I loved Stella for five years, and we were even engaged.

However, she never helped when my grandfather was dying, all because the adopted son of my family suggested that she should use the opportunity to put me through adversity—so that I would toughen up.

After my grandfather died helplessly, I toughened up just as she hoped for, no longer relying on her for everything.

Naturally, I no longer loved her anymore either.

As I limped back to town, I became a joke to the rich and the privileged.

They all said the heir apparent the Sullivans had brought back—the one who'd been lost and wandering since childhood—wasn't much in terms of ability, but had a nasty temper. He actually dared to butt heads with the adopted son who was already working in the company, even went so far as to threaten their parents. And what did he get for it? He ran away from home with nothing to his name, so broke he had to borrow even a few thousand dollars.

Some of the rich brats who used to humiliate me somehow caught wind of my situation. Bold as ever, they swaggered around me with a huge entourage and started snapping photos of me with their phones, not even pretending to be subtle.

I didn't bother raising my hand to cover my face and save my dignity, as the loan sharks already took it all.

Ever since I was forced to go down on my knees and slap myself, my heart had been dead calm.

John Sullivan—the boy who had a chip on his shoulder and raised hell everywhere to disguise the inferiority he felt, was dead.

And it was Stella Lewis as well as the rest of the Sullivans who killed him.

Several black MPVs came bounding down the road just then, not caring who was in their way.

And seeing the car plate, those rich brats scrambled to flee.

The leading MPV somehow had an air of modesty, just as I was well aware who was inside.

Stella Lewis herself—head of the Lewis family and my fiancee.

Though I paused for a moment when I saw the black MPV, I soon turned to take a detour.

As the door opened, her secretary alighted, dressed sharply in a suit as she walked up to me.

Still, she was taken aback when she saw my face and clothing.

I certainly know that I was a mess—I was still wearing black shirt I wore for Granpa's funeral, but it was now wrinkled and covered in footprints.

My cheeks were still swollen from yesterday's slaps, while my trembling fingers had dirt in every fingernail.

Even my one shoe was something I had to get from a trash chute, and the other foot was bare and red from the cold.

Still, the secretary quickly hid her surprise and gestured at the MPV. "Ms. Lewis is asking for you."

"No. I'm going home," I rasped hoarsely through my aching throat, keeping my head down as I withdrew, intending to walk past her.

The secretary was naturally surprised because I had been clinging to Stella for five years, as if she were my only hope in this world. Even though she was clearly always annoyed with my presence, I would always come up with excuses to stick around.

But now, from where I was standing, she was like the devil himself.

As I continued ahead, a cool voice called out, "John!"

I stopped, and seeing that my lips were pursed, the secretary gestured at the MPV again.

I straightened myself as much as I could while fighting the pain in my left leg, and limped slowly into the MPV even though the secretary had clear things to say.

Inside, Stella looked up from the documents she was reading.

Despite my sorry state, she didn't show concern, instead frowning and demanding in annoyance, "Are you cosplaying the homeless? Don't you feel embarrassed wearing that?"

I felt no sting despite the sharp comment, nor did I feel disappointed that she had failed to see my wounds.

Instead, I just kept my head down and apologized quietly.

"Sorry," I said, even though I didn't want to be tricked into borrowing from loan sharks.

Or being beaten to a pulp.

Or being forced to slap myself.

Or being tied to a wall like a dog, forced to stay on all fours if I wanted to eat.

However, it was either that, or they would dig Grandpa out of his grave and desecrate his body.

Stella paused in turn, studying before smiling in approval, "Uriah's right. You just need to suffer a little and you've changed."

Uriah Sullivan had been living with the Sullivans before they found me, while I had been living with his grandfather.

And I was slow on the uptake, as it didn't cross my mind why Stella would mention Uriah at that time.

Stella beckoned at me, being nice for once like she was giving treats to a dog just because I lived up to her expectations.

"Come," she told me, as I had been sitting as far away as I could and averted my eyes, staring at the car mat beneath my feet.

My eyes narrowed, repulsed by the way she ordered me around like I was a dog, and didn't move.

And when I didn't move, her tone became stern. "I said, come."

I didn't answer, but straightened my back as if to salvage that fragile dignity of mine—which I was supposed to have given up on, when I begged the loan sharks for mercy.

And since I wasn't answering, the car was silent.

Whether she was not used to the silence or because she got impatient, Stella reached out with her hand.

My back stiffened even before she could grab my arm, but I was sitting by the car door and couldn't dodge.

