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.]

The comment section was a riot of opinions, blooming in every direction.

[I'd ask this guy's fiancee to run! This guy doesn't just have something wrong with his brain—his brain is just a pit! I'll bet fifty cents that 'donation' was the money they saved up for the wedding!]

[Admiring outstanding women to the point of throwing money at them just to be top donor? Bro, your cost of 'admiration' is way too high. I support the fiancée calling it off—she deserves better.]

[Vague about where the money came from, turning the blame on the woman, and still has the nerve to ask her for compensation.]

[I'm camping here! Go demand your breakup fee! I've got my popcorn and soda ready—waiting for the law to teach you how to be human again!]

[SimonLovesClaire, I support you! You must insist on getting compensation!]

And the protagonist of our story was completely absorbed in his tragic-hero role—the man who found true love only after getting engaged.

He bounced around the comment section, arguing with everyone.

[When the feelings are gone, compensation still has to be discussed. I gave her the best five years of my youth. Her family has good conditions—emotionally and logically, they should show something.

[Don't worry, everyone. She's just angry for now. At her age, who else would want her anyway? In the end, she'll definitely come back to me.]

I scrolled and almost burst out laughing.

It was absurd beyond measure, ridiculous to the extreme.

How could someone live so comfortably inside such a perfectly self-contained delusion?

But what happened next was beyond anyone's expectations.

An account with a glittering corporate verification badge suddenly parachuted into the comment section.

The ID read: [Starlight Media – Artist Development Department." Its credentials were clearly displayed.

It posted a single comment and tagged Simon:

"Thank you to user @SimonLovesClaire for your support and affection toward our company's artist @ClaireBowler. Starlight Media values every fan's goodwill and is committed to building positive channels of interaction between artists and fans. For further fan engagement matters, please contact us via official private channels."

Simon reacted quickly.

In less than ten minutes, a brand-new post appeared, overflowing with manic joy.

[My patience has finally been rewarded! Claire's company has seen my sincerity! For Claire, my engagement must be canceled!]

His long rant was written with feverish passion.

[Starlight Media, the company Claire belongs to, noticed me! They asked me to contact them by private message! What does this mean? It means my persistence and sincerity have been officially recognized! Between Claire and me, there is a possibility! Thank you to everyone who understands me! And to those who mocked me—watch closely, true love has destiny on its side!

[As for my fiancée who wants to cancel the engagement, I'm sorry. I can no longer lie to myself, nor can I keep delaying you. The engagement is hereby terminated! All the money prepared for the wedding will be invested—entirely and without reservation—into supporting Claire's dream and career! This is the most worthwhile investment of my life!]

Attached was a new ranking screenshot, the amount far from small.

The note read: [Fully supporting Claire's star journey!]

He tagged Claire and Starlight Media again.

The comment section instantly flooded with "???" and "!!!"

Some kind-hearted users warned him to beware of scams. Others began digging into what kind of company this "Starlight Media" really was.

But Simon was already fantasizing about spending the rest of his life with Claire.

Even his replies carried a strange sense of superiority.

[You don't understand. Once I meet Claire in person, she'll definitely accept my confession.]

Watching this farce unfold, the last ripple of emotion in my heart finally settled.

All that remained was cold, detached spectatorship.

Until my eyes passed over that official account's name for the third time: Starlight Media.

I abruptly closed the app and swiped through my contacts, finding the one I had saved as "Uncle."

I opened his feed. His latest post was from half an hour ago.

A selfie in a massive conference room. He was wearing an outrageously flashy light-purple shirt, grinning from ear to ear.

The caption read: [New quarter. Starlight's brats, go all out for me—bonuses doubled!]

On the wall behind him, the huge, stylish company logo was unmistakably clear: Starlight Media.

I held my phone and slowly leaned back in my chair.

The corners of my lips, which had been pressed tight just moments before, began to curve upward.