A week after my engagement, I was delivered an unusual engagement gift.

My phone chimed. I glanced down and saw a push notification from a social app.

[Fell in love with a female livestreamer right before my engagement. I feel guilty toward my older girlfriend who's about to become my fiancée—how should I deal with this?]

The user ID was "SimonLovesClaire." The profile picture showed a melancholy side view of a man wrapped in a gray scarf.

I recognized him instantly.

It was my fiancé, Simon Aldrich.

That limited-edition scarf was the birthday gift I had given him last year.

I opened the post and skimmed through it. I was so angry I actually laughed.

Simon poured out a heartfelt confession to the female streamer, Claire.

[Claire only calls out to me so sweetly in her livestream. If that's not favoritism, what is?

[Once I've spent 100 thousand dollars on Claire's stream, I'll ask her out in person and confess!]

Then, when he mentioned me, his tone flipped instantly.

[Sigh, I do feel sorry for my fiancée. She's already thirty—not young anymore. Other than me, who would even want her?]

The comment section exploded.

[Claire only mentioned you a few times on her stream, and you fall in love? Your fiancée is really pitiful.]

[Break your engagement off already. Let that woman go. Go find your true love and lock yourselves together—I'll swallow the key!]

Simon must have been furious at the backlash. He immediately posted a screenshot of title deeds—with parts blurred out.

[Easy for you to say. My girlfriend's family owns three properties in the city center alone. Only an idiot would call off this engagement.]

That made the comments spiral completely out of control.

[Wow, living off a woman and still acting proud of it.]

[Three apartments? Wow, I'll take your fiancee and treat her so much better!]

[Goddamn!!!]

Under that post, Simon jumped around arguing with netizens, passionately firing back.

[You're just jealous! True love is not a crime! She's already so old—who else would want her besides me?]

Then came the most outrageous part. He personally pinned a comment that said: [Bro, I support you! Chase love bravely! Demand a breakup fee from your fiancée—three properties means you should get at least half! Remember: when you have no shame, you're invincible!]

Anyone with eyes could tell it was sarcasm. The comment section erupted in laughter, lining up to laugh at him.

[LOL OP, hurry up and take this advice!]

And then—my brilliant fiancé did something unbelievable.

He liked it.

Not only did he like it, he replied: [Bro, you get me! Tell me more. Her family has some background—any low-risk way to do it?]

That reply survived less than a minute before he deleted it in a panic.

All that remained was a conspicuously guilty line: [Check your DMs.]

Meanwhile, I was staring at the screenshot, my blood turning cold.

The title deeds were mine, of course.

I took the photo and sent it to him just last week.

I took a deep breath and lifted my gaze from my phone.

Across the dining table, Simon sat there neatly dressed in the custom-made shirt I had bought him. He wore a delicate pair of half-rim glasses.

Under the warm light, he looked every bit like a composed, dependable man.

Too bad that at this moment, his back was slightly hunched, his fingers flying across the screen so fast they left afterimages.

The cold glow of his phone lit his face from below, revealing flushed cheeks and a grin stretched almost to his ears.

That expression was more feverish than mine the day my company went public and its stock price skyrocketed.

Silently, I opened his profile.

His latest post was ten minutes ago. The image showed a recharge receipt from a livestreaming platform: 20,000 dollars in "Starlight Value."

The caption read clearly: [For my one and only Claire.]

In the corner of the screenshot, a familiar app icon had accidentally slipped into view.

It was the joint account we had opened specifically to prepare for our wedding.

The comment section had already boomed.

[Twenty thousand?! That's a serious number, bro… don't tell me that's for your wedding?]

[@SimonLovesClaire Dude, does your fiancée know you just gave a streamer so many starlight points?]

[Respect, blessings, and locked forever! May the streamer and this @SimonLovesClaire grow old together—please, please spare that unlucky fiancee!]

Amid the flood of insults, Simon's own reply was pinned at the very top, radiating pride between every line: [Already boosted @ClaireBowler by 20,000! True love conquers all!]

I slowly put down my phone and looked up at him.

Almost at the same time, Simon seemed to finish his online battle and raised his head in satisfaction. The feverish excitement hadn't faded from his face yet.