And the instant she touched me, my nostrils picked up the scent of her faint perfume.

It was the same perfume she always used—a gift from Uriah.

I remembered that I had a fight with Uriah because I thought he was out of line, and my parents froze my card in response.

That was why when I visited Grandpa, all I had was little cash.

His kidney failure was getting worse, but he couldn't afford the hospital so he never went.

When I took him to the hospital, I didn't have money for the bills.

Neither of my parents answered my calls, but somehow, the other rich brats who were always at odds with me showed up and laughed at me.

"The great Mr. Sullivan needs cash? Well, we're not that cold—you just have to lick our shoes and you will get your money, how about that?"

I didn't hesitate to do it, arching my back as I licked their shoes.

Grandpa was the one who raised me. If I had one shot at saving him, I would seize it.

The room was quiet aside from the sounds of my clothes brushing against the floor, and they had recorded me as I did.

They were all guffawing as they left, not before throwing a couple of hundred-dollar bills on the floor.

"Why don't you look in the mirror next time before you hover around Ms. Lewis?!"

"Yeah! Your love for her is only worth this much!"

Therefore, I was left with no other recourse than to borrow from loan sharks, but it was already too late for Grandpa.

After arranging his funeral, the loan sharks were already hounding me to pay them back.

I called Stella for help, only for her to snap at them impatiently, before snapping at me too and telling me to apologize.

And with that, she hung up.

The memories could stop my heart, and I got goosebumps on my arm where Stella touched me.

It felt as if a serpent coiled around me—a cold creepiness that swelled in my heart, leaving me so sick and nauseated I could throw up right then.

I knocked Stella's hand away as hard as I could and arched my back, holding myself against the front seat with one hand while I clasped the other over my mouth and retched violently.

Although I hadn't eaten for days and there was nothing I could vomit, the pungent acid scent sent Stella scrambling for a tissue to stuff her nostrils, while snapping at me in disgust, "What are you doing?!"

But I kept retching as I couldn't hear a thing, and only stopped when I no longer felt sick.

Stella said nothing and kept glaring coolly at me, and I knew well enough to tell that she was on the verge of an outburst.

While I usually would play dumb and ignore that, I didn't do so this time—just as I knew fully well I had no right to fight back, just as I was too enfeebled.

Keeping my head down as my fingers dug into the front seat, I said, "I'm sorry… I can walk on my own—I'm really sorry I got your car dirty. I'll wash it when I get home."

Stella paused and studied me suspiciously for a moment, and suddenly reached out toward my head.

I watched as her hand got closer, my whole body stiffening.

I knew I shouldn't avoid her touch because I had always yearned for her to respond to my affection.

However, she was very assertive and thought little of me, and would verbally destroy me if I even upset her a little—so that I felt embarrassed and hurt.

I stiffened in my seat, telling myself repeatedly not to hide or upset her.

However, when her cool fingers reached me again, I felt the same creepy serpentine sensation once more, and couldn't help turning my face away from her touch.

Stella's hand was left frozen mid-air, and when she looked at me again, I felt her indignation and impatience.

However, that was when I felt nauseated once more, and I shook my head repeatedly.

Suddenly, Stella's face was gone, and I was looking at my grandfather lying on his sick bed.

Because of these people, I had lost the only person who had been good to me.

As I blinked, tears gushed down my cheeks.

Seeing that, Stella—who clearly had some choice words for me—ultimately said nothing, and turned to tell the chauffeur to drive faster in it.

As I wiped my tears with my sleeves, I curled into a ball, staying silent and did my best to appear invisible.

My vision was a blur as I stared blankly outside, when it occurred to me.

If only Stella were willing to help, Grandpa would have been saved.

I wouldn't have to borrow from loan sharks either, let alone end up in this sorry state.

But in the end, pondering about what ifs was pointless.

-

When the MPV stopped, I bumped my forehead on the front seat from inertia.

"Are you okay?" Stella asked.

Her asking me that was like seeing a blue moon.

Still, I shook my head in silence, clutching my forehead.

For her part, she didn't press the issue and alighted right away, ignoring me and entered the Sullivan residence.

I went upstairs and quickly took a bath, changing out of my filthy trousers.

There were several gruesome holes on my left kneecap—the blood had dried and blackened.

It was a souvenir from the loan sharks, who had hammered several nails into my kneecap, and laughed out loud as I rolled around the ground, screaming and writhing in pain.

After that, they starved me and said I only got to eat if I pulled those nails out with my own bare hands.