Ten years ago, I told her I loved her.
She said she felt the same, but we were too young. We'd wait. We'd both get into the Ivy League, and then we'd figure it out.
A few days later, she climbed into a rich kid's car. I ran to stop her. She got out, looked at me, and said, cold as stone：“Your love is worthless. Richard Gilbert can make me somebody. Even if all he wants is to play with me and throw me away, I'd rather be his toy living in luxury than be loved by someone whose love isn't worth a thing.”
I stood there for a long time, frozen, until Richard told his driver：“Run him over. We'll file an insurance claim.”
The roar of the Bentley's engine turned my legs to jelly. I collapsed onto the pavement.
Richard got out, one arm draped around her, and looked down at me：“Heh. Poor people.”
She gave me one long look and said：“Forget about me.”
Ten years later, I came back to this city as a rising force in the business world.
A class reunion happened to be booked at my private club, and I saw her again.
……
I'd picked up Obsidian Club when I first came back to Brookhaven. I needed somewhere to host the city's power players, so profit was never the point. The place existed to filter. Nine-figure net worth or real political weight—otherwise you didn't get through the door.
Today's guest was a special one: Lucius Donaldson, the senior official overseeing Brookhaven's economic development.
He didn't drink alcohol, only tea, and nothing expensive at that.
A few minutes of easy conversation and we'd locked in a project north of ten billion.
He took a call from City Hall. It wasn't my place to hover, so I stepped out of the private room.
That was when my assistant came clicking down the corridor, her too-tight pencil skirt turning every step into a slow sway.
Shelagh had the kind of face you'd swear belonged on a screen, and a figure that made sure you remembered it. No matter how many times you saw her, you looked again.
“Mr. Swanson, a developer's son just showed up in the Lakeview Suite downstairs. Worth your time?”
Shelagh's voice was sweet and honeyed, her tone soft.
I glanced at the private room where Lucius was still on his call, hesitated a moment, and said：“Sure. Let's go see.”
Lucius's calls usually ran half an hour at minimum. I couldn't just stand out here waiting.
And if Shelagh had come to tell me in person, whoever was downstairs carried some weight. Worth a look.
I headed downstairs to the Lakeview Suite with a decent bottle of wine and knocked.
“Come in.”
Someone called from inside.
I pulled the door open and walked in with a smile that was polite but distant.
Before I could say a word, I stopped cold.
People I knew. People I'd known half my life—and who looked like strangers now.
The seat directly facing the door was the head of the table.
And the person sitting there, naturally, was the one with the most clout: Richard Gilbert.
Ten years had passed, but I still thought about it sometimes, the moment that Bentley's engine sent me crumpling to the ground. I still remembered those three words of his“Heh. Poor people.”
And then I saw her. Bridget Pruitt.
The girl who once told me my love was worthless was sitting right beside Richard now, a porcelain-pretty little girl cradled in her arms.
Five years ago, I'd run into Bridget once in the capital.
She'd been in the middle of a business meeting, being pressured to drink. She refused. Someone slapped her across the face.
I stepped in, got her out of it. She said she wanted a drink after all.
Half-drunk, she told me she could drink herself into oblivion of her own free will, but she would never let someone else pour her into it. That was dignity, she said. That was the line.
But she was the one who'd told me she didn't want to be loved by someone whose love was worthless. That she'd rather be kept and toyed with in luxury.
So what happened in those five years? Where did this sudden dignity come from?
I asked her what her line was worth. Name a price. I'd pay it.
She cried. Then, stubborn as ever, she scrubbed the tears away hard and said there was no price. It was mine for nothing.
