"Let's go check out a few places-nothing too fancy, just something... affordable. How about a used Toyota Corolla? You've always said you liked the idea of something practical."?"

Suddenly, a well-dressed woman stepped in front of us.

Before I could react, Charles swiftly placed himself between me and the stranger.

"Tracy, what are you doing here?" Her voice was soft, almost too gentle.

The woman, her voice dripping with sweetness, replied, "Just choosing a car..."

Charles cleared his throat, cutting her off, and turned back to me with an apologetic look.

"Vicky, something urgent came up at work.Let's buy it another day..."

As they walked away, I immediately recognized her.

Tracy Davis. The school's queen bee. The kind of girl who thought money could buy anything-including cruelty.

While I kept my head down, careful to hide my true identity, she reveled in her wealth, flaunting it like a badge of honor.

And every day, she found a new way to remind me of my place.

Each morning, I'd arrive at school, my stomach already in knots from the thought of what awaited me.

Opening my locker was a gamble-one that always ended in defeat. Some days, it was a mess of rotten food stuffed inside, the smell so unbearable that I had to hold my breath just to get the door closed.

Other times, it was worse-my textbooks shredded, pages scattered like confetti, mocking me with every crumpled corner.

Tracy's cruelty had a way of echoing through the halls, her voice carrying just loud enough to cut through everything else. She would always have something to say about my clothes-always just loud enough for me to hear. "Did your parents buy you that at a thrift store?"

She had made sure the entire school thought I was a charity case.

I wasn't just poor in their eyes-I was a charity case, a scholarship student working multiple jobs just to get by.

And here she was, still with that arrogant, high-and-mighty attitude.

She shot me a smug glance before strutting off.

Charles always told me he loved me, that his marriage to Tracy was just a family obligation, nothing more. He swore it wasn't about love, that he'd never stop caring for me.

But his actions? They spoke a different truth.

His phone was always buzzing with her name, even when I was right next to him.

Gifts? For me, a last-minute thought. For her, lavish trips, jewelry, everything I could never have.

Whenever Tracy had something-whether a party or a gala-Charles was there, clearing his schedule. But when I had something important? He'd cancel, show up late, or not show up at all.

In public, we were strangers. He'd hold her hand, whisper in her ear, all the affection I longed for, given to her so freely.

At night, in his sleep, I'd hear him whisper her name. "Tracy, I'm sorry."

Back at my apartment, my best friend Ada called. "Vicky, you won't believe it! Charles loves you so much! I heard he booked the Four Seasons Hotel New York for the engagement ceremony. Venkat, his assistant,told me he spends hours researching the perfect flowers and picking the ones that remind him of you every time he has a moment to spare!!"

My heart twisted in bitterness. Those flowers weren't for me. They were to make Tracy look perfect, glamorous.

I thought back to that rainy night last year when my car broke down in the middle of nowhere. Charles drove for hours through the storm to rescue me, arriving with a blanket and a thermos of hot tea, just to make sure I was warm and safe. He stayed by my side, talking to me softly, until I could finally stop shivering and calm down.

He loved me then, enough to sacrifice everything.

And now? Now he wanted me to be his secret mistress.

Just as Ada's call ended, I received a message from the manager of the city's most luxurious car store.

"Mr. Wilson has his eyes on the car you booked. He insists on buying it for Tracy Davis!"

"Charles says he'll pay any price. He wants Tracy Davis to be the most dazzling bride in the city..."

Tears flooded my eyes uncontrollably.

"Such an opportunity, If she wants it... thirty million."

Less than half an hour later, Charles' assistant Venkat rushed in.

"Vicky, Charles would like to borrow the bag he gave you before. He has an urgent need for it."

It hit me instantly-Charles must be short on funds and wants to use the bag as collateral.

I gathered all the gifts he had given me over the past three years and packed them into boxes.

"These are all from him. Take them all."

As night fell, Charles hurried in, his face anxious and flustered.

"Vicky, why are you returning all the gifts?"

