Chapter 3: Settling Scores, Breaking Hearts

I sat alone on the couch, waiting for his stream to end. When he came out, as usual, he headed straight for the bathroom. I stopped him.

"Are you planning to keep ignoring me? Is that going to solve anything?"

"I don’t want to argue," he said coldly.

"Fine, let’s talk," I said.

He looked at me, then came over and sat on the couch. His jaw was tight, his hands fidgeting with his phone.

"Go ahead, I’m listening."

"Like I said before, I’m giving my parents $15,000. That’s my bottom line," I said calmly.

"Lily, be honest with yourself—are you really giving that money to your parents? Isn’t it just going to your brother? Why do you women love being doormats for your brothers?" he snapped. "No wonder people say never marry a woman with a younger brother—it’s a bottomless pit."

"Carter, what do you mean, ‘bottomless pit’? When has my family ever taken your money?" I was both furious and chilled. "I want to give my parents money because they’ve been good to me. That’s called being a doormat? Can you stop throwing around words you barely understand?"

"Either way, I’m not agreeing to the $15,000."

"That’s my bottom line. If you can’t accept it, we break up," I said, standing firm.

He didn’t hesitate for a second. "Then let’s break up."

"Wait!" I stopped him as he was about to get up. "Breaking up isn’t just one sentence. Even family settles up—don’t we have some things to sort out?"

"What’s there to sort out?" Carter sneered. "We’re not married—what property is there to split? Don’t tell me you think you deserve half of what I’ve earned?"

"I don’t need your money, but I do deserve my wages, right? I’ve been editing your videos for two years. Wouldn’t you have to pay an editor?"

"If that’s how you want to play it, fine." He pulled out his phone. "In the past three years, I’ve sent you gift cards for holidays and anniversaries, totaling $5,500. For eating out and trips, I’ve paid $2,400. Gifts for your parents: $350. I pay the rent now. You really want to settle up?"

The moment he started reading off his expenses, the last flicker of hope in me died. He’d kept a ledger, line by line. I felt sick.

He’d clearly kept track of every cent he spent on me. He’d been planning for a breakup all along.

I almost laughed. "If you want to settle up like this, so can I. When you quit your job and started streaming with no income, I paid all the living expenses. I once gave you $800 in one go so you wouldn’t run out of money. Sure, you pay the rent now, but I buy the groceries and household stuff. When you had your appendix out last year, I paid the hospital bills—you never paid me back. I took care of you in the hospital—should I charge you for nursing? I may not have sent you gift cards, but I bought you gifts. Your clothes, shoes, watch, tablet—I have receipts for all of them. I paid for meals and outings too. Oh, and I bought your mom that gold necklace—over $450."

As I listed everything, his face got darker and darker. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the couch.

"If you really want to count every penny, I can make a detailed list. Then we’ll see who spent more."

"Enough!" he interrupted, clenching his fists and standing up. "Lily, I never thought you were so petty. Guess I misjudged you."

"Who started nitpicking first? Don’t try to blame me," I shot back.

He took a deep breath, sat back down, and forced himself to sound calm.

"Fine, let’s forget about daily expenses—call it even. I checked: for video editing like this, the going rate is $800 or $900 a month at most. You weren’t working full-time, so I’ll give you $800 a month. That’s not low. Two years, that’s $19,200. I’ll pay you, and we’re done."

He’d even looked up the market rate—clearly, he’d been planning this breakup.

At this point, there was nothing left to hold on to. I felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted from my chest.

My contributions went way beyond editing—creating his persona, sitting in on streams to make sure he said the right things, all the time and effort. But I didn’t care anymore.

I nodded. "Fine."

He transferred the $19,200 right then. I watched the notification pop up on my phone, feeling nothing.

"It’s late. You can leave tomorrow," he said, turning away.

I knew he’d pay me for the editing. On one hand, it was what I deserved. On the other, he was just scared I’d go public if he didn’t pay up. Too many stories of exes airing dirty laundry online.

His fans didn’t know he’d ever dated—everyone thought he was a single straight guy.

Paying me off cleanly meant no worries for him. Even if I said something bad about him online, he could show proof of payment and people would call him honorable.

But I had no intention of dragging things out online. I could see he didn’t love me anymore and really wanted to break up. He gave me $19,200 without blinking—he wasn’t short on cash. But for that $15,000 wedding fund, he not only refused to pay, but wouldn’t even let me use my own money for my parents. Bottom line, he just wanted an excuse to blow things up and avoid marriage.

He didn’t want it, and I wasn’t going to beg.

Since he was so petty, I’d never badmouth him online. A clean break—no more contact.

Whether he got famous or rich was none of my business anymore.

Honestly, I figured this was as good as it would ever get for him. If he could just maintain it, he’d be lucky; if he started declining, that was normal.

Not to brag, but I was a huge part of his success. He had the skills, but no real spark. He was awkward, never studied other streamers, just played and ignored everything else. I put so much effort into creating and maintaining his persona. Once he got in the zone, he’d forget himself and nearly curse on stream—if I hadn’t been there to stop him, he’d have ruined it. Unless he joined a company with people to manage him, he’d never keep it up. But now that he’d tasted solo success, he’d never want to share the profits. So I didn’t expect much from his future.

But none of that mattered to me anymore. Even if he made millions, I wouldn’t regret leaving. Not anymore.

At 1 a.m., I started packing. By nearly 4, I’d finished. I dozed on the couch until my alarm went off. I called my boss to ask for a day off, ordered a Lyft, and planned to move my things to my college roommate’s place, then go look for a new apartment.

As I was leaving, suitcase in hand, Carter called out from behind me.

"Lily, if you walk out that door today, don’t ever think about coming back. I won’t give you another chance—think it through."

"Goodbye," I said without looking back. I didn’t even flinch. My feet felt rooted to the floor, solid for the first time in ages.