It was my birthday, and I texted my mom:
“Mom, send me some cash boost coins, I want to take my boyfriend out for a fancy dinner.”
Two hours later, my mom finally sent me $130.
“Sweetie, spend it sparingly. This is what your mom earned from two full days of hard labor.”
Ryan’s face changed the moment he saw it.
“You told me you came from a well-off family. Your mom… works construction?”
He pointed at my handbag with a trembling finger.
“You’re always carrying LV or Chanel—don’t tell me they’re all fake?”
“I really misjudged you. You’re just another vain, gold-digging woman. We’re done!”
I watched his figure grow smaller as he walked away, then opened WhatsApp:
“The savings account interest rate is ridiculous—twenty million in there and it’s only $450 a day!”
“Anyway, I can’t chat now. Your Aunt Julie needs a fourth player for mahjong. Playing every day has my back aching.”
“Payment received: $130 via PayPal.”
The notification chimed just as Ryan and I were curled up together at our usual coffee shop.
I was chatting idly with my mom, while Ryan was laughing at something on his brand-new iPhone I’d bought for him.
When the sound came, he didn’t even look up, still grinning at whatever was on his screen.
I glanced at my phone, seeing the transfer followed by another exaggerated message:
“Sweetie, spend it sparingly. This is what your mom earned from two full days of hard labor.”
I almost choked on my own saliva.
My mom, the drama queen, was at it again—playing one of her role-play games.
An actual high-society socialite, addicted to short dramas, always imagining herself as some evil stepmother character.
“What’s wrong?” Ryan came up from behind, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on my shoulder.
He smelled of the Hermès Terre d’Hermès cologne I’d just bought him, mixed with his own warmth, making me relax instinctively.
Quickly, I hid my phone behind my back. It would be far too embarrassing if he saw my mom’s antics.
Ever since I refused to meet the younger son of one of my dad’s business partners from the Parker family, my father had cut off my credit card.
I might be one of the top heiresses in Riverdale City, but with my spending habits, I relied on my dad’s secondary card to get by.
Cash reserves? Almost nonexistent.
Luckily, my mom sent me money from time to time, saving me from resorting to selling my second-hand designer bags.
“It’s nothing,” I said, shaking my phone. “My mom just sent me some money. It’s my birthday, so I’m treating you to something nice.”
Ryan made a quick feint and snatched my phone from my hand before I could stop him. I felt his body tense immediately as he read.
“Your mom… works construction?” His voice rose in pitch. Releasing my hand, he stepped back, his face dark.
“I thought you were from a rich family?”
I sensed trouble, slowly pried his fingers off my phone, and took it back.
“Did I ever say I was from a rich family?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ryan’s voice was getting louder. “You’re always carrying LV or Chanel!”
Then, as if he’d suddenly figured something out, he sneered.
“Don’t tell me they’re all fake?”
The café lights suddenly felt blinding.
At the next table, a group of girls stopped talking, openly staring at us and sizing up my outfit.
I took a sip of my Americano, its bitterness curling at the back of my tongue.
“Answer me!” Ryan slammed the table, drawing the attention of the waitstaff. My heart thumped in my chest.
“Those designer bags you have, and that watch you bought me—they’re all knockoffs, aren’t they?”
I stared at the LV scarf around his neck—the same one I’d given him for his birthday—and suddenly, it all felt absurd.