I bit back the pain, staring at the coffee in front of me with no expression.

When he leaned over, I casually closed the message I had sent to others about the investment plan for his company.

He softened his tone.

"Vicky, I was really tied up in an important meeting. Don't be upset, okay?"

"Tomorrow, I'll take the day off and spend it with you. Is that alright?"

The "important meeting" was just him helping Tracy prepare for her wedding.

I didn't call him out on his lies.

Maybe he truly felt sorry. The next morning, he personally woke up early and made me breakfast, carefully preparing all my favorite dishes "I hope this makes your day better."

In the past, such gestures would have melted me, but now, I just ate in silence.

"Vicky, you're not acting right. Did someone say something to you?"

"What are you worried about? Is there something you're hiding from me?"

He gripped my hand tightly, sighing, "Vicky, you're the only one in my heart. Don't you understand my feelings for you? I really needed to borrow the bag yesterday. If it upset you, I'll buy you new ones..."

Before we could leave, his friend Dierk called him to a high-end club.

Of course, to reassure me, he brought me along.

As soon as the private room door opened, a heavy scent of perfume hit me. There, standing with a bright smile, was the well-dressed Tracy Davis.

Charles immediately let go of my hand, cleared his throat awkwardly, and shot a glare at Dierk, who was giving him suggestive looks.

"Charles, who's this?"

"Uh, this is Victoria Winston," he said, then turned to me, "This is Tracy Davis, the daughter of the Davis Group. Take good care of her."

Just those few words made my position clear. The sting of past love cut deep, my heart torn to shreds.

The seating arrangement was clearly intentional, with Tracy Davis sitting at the head of the table and me on the opposite end.

At first, Charles leaned slightly toward me, whispering a few words, but as Tracy Davis began talking about the latest fashion collections and her upcoming social events, his focus slowly shifted toward her. His body subtly moved closer to hers.

It wasn't until I reached for my glass of wine and accidentally knocked it over, spilling the deep red liquid all over the table, that Charles snapped back to reality. His eyes widened in concern, and without a second thought, he rushed to grab a napkin, dabbing at the mess.

"Are you okay?"

While Tracy went to the restroom, Charles' group of friends started whispering with malicious intent.

"Has Mr. Wilson lost his mind? "He's completely ignoring the sophisticated, accomplished, and elegant Ms. Davis, and instead, he chooses to focus on a woman with no education, no status, and no future to speak of."

"Exactly! Look at her-like some country bumpkin. How embarrassing!"

"She's got no culture. If you showed her a real Pétrus, she'd probably mistake it for some random drinking!"

They snickered, throwing me scornful glances from time to time.

They fell silent when Tracy returned.

Not long after, one of the rich second-generation men took out a beautifully wrapped antique vase. The only flaw was a small crack running along its side, barely noticeable unless inspected closely. A renowned ceramic expert in the room took a close look and shook his head, declaring it a reproduction.

Tracy Davis curled her lip. "This vase is obviously a fake. You've been scammed."

I glanced at the vase. "It is not fake!"

The crack was from me. I had been just a child, careless, playing near my father's prized painting. One slip, and it crashed to the floor and here it was again.

The crowd looked at me in disbelief before bursting into laughter.

"Ms. Winston, you've never studied antiques. What makes you think you can tell if this vase is real? Are you better than the expert?"

"The real one was already collected by the Winston Family."

Their laughter grew louder. "Who does she think she is, daring to speak out of turn? "

Charles' face flushed with embarrassment as he gently stroked the back of my hand.

"Vicky, I know you've been studying art appreciation lately, but just studying doesn't mean you can tell the difference between genuine and fake."

"Tracy has studied antiques abroad since she was young, and her family has a collection of famous antiques. She wouldn't get it wrong."

Tracy Davis then took the opportunity to ask to see the necklace around my neck, claiming she had never seen anything like it before.

The necklace was custom-made by Charles, with a rare jade pendant, my favorite stone, instead of the usual pearls.

I looked at Charles, only to see his expression stiffen slightly.