My boyfriend got a tenure-track offer from Ashford University—and the night he found out, he cried in my arms for hours.

Before he left the country, he held my hand, looking guilty.

"Babe, the cost of living over there is insane, and you probably won't be able to find a decent job. Once I get settled, I'll bring you over in style…"

He paused, waiting for me to appreciate how "considerate" he was being.

What he didn't know was that just half an hour earlier, I'd overheard him on the balcony.

"Don't worry, the tickets are booked. We're going together. No way I'm leaving you behind."

On the other end of the line was his gentle, sweet junior.

He'd spent years looking down on my education, always saying I couldn't understand his "soul."

But every time I handed him my tips from waiting tables and delivering takeout—stained envelopes, greasy and crumpled—he'd take them like he was doing me a favor.

What he also didn't know was that I'd long since gotten tired of playing the "I'll work to put you through school" bit.

I only started dating him because he was cute—I wanted a little thrill.

I just didn't expect to keep the act going for three years. And for a second here and there, I almost believed it myself.

I was already looking for an excuse to dump him. Then he handed me one on a silver platter.

So when he gave his little speech, I barely held back a smile as I fixed his collar.

"Okay. Then take good care of yourself over there. I'm gonna be late for my night shift. Gotta go."

I turned around and called my best friend.

"Book me a table at VIVA tonight. I'm single again—time to party."

"Amy, careful—it's hot."

A gentle male voice drifted from inside the apartment.

My hand froze midair, keys dangling.

It was my boyfriend, Harvey Schur.

I pushed the door open. His junior, Amy Linetti, was lounging on the couch in my bathrobe, cradling a steaming cup of milk. And Harvey—the same man who wouldn't bother to pick up a fallen soy sauce bottle—was now kneeling on one knee beside her, carefully peeling an apple.

It was a kind of tenderness and patience I had never once received.

The moment Amy saw me, a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes before she quickly replaced it with a timid, fragile look.

"Melanie, you're back. Harvey was worried you've been working too hard, so he asked me to come keep him company—and help tidy up the place."

As she spoke, she stretched deliberately, making sure I got a clear look at the robe she was wearing.

"Your clothes are so comfortable… though they're a little big on me."

Only then did Harvey's gaze shift from her to me—landing squarely on my grease-stained work uniform.

His brow tightened instantly into a deep frown.

"Go change out of that outfit right now! It's filthy. Don't walk around in front of Amy dressed like that—you're embarrassing me!"

I said nothing. I simply looked at them.

One was the man I had supported with my youth, my sweat, my everything. The other was the "understanding" junior he always praised.

One wore my bathrobe. The other stood in the apartment I paid for, looking down on me—the rightful owner.

What a joke.

Without a word, I walked into the bedroom.

The desk was piled high with Harvey's books, while all my belongings had been shoved under the bed.

When I came back out after changing, the breakfast I'd prepared for myself was gone—devoured completely, leaving only a mess behind.

But what truly shattered me was the watch on Amy's wrist.

I had traveled across three countries, pulled countless strings, just to win it at an auction. It was meant to be Harvey's doctoral graduation gift.

And now, the gift I had poured my heart into was sitting on another woman's wrist.

Harvey offered no explanation. Not even a word.

Scenes from the past three years flashed through my mind.

To spare his pride, I'd lived with him in a cramped rental, surviving on instant noodles. I had poured all my savings into him.

And now, in this moment, I felt like a fool—someone who had given up a comfortable life for a man's empty promises of "the future."

I couldn't hold back anymore. Pointing at the watch, I demanded, my voice shaking with anger, "Amy, where did you get that watch?"

She froze for a split second, then her eyes immediately reddened as she shrank behind Harvey.

"I'm sorry, Melanie… I didn't mean to…

"Harvey insisted on giving it to me. He said… he said it was just something he picked up, and that you wouldn't mind…

"I didn't know it meant so much to you. I'm sorry—I'll give it back right now!"

She made a show of reaching for the clasp.

Harvey immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her as he glared at me.

"Melanie! Have you had enough? It's just a stupid watch. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of it?

"I know I'm leaving the country tomorrow, and you're upset, looking for an excuse to lash out—but don't take it out on Amy! We're just working in the same field. Stop assuming I'm involved with every woman you see!"

Listening to his righteous defense, I could only sneer inwardly. Because not long ago, I had heard him myself—on the balcony in the hallway, speaking into his phone.

On the other end of that call was none other than this very "junior" of his.

"Don't worry, Amy. I've already bought your ticket. We'll go together.

"How could I ever leave you behind here? No matter what, I won't abandon you.

"As for Melanie—she's uneducated and narrow-minded. I can make up any excuse, and she'll believe it."

So now, looking at this farce unfolding before me, all I felt was bitter irony.

This tragic little play—me working to support his education—had long since lost its appeal.

It was time for the curtain to fall.

At that moment, Amy stepped forward again, fanning the flames. She peeked out from behind Harvey, eyes brimming with tears.

"Melanie, please don't be mad at Harvey… It's all my fault. I shouldn't have come.

"Just now, when I was helping him tidy his desk, I noticed the ten thousand dollars he kept in the drawer was gone… I thought maybe you needed it urgently and took it, so I asked him—but he didn't know either…"

She hesitated, her voice dropping even lower.

