Chapter 3

Eight months ago, I was running a street stall on Central Street. Ethan worked at the boutique shop next door.

That night, a woman with a nose ring and tattoos all over her body walked past my stall and kicked over my most expensive crystal ball.

It shattered completely.

I immediately stopped her and demanded compensation.

The woman shoved me hard, climbed on top of me, and started hitting and cursing me.

Ethan, from the boutique a few meters away, stepped forward and pulled her off me.

The woman pointed at his nose and cursed him out, then stormed into the shop threatening to cause trouble.

The shop owner wanted to keep the peace and told Ethan to apologize.

I grabbed him and refused to let him.

In the end, Ethan and I packed up my little stall and left together.

We were both ordinary people who'd come from far away to make a living. No special skills, no connections—just warming each other through hardship.

Half a month later, he handed me discounted red roses.

Blushing, I kissed the corner of his mouth.

That's how our relationship began.

Ethan was wonderful—handsome and gentle.

Worried about my safety, he accompanied me to my stall whenever possible.

When I caught a cold and felt chilly, he held me through the night.

Last month, he proactively suggested I move in with him.

Living together would save more money than living separately.

Once we'd saved enough, we could get married.

I was overjoyed and nodded eagerly.

I looked forward to our future.

But "the future" was just a joke.

Now, I opened his profile page.

Sure enough, there was a new post.

"Easy as pie. She's even dumber than I thought."

In the comments, his buddies posted a string of emoji.

"That's our Ethan!"

"Ethan's the best! Destroy her!"

I smiled mockingly.

Ethan put serious effort into pretending to be poor.

He