Chapter 3: The Secret Heiress Revealed

It was over a year into my relationship with Natalie Porter.

Back then, I was juggling three jobs, barely scraping by in a city that chews you up. On a muggy August afternoon, I was working part-time at the Maple Heights Grand Hotel when I saw her arrive, dressed head-to-toe in her Louis Vuitton bag and Louboutin heels, inspecting the premises.

The manager called her Ms. Porter.

He straightened his tie and practically tripped over his own feet to open the door for her. It was like watching a scene from a Netflix drama, only I was the background extra.

That’s when I learned the hotel belonged to her family.

The Porters were among the wealthiest in Maple Heights.

Their name was on the donor wall at the local hospital, the university, the art museum. People said they basically owned half the city.

My supposedly broke, down-on-her-luck first love was actually a rich heiress.

For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. It felt like I’d stumbled onto the wrong movie set.

It felt like something straight out of a soap opera.

A really bad one—where the twist is so wild you have to pause and rewind just to believe it.

Unlike the aloof, proud heroines on TV, I felt like I’d hit the jackpot.

I was half laughing, half terrified. Who else gets a front-row seat to this kind of drama?

Because I was certain—Natalie truly loved me.

It was the little things. She’d bring me coffee at midnight during finals week, or show up with homemade soup when I had the flu. No one had ever looked out for me like that before.

She’d cheer me up when I was upset, take care of me when I was sick. Rich or poor, she was the best girlfriend I could imagine.

Even if her clothes were fake thrift, her heart felt real. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

Since she enjoyed pretending to be broke, I played along.

I didn’t ask questions. I thought it was some kind of trust exercise—her way of wanting me to love her for her, not for her money.

Until my mother fell ill and urgently needed money for surgery. Even then, she kept up her act, happily pretending to be penniless, still testing me.

She let me beg, let me worry myself sick over hospital bills. Every day felt like a game I didn’t want to play anymore.

I finally had enough.

Late at night, with the city lights flickering outside our window, I decided I’d had enough. I packed a bag and left. I paused only to look at our chipped coffee mug on the counter—one last anchor to a life I couldn’t afford to keep.

I broke up with her and married the wealthy man who pursued me.

Marcus showed up at my door with roses and a contract for a new condo. I let myself believe things could finally be simple.

I let down Natalie and her friends, but I truly have no regrets.

I’ve lost sleep over a lot, but not over her.