"I know you work really hard, Melanie. It's not easy for you to earn money. If you needed it, you could've told him… how could you… how could you take it without saying anything…"

The money I had put in that drawer—so Harvey would have living expenses before going abroad—had somehow become stolen in her telling?

I looked at Harvey. The irritation on his face shifted instantly into suspicion. He strode to the desk, yanked open the drawer, and found it empty.

When he turned back to me, his gaze was that of a man sizing up a thief.

"Melanie, why did you take the money from the drawer? That was my scholarship—money I worked so hard to save. Only you and I knew where it was!"

My whole body trembled with anger.

"Harvey, do you have any conscience at all? That ten thousand dollars was what I scraped together from last month's wages, cutting back on everything, just to give you as living expenses! And now you're saying I took it?"

Startled by my outburst, Amy's tears fell even harder.

"Harvey, don't blame Melanie… she must have needed it urgently… we can figure out another way to raise the money…"

Her shameless distortion made me laugh in disbelief.

"Harvey, let's clear up two things first.

"That ten thousand—I handed it to you myself last Friday night. It was my salary from the past few months. Do you remember what you said? You thanked me for working so hard.

"And as for your so-called 'hard-earned scholarship'—last year's went to buying Amy the phone she'd been dreaming about. This year's? Didn't you just use it to upgrade your own computer?"

My words left Harvey's face cycling between red and pale, but he couldn't muster a single rebuttal.

Seeing him at a loss, Amy grew anxious behind him.

"Melanie, how can you say that about Harvey! He… he bought you gifts and paid rent too, didn't he? That cost money as well! If he used his scholarship, that's still part of the household's shared finances!

"You can't keep score like this just because you've contributed. If the money's gone, we can always find another way…"

"The household." "Keeping score."

With a few light, careless words, she twisted my rightful questioning into petty nagging.

And sure enough, Harvey lashed out at me in anger and humiliation.

"Melanie, I give you my heart, and you're here keeping accounts?

"So what if you gave me the money? Once you gave it, it became mine! I put it in the drawer—what right did you have to take it without telling me?

"I know you just can't stand seeing me treat Amy well. Women like you—what's in your head besides money? You're vulgar! Petty! You don't understand what true spiritual compatibility is!

"I've had enough of you! I'm leaving the country tomorrow, and you're still here arguing over ten thousand dollars. Can't you be more like Amy—more understanding and considerate?"

I looked at his furious, distorted expression, and something inside me went completely cold.

He had always believed Amy. The only person in his heart was Amy.

As for me, I was nothing more than an ATM that funded his education.

Not wanting to stir up trouble before his departure, I chose to step back and apologize.

"I'm sorry… I overreacted. I just… I just can't bear to see you go."

Seeing me back down, Harvey's expression softened.

"Alright, stop being upset. I know you've been good to me. When I've settled in, I'll bring you over."

Looking at his sanctimonious face, I forced back the urge to retch and managed a smile uglier than tears.

I walked out of that rundown apartment building and glanced back at what I once thought was "home."

Now, that home had a new mistress.

And it was time for me to leave.

I took a deep breath of the cool night air, and the stifling heaviness in my chest seemed to ease at last.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone and dialed the only number in my contacts without a name attached.

It rang once before the call was answered.

"Jamie, come pick me up."

A steady, respectful voice replied from the other end, "Yes, Miss."

Ten minutes later, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up in front of me.

Jamie Melford hurried out of the car and opened the rear door for me. He bowed slightly, his voice tinged with emotion.

"Miss, welcome home."

I gave a small nod and stepped inside.

I slipped off my work uniform jacket and tossed it casually onto the wool carpet by my feet.

As the city lights streamed past the window, everything that had just happened felt like some absurd dream—one that was quickly fading into the distance.

Only then did I take out my other phone and dial my best friend, Cathy Thompson.

"Cathy, book me a booth at VIVA tonight—the top one."

A shrill scream burst from the other end of the line.

"Holy shit! Mel, you finally decided to dump that jerk?"

I let out a soft laugh, gazing at the dazzling neon outside.

"Your girl's single again. Time to throw a party."

Half an hour later, the car stopped in front of a top-tier apartment building in the city center.

I had returned to the place that truly belonged to me—a duplex penthouse spanning the top three floors.

Barefoot, I walked into the dressing room. Rows of motion-sensor lights flickered on one after another.

Under their glow, racks of couture gowns and limited-edition handbags—long neglected and dusted with a thin layer of gray—regained their rightful brilliance.

I reached out at random and slipped into a red silk slip dress.

Standing before the full-length mirror, I looked at the woman reflected there—familiar, yet strangely distant.

Bright eyes, flawless teeth, lips as red as flame, a hint of languid confidence in her gaze.

This was Melanie Hawkins. This was who I truly was.

I gently touched my cheek and whispered to my reflection, "Melanie… welcome home."

Then I opened my contacts, found the name "Harvey Schur," and blocked and deleted every way he could reach me.

When it was done, I felt lighter than I had in years—as if I had finally pulled out a decayed tooth. It hurt a little, but the relief far outweighed the pain.

Early the next morning, Harvey was set to leave for the airport.

Perhaps because we would never meet again, his pitiful conscience made a rare appearance, prompting him to call and say goodbye.

What he didn't expect was that the familiar ringtone would no longer greet him.

Instead, a cold, mechanical female voice answered, "Sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service."