Chapter 1: Shopping for Survival

I was with Marcus Caldwell for three years.

It’s wild how those years still echo in the quiet moments when my heart skips a beat. Back then, I memorized every tone in his voice, every secret grin, the way his shoulders would tense up if he thought no one was watching. For three years, I lived in the orbit—sometimes in the shadow—of a man whose last name everyone in Maple Heights dropped like it was a magic word.

Later, just as he was about to get engaged, Marcus handed me a check for five million dollars and told me to disappear.

Five million. The number looked fake—something out of a fantasy. He said it like he was offering me a glass of water, as if he could erase our history with one signature. I remember the check sitting on my cheap coffee table, the light overhead making it look almost radioactive. It was an insult and a lifeline, both at once.

At the time, I was too proud, too stubborn to take it.

Pride’s a weird thing. It won’t keep the heat on, but sometimes it’s all you have when the world feels like it’s closing in. I remember sitting in my dark apartment, clutching that check, my throat burning. I couldn’t let him believe I was the kind of girl who’d let herself be bought—especially by him.

I didn’t take it.

My hands were shaking so badly when I ripped the check in two, the pieces fluttering to the floor like sad little snowflakes. Nobody saw it but me. My self-respect was the only witness I had left.

Two years later, things got rough. That’s when a rich trust fund guy started chasing after me.

It wasn’t glamorous. My credit cards were maxed, I was eating ramen for dinner, and rent was a constant threat. So when Derek Zhou—always laughing, always grinning, waving his Amex around—showed up at my office, I let him in. It wasn’t romance, it was survival. Money makes the world go round, not pride.

I agreed.

I told myself I deserved a break, maybe some comfort, maybe even a little fun. Saying yes didn’t feel like defeat—it felt like survival.

The day we got together, he took me shopping.

He came in wearing crisp joggers, a vintage hoodie, and sneakers so clean they squeaked. He swept me out of my cubicle and into a world of polished marble floors and the faint, expensive smell of money. For a few hours, I could pretend I belonged there.

I didn’t hold back—over a hundred grand in clothes, bags, and jewelry. But when it was time to pay, his card was declined.

I watched the sales associate’s polite smile turn nervous as she ran the card again. And again. The beep of rejection felt louder each time. I felt like everyone in the boutique could see straight through me.

Derek’s cheeks went bright red. He started rambling about his cousin—supposedly some big shot in Maple Heights.

“My cousin’s close by. I’ll get him to come over.”

He didn’t wait for my answer, already scrolling through his phone, trying to play it cool but failing badly.

I said okay.

What else could I do? The sales associate was hovering, pretending not to listen, while I tried to keep my dignity from bleeding out on the floor.

But when the man walked in, my breath caught in my throat.

Of course it was Marcus. Out of everyone in this city, fate had to throw me in front of him, wrapped up in embarrassment. For a second, the whole world spun, and I just stood there clutching designer bags like a life raft.