When he noticed me watching him, he stiffened for a split second, panic flashing through his eyes. But quickly, that well-practiced gentle mask slid back into place.

He even forced out a smile and casually picked up the soup ladle.

"What's wrong, Cheryl? Why are you spacing out? The soup's getting cold—have some. It's your favorite."

The silver spoon came toward me. Steam curled up from the bowl, briefly blurring his features.

I looked at him. At the hands I once thought were reliable. At the plain engagement ring on his ring finger—the one we had chosen together.

But all I could see was that screenshot, the twenty thousand in starlight points, and the name "Claire."

Behind the rising steam, I let out a soft laugh.

"Simon."

"Hm?" His hand paused mid-scoop.

Meeting his suddenly constricting pupils, I said calmly, "Let's call off the engagement."

The silver spoon slipped from his hand and fell straight into the soup bowl, splashing up a small burst of greasy broth.

But in his eyes, I saw something he couldn't hide—

Joy.

That dinner ended on a sour note.

When Simon left, his chin was lifted higher than the crystal chandelier in the restaurant, as if I were the one who'd been caught using our joint money to bankroll a livestreamer.

I quickly gathered everything that had happened today and dumped it straight into the family group chat.

On the drive home, my head buzzed nonstop—half from anger, half from sheer disbelief.

The moment I stepped through the door, before I even changed my shoes, my phone started vibrating like mad.

I opened our three-person family chat. The message count was already at 99+.

My father—normally a calm, refined businessman—had sent a string of furious emoji.

[Decent on the outside, rotten on the inside! That brat Simon has been acting for five whole years!]

My mother's messages dripped with rage.

[Who found him his first job after graduation?

[Who arranged specialists when his father was hospitalized?

[And now that he's grown the backbone, he dares bully my daughter like this?]

She ended with an emoji of a knife.

Before I could type a reply, my phone buzzed again.

I switched screens. It was Simon.

[Cheryl, have you really thought this through? Women are worthless after thirty. Other than me, no one will want you. You'll never find anyone better than me.

[You were the one who proposed breaking off the engagement—you're the one who breached the contract.

[So those three apartments must be transferred half into my name as compensation.

[I spent five years of my youth on you—emotions, energy, everything. That's a huge investment. You owe me financial compensation.]

Each message was more outrageous than the last. My blood pressure shot through the roof.

I seriously wanted to toss my phone into the fish tank and let my turtle see what human trash looked like.

I let out a cold laugh and didn't reply to him at all.

Instead, I took screenshots—click, click, click—and sent them straight into the family group chat, unedited.

Then I opened all the group chats that had been created for our engagement preparations and, one by one, disbanded them."

With every confirmation chime, the knot in my chest loosened just a little.

Next, I turned on my computer and logged into the various booking platforms.

The lakeside lawn venue I'd been eyeing for ages—canceled.

The custom wedding dress slot I'd waited half a year for—canceled.

The five-star hotel ballroom where we'd tasted dishes three times—canceled.

Every time I clicked "Confirm cancellation," my mind grew a little clearer.

When it was all done, I collapsed onto the sofa, feeling like every ounce of strength had been drained from me.

My phone started vibrating wildly again on the coffee table—this time, a voice call.

On the screen flashed two words: Simon's Mom.

I stared at it for a few seconds and didn't answer.

It rang, stopped, rang again—then the messages began to pour in.

[Cheryl, how can you just cancel the engagement like that? Young couples fight all the time!

[If you insist on canceling, fine, but you must cough up every cent of the engagement money our family prepared—not a penny less!

[And we've already informed so many relatives and friends. Now you're saying it's off—how are we supposed to swallow this humiliation? You need to compensate us for emotional distress and lost income.

She sent a screenshot—then quickly withdrew it.

But I was fast enough. I'd already seen it.

It was a wedding banquet reservation confirmation. The venue wasn't any of the hotels we had discussed.

It was some farm-style restaurant I'd never even heard of, located in the suburban outskirts.

They'd booked twenty tables. The total price was clearly written: 5,000 dollars.

I almost laughed from anger.

Back then, knowing Simon's family wasn't well-off, my parents had taken the initiative to suggest that both sides contribute twenty thousand each to make the wedding decent. If it wasn't enough, we could add more.

Our side had more relatives and friends anyway; that proposal was plainly meant to save his family's face.

