I leaned against the headboard, sleepless the entire night.

At five in the morning, the rusted iron door let out a grating screech.

Julian walked in reeking of cheap tobacco and motor oil. His left leg dragged stiffly along the ground. His forehead was drenched in sweat, his expression one of utter exhaustion.

The moment he saw me sitting on the bed, he instantly switched to a look of tender concern. He limped over and crouched in front of me, taking my hands in his.

"Why are you still up? Didn't I tell you not to wait for me?"

He pulled a cheap little cake from inside his jacket -- crushed and misshapen -- and held it out with both hands.

"Saw it on sale at the convenience store on the way back. Happy three-year anniversary, Lily."

I stared at the cake, then my gaze drifted to his shirt cuffs, exposed where he'd crouched down.

The motor oil couldn't mask the cold, distinctive scent of oud. It was Victoria Sterling's favorite custom perfume.

On the side of his neck, there was a faint red mark, deliberately concealed under a layer of foundation.

I pulled my hand free from his grip. My fingertips were ice-cold.

"Weren't you supposed to be pulling an all-nighter at the shop?"

Julian's eyes flickered for a split second, then he put on a sheepish grin.

"Boss saw my leg was hurting bad, so he let me come back early. What, worried about me?"

He reached out to touch my face. I turned away. He froze in place, his hand hanging in midair.

"I was delivering food downtown today. Passed by The Grand Pavilion." I locked onto his eyes, watching for the slightest shift in expression.

Julian's pupils contracted sharply. But he recovered fast, even letting out a sigh.

"A place like that -- we couldn't afford it in a lifetime. Lily, I'm sorry I'm dragging you through all this. Once I get my paycheck this month, I'll take you somewhere nice for dinner."

His performance was flawless. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd still believe he was a man who'd given up everything for me.

I stood and walked to the sink, splashing cold water on my face. The shock jolted my nerves awake.

"Julian, do you ever regret it?" I asked with my back to him.

He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Meeting you is the luckiest thing that's ever happened to me. I'll never regret it."

I looked at his lovingly devoted face in the mirror, and bile surged up my throat. I shoved his arms away.

"I'm tired. Let's go to sleep."

Julian stared at my cold back, frowning. But he didn't press further, just dragged his "crippled leg" into the cramped bathroom to wash up.

Listening to the water running, I reached into the pocket of his jacket on the table.

Inside was a crumpled receipt.

*The Grand Pavilion -- Total: $2,300,000.*

I put the receipt back exactly as I'd found it.

The next morning, Julian changed into his faded mechanic's uniform and headed for the door.

"Lily, I'll try to pick up some extra jobs today. I'll bring you back some roast chicken tonight." He waved at me from the doorway, beaming.

I watched his limping figure disappear down the street, then shut the door with a blank expression.

I pulled the suitcase out from under the bed and started packing. There wasn't much to pack, really -- the most expensive thing I'd bought in three years was a clearance-rack winter coat.

I left everything that had anything to do with him in that basement. The hand-carved wooden bracelet he'd made me. The photos we'd taken together in this room.

Before leaving, I placed the Grand Pavilion receipt under the glass on the table.

The lock clicked shut. Three years, gone.

I climbed into the black Bentley the Holloway family had sent and opened my phone, logging into a private online forum.

The forum was exclusive to the city's most elite socialites. I had access only because the Holloways had activated all my top-tier privileges after confirming my identity.

A pinned post on the front page was surging with activity. The title read: *The Golden Boy Returns -- Victoria Sterling Secures Her Throne.*

I tapped the post. Inside were photos and videos from last night at The Grand Pavilion.

In the video, Julian knelt on one knee, sliding a ring onto Victoria's finger. Victoria threw herself into his arms, blushing.

The comments section was on fire.

Someone asked: *What happened to that scholarship girl he used as a shield? I heard she worked illegal shifts at a chemical plant for three years trying to fix his leg. Wrecked her health completely.*

Victoria Sterling's own account replied directly: *Just a cheap little tool. Julian says she's too clingy -- getting rid of her will take some effort. But toss her a hundred grand and she'll probably crawl back to whatever hole she came from, grateful as can be.*

Another comment followed: *Poor thing. Sold out and didn't even know it. His leg was never broken -- he hired a special effects makeup artist for the fake injury.*

A hundred grand. I stared at those words, my eyes burning.

For three years, to buy him the imported supplements that were supposed to heal his leg, I'd gone to an underground clinic to be a test subject for unapproved drugs. My arms were covered in needle marks. I'd lost my hair in clumps from the side effects.

I thought I was saving the man I loved.

I was nothing more than a plaything for their circle -- a bet, a joke, a convenient decoy to dodge an arranged marriage.

My phone lit up. A message from Julian.

*Lily, my leg's actually feeling better today. Boss says I'm doing great -- might make me full-time next month. Once I save up enough for a down payment, we'll buy a little place and get married.*

Right after, he sent a photo. Him in oil-stained work gloves, biting into a dollar burger.

I looked at the photo. I didn't cry. I dialed Mr. Pemberton directly.

