Chapter 1
Everyone in their circle knew Sophia Sullivan was hopelessly devoted to Ethan Roscente.
Her life revolved entirely around him.
Every time they broke up, she would come crawling back within three days.
Anyone else might call it quits, but never Sophia.
The private room fell silent when Ethan walked in with his new flame.
Sophia was peeling an orange. Her hands stilled.
"Why did everyone stop talking?" She looked up.
Her friend shot her a worried glance.
Ethan acted oblivious, settling on the couch with the woman.
"Happy birthday, Charlie."
He flashed a careless smile.
Sophia stood up.
It was Charlie Lowell's birthday. She didn't want to make a scene.
"I'm going to the restroom."
As the door closed, she caught snippets of conversation.
"Ethan, Sophia's here. Why did you bring someone else?"
"Roscente, that's too far."
"Doesn't matter." Ethan lit a cigarette, smoke curling around him.
He smiled, the picture of a carefree playboy.
Sophia didn't hear the rest.
She stood before the bathroom mirror, studying her reflection.
A bitter smile touched her lips.
"Pathetic."
Her life was a joke.
She took a deep breath and made a decision.
Returning to the private room, she froze in the doorway.
Ethan was playing Spin the Bottle with the woman, using a napkin.
The crowd cheered and laughed.
"Roscente, you dog!"
"Kiss! Kiss!"
Sophia's fists clenched, her knuckles white.
This was the man she had loved for six years.
The irony was suffocating.
"Stop it…" someone whispered.
All eyes turned to the door.
"Sophia, it's just a game…"
Ethan cut them off, his gaze cool. "Since you're here, let's make this clear."
"Go on."
"This back-and-forth is tiresome. The spark between us is gone."
Sophia dug her nails into her palm, feeling nothing.
Six years, reduced to a faded spark.
"Isabella is a good woman. I want to be serious with her."
Sophia nodded numbly. "Fine."
"Even if we're over, we can still be friends. Let me know if you need anything."
"Unnecessary." Sophia gave a hollow laugh. "A clean break is better for everyone."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"Happy birthday, Charlie." She turned to him. "I'm leaving. Share the oranges. Don't waste them."
Ethan only ate oranges if every bit of white pith was removed.
For years, she had peeled them, removed every shred of pith, arranged them on a plate, and served him.
When he was pleased, he would pull her close and whisper.
"My girlfriend is the best. So domestic."
"Want me to marry you?"
He always knew what she wanted but never gave it.
Ethan said, "Let the driver take you."
"No need. I called a car."
Charlie offered, "Let me drive you, Sophia."
She waved him off and left.
"Ethan, she's really angry this time."
"Unlikely. She always comes back."
"I give it five days."
"I say six."
Ethan watched the open door, his voice cold. "She'll be back begging in three hours."
"You win, Ethan. Everyone knows she's crazy about you."
"Why don't women worship me like that?"
"You? Don't make me laugh."
…
She returned to the Beverly Hills mansion after midnight.
It only took thirty minutes to pack her life into one suitcase.
She left behind all the designer clothes and jewelry in the walk-in closet.
The only regret was the wall of professional books.
Fortunately, their contents were in her mind. The books themselves were replaceable.
In the dressing table drawer lay a check and a contract.
A check for 7.2 million USD. A land deed for the East郊 plot.
Worth over ten million.
Ethan had tossed them there during a previous breakup, already signed.
He was certain she wouldn't take them. Taking them meant it was truly over.
Six years for ten million?
Sophia didn't think it was a bad deal.
How many women's youth was worth that much?
She packed the documents into her bag.
She had given him her all. Why shouldn't she take it?
The love was gone. At least there was money.
She wasn't a naive romantic who scorns wealth.
"Housekeeping service? Do you handle urgent jobs?"
"...Yes, a deep clean. I'll pay extra."
Sophia left the keys in the foyer and took a cab to her best friend's place.
The cleaning service called to confirm on the way.
"Miss, you don't want any of these items?"
"No. Dispose of them."
The call ended.
Ethan returned home in the early hours. The cleaners were long gone.
The cloying scent of perfume gave him a headache. He loosened his tie and collapsed on the sofa, falling asleep.
He woke up to the sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen.
Rubbing his temples, he reached for a water glass but found empty air.
She was back, had covered him with a blanket, but forgotten his hangover cure?
Was she still playing these petty games?
He got up.
"You'd better…"
"Awake, young master?"
"Martha?"
"Freshen up. Breakfast is almost ready. Were you cold? I turned up the heat and added a blanket."
"...Yeah."