And yet, behind our backs, they'd already booked a banquet that cost five thousand.

So their math was simple: Take the twenty thousand from my family, subtract the five thousand for the banquet, and they'd pocket a profit of fifteen thousand.

Using my family's money to host the banquet and even playing middleman for a markup. Every ounce of their effort went into scheming.

I didn't even bother replying.

I opened my contacts and blocked Simon, his father, his mother, and every relative even remotely connected to his family.

Instantly, the world went quiet.

But the anger still sat there, squeezing my stomach until it hurt.

That night, lying in bed, I tossed and turned.

The moment I closed my eyes, all I saw were those chaotic scenes from the past.

Simon and I were alumni of the same university.

He was a few years my junior. We met while volunteering at a school anniversary event.

Back then, he stood under the sun in a simple white shirt, handing out flyers. When he smiled, his eyes lit up—clean, bright, and earnest. He was hardworking, too.

After that, we kept running into each other at different campus activities. Little by little, we grew familiar.

He pursued me with genuine effort—good morning and good night messages, breakfast deliveries, snacks after class.

If I casually mentioned a play I wanted to see, he would line up all night just to buy tickets.

Still, I hesitated. It wasn't only the age gap, but also the difference in our families and upbringing. My family was in business. His parents were ordinary salaried workers. Our values, habits, and social circles were separated by an invisible distance.

So we dated, but I never agreed to marriage.

After graduation, I returned to the city where my family's company was based.

To my surprise, Simon gave up a fairly decent job opportunity in his hometown and dragged his suitcase straight to my city.

That day, at the rain-soaked train station, his hair was dripping wet, but his eyes were unusually bright as he said to me, "Cheryl, even if people say I married into your family for money in the future, I'll accept it. I just want to be with you."

To say I wasn't moved would be a lie.

After meeting him, my parents privately told me that our families weren't exactly "well matched", but they saw that he looked respectable and treated me sincerely. Especially after hearing his willingness to "marry in," they felt he had determination and gave their tacit approval.

My father only said, "We don't care about those superficial things. What matters is whether he treats you well. You just live your life properly together."

Friends around me warned me more than once. "Cheryl, be careful. When too many other things get mixed into love, it stops being pure."

But back then, I was drunk on love. I believed I had both the ability and the confidence to manage this relationship. As long as we loved each other, nothing else mattered.

To be fair, during the first few years of work, Simon did seem ambitious. At my father's company, even in an entry-level position, he worked hard. He was attentive to me, too—surprises on every holiday, big or small.

We spent a long time in the honeymoon phase. For a while, I truly thought I had broken the so-called curse of "unequal family backgrounds."

My dreams were chaotic, like an old, faded film full of static. In the end, they froze on the dinner scene—his distorted smile as he stared at his phone, so unfamiliar.

When I opened my eyes again, daylight had already flooded the room, the sunlight a little too bright.

I sat up and rubbed my aching temples.

Yesterday's anger, grievance, heartbreak, and self-doubt receded like a tide. They left damp traces behind, but they were gone at last.

The woman in the mirror had slightly swollen eyes, but her gaze was calm.

I got up early, did my makeup, and packed everything away. It was still early.

I didn't know what possessed me, but on a whim, I opened "SimonLovesClaire" profile again.

Sure enough, there was a new post.

It was already gaining traction, and the title alone made me laugh out loud.

[My fiancée found out I donated to my true-love streamer. She got jealous and threw a tantrum about canceling the engagement. Urgent, need advice.

[By the end of the year, I'm supposed to get married to my fiancée. Our relationship has always been stable.

[Recently, I've genuinely come to admire a talented streamer who's working hard to pursue her dreams, @ClaireBowler. I used the money I saved from work to support her dream.

[I didn't expect my fiancée to react so strongly after finding out and immediately say she wanted to cancel the engagement. She's probably just insecure and jealous.

[But now I'm confused. Once you're engaged, does that mean you can't admire and support other outstanding women?

[Also, if she insists on canceling the engagement without regard for appearances, shouldn't I receive reasonable compensation for the youth I've invested over these years, as well as the various costs I've paid for this engagement—including major financial and emotional investments? I hope everyone can share their rational thoughts with me.]