"Pemberton, take me straight to headquarters. Tell my father I've agreed to take over the Holloway Group."

At three o'clock that afternoon, I sat in the CEO's office at Holloway Group headquarters and signed the final asset transfer document.

The company's General Counsel stood nearby and respectfully handed me a file.

"Miss Holloway, Ashford Corporation is facing a massive gap in its cash flow. They're critically dependent on our upcoming capital injection for the Southside development project. Without our funding, Ashford will be facing bankruptcy liquidation by next month."

I flipped through the documents, my fingertip tracing past Julian Ashford's name.

"Notify all senior management. Suspend all cooperation assessments with Ashford Corporation." I closed the folder, my voice level.

The General Counsel paused for a beat, then nodded. "Understood. However, the Ashfords are hosting a homecoming gala tonight at The Belmont Grand Hotel. The family patriarch sent a personal invitation, hoping Chairman Holloway would attend."

"My father won't be going. I'll attend on behalf of the Holloway family."

I stood and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the sprawling city below.

Julian Ashford, since you love playing games so much, let's play a real one.

That evening at seven, the stylist dressed me in an emerald-green haute couture gown. Around my neck hung the Holloway family's heirloom emerald necklace.

Looking at the striking, ice-cold woman in the mirror, I barely recognized myself as the Lily who used to eat bread and canned soup in a basement.

I picked up a tube of deep red lipstick and applied it slowly, deliberately.

The game was about to begin.

The Belmont Grand Hotel blazed with light. Every person of power and influence in the city had heard the news: tonight was the night Julian Ashford would officially return to the fold, and the Ashford-Sterling engagement would be announced.

I didn't take the Holloway family's Rolls-Royce. Instead, I changed back into my faded old jacket and took a cab to the hotel entrance alone.

Security stopped me at the bottom of the steps. The guard's eyes were full of contempt as he shoved my shoulder.

"Go beg somewhere else! The Ashfords have booked the entire venue tonight. No outsiders allowed."

I said nothing. I just stood there quietly in the cold wind.

The roar of an engine cut through the air. A black Maybach glided to a stop at the entrance. The door opened.

Julian Ashford stepped out in a perfectly tailored bespoke suit, his shoes immaculate. He wasn't pretending to limp. His stride was steady, his legs long and straight.

Victoria Sterling hung on his arm in a sweeping floor-length gown, radiant.

As they stepped out of the car, Julian's gaze swept across the steps -- and locked onto me.

His face drained of color. A flash of raw panic crossed his eyes before it was swallowed by thick layers of disgust and cold indifference. He murmured something to calm Victoria, told her to head inside, then strode toward me.

"How did you find this place?" Julian looked down at me, his voice cutting like ice -- not a trace left of the warmth he'd shown in that basement. "Lily, did you follow me?"

I looked at this stranger's face, my gaze dropping to his left leg.

"Your leg's healed?" I asked, my voice perfectly calm.

Julian's brow furrowed with impatience. He reached into his suit's inner pocket, pulled out a bank card, and flung it at my feet.

"Since you've already seen everything, there's no point in pretending anymore. These past three years were just a game. I needed someone with a clean background to block the family's marriage plans, and you happened to come along. There's five hundred thousand dollars on that card -- enough for someone like you to go back to your hometown, buy a house, and live out the rest of your life in comfort. Take the money and never show your face in front of me again."

Five hundred thousand dollars. The price tag on three years of my youth and a body covered in scars.

I looked at the bank card on the ground, lifted my foot, and brought it down hard. The sole of my shoe ground across the card with a sharp crack.

"Julian Ashford, do you think everyone sees money the way you do -- as something that can buy anything?"

Julian's expression darkened. He let out a cold laugh.

"Think it's not enough? Lily, don't get greedy. You're a nobody who worked illegal shifts at a chemical plant. You couldn't earn five hundred thousand in a lifetime. Don't make me call security to throw you out. That wouldn't be a good look for either of us."

Before he could finish, a massive convoy appeared at the end of the street.

Twelve Rolls-Royce Phantoms lined up in a single file, pulling up to the hotel entrance with an air of overwhelming authority. The doors opened in unison. Two rows of bodyguards in black stepped out, quickly establishing a perimeter, pushing back every reporter and bystander in sight.

Mr. Pemberton, the Holloway family's head butler, walked briskly to me and, in full view of everyone, gave a formal bow.

"Miss Holloway, the Chairman is waiting for you in the penthouse suite. The Ashford Corporation acquisition decision requires your personal authorization."

The cold mask on Julian's face cracked and froze. He stared at the way Pemberton addressed me, his body swaying violently.

"Miss Holloway? Lily, what are you doing? Did you hire people to put on an act?" His voice cracked with panic.

I shrugged off the old jacket and tossed it casually into a nearby trash can. The emerald-green haute couture gown beneath caught the light and blazed.

I said nothing. I walked straight toward the center car.

Before getting in, I turned my head to look at him.

"Julian, the game's over. But the Holloway Group's divestment notice will be on your desk at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."