gripped his hand, my eyes burning with sincerity.

"Give me time to save another fifteen for renovations, and I'm taking you home. My family has acres of land. You follow me, and you will never starve."

I barely finished the sentence before he pounced.

He tackled me onto the mattress like a starving animal. He didn't kiss me; he devoured me. He buried his face in my neck, biting and worshipping, overwhelmed by a devotion that felt terrifyingly real.

We collapsed hours later, tangled in sweat and sheets.

His eyes had shone like stars in the dark. His voice was wrecked, raspy with satisfaction.

"Harper. Don't ever forget what you just said."

I didn't forget.

I believed him.

I looked at the man standing in front of me now. The man looking at me like I was the traitor.

My voice was soft. Deadly.

"If you don't need me to pay the tab, Harrison why did you call me?"

I smiled. It didn't reach my eyes.

"Another bet? Is that it? Are you guys racing to see how fast the dog comes when you whistle?"

The color drained from Harrison's face instantly. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

Behind him, Brooke crossed her arms. Her lips curled into a sharp, victorious smirk.

Chapter 11

Rewind thirty minutes.

Right after I hung up on Bryce, my phone pinged. A new email notification.

It was a video file.

I tapped play. The background was unmistakable. It was the exact VIP booth I was standing in right now.

On screen, Brooke leaned in, her forehead creased with a performance of deep, heartfelt confusion.

"Harrison, I don't get it. Why are you lying to Harper? Why tell her you're broke when your dad's assets are perfectly fine?"

Because it was filmed secretly, Harrison's expression was blurry.

But Bryce's voice? It boomed through the speaker, crystal clear and obnoxious.

"Princess, you really are naive, aren't you?"

"The Caelum family sits on billions. What does Harper bring to the table? She's a hillbilly from nowhere. If she wants to marry into this dynasty, she has to pass the test."

Bryce snorted.

"Letting her support Harrison for a year? Honestly, she's getting off easy. That's a discount entry fee."

Brooke tilted her head, swirling her drink.

"I don't know she didn't look too happy today. She looked scary when she was screaming about that cat. She even called Harrison a freeloader."

She giggled.

"I get the feeling she cares more about that animal than she cares about Harrison."

"Brooke."

Harrison finally spoke. But there was no anger in his tone. No defense. Just a weak, token warning.

Bryce didn't even pause. He just laughed harder.

"You're reading it wrong, Brooke. You were in Europe, so you didn't see it. Harper is obsessed with him. She has zero self-respect."

"We can't get her to do anything, but the second Harrison snaps his fingers? She comes running like a trained dog."

"He didn't even have to buy her flowers to get her in bed. Just one sentence."

The video ended with a chilling frame.

Brooke looked directly into the hidden camera lens. Her eyes locked with mine through the screen. She smirked.

She sent it.

And through the entire clip, Harrison didn't deny a single word.

He knew.

He knew I was starving myself. He knew I was working until my feet bled. He knew I was destroying my health to keep him afloat.

But for the last year, he watched me suffer. He used "bankruptcy" and "depression" as excuses to manipulate me, to torture me, just to see if I would break.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath, exhaling the last three years of my life.

I opened them and looked at Harrison. The face I used to think was a masterpiece now looked like a cheap forgery.

"Harrison. I told you. Don't bet on me. It's stupid."

The liethe year-long, cruel, twisted liewas out.

Harrison's mask of arrogance crumbled. The irritability, the entitlement, the "depression"it all fell away, leaving just panic.

"Harper."

His Adam's apple bobbed violently. He reached for me, his fingers trembling.

"Let's not do this here. Let's go home."

I side-stepped his touch like he was diseased.

I jerked my chin toward the table, where the bill counter was still whirring.

Zip-zip-zip.

The sound of my freedom.

"Harrison, we don't have a home."

I leaned in close, my voice steady, ensuring every syllable landed like a punch.

"I came here to break up with you."

"Being a billionaire's wife sounds like too much work. Go test someone else."

I didn't wait for a reaction. I didn't look at the shocked faces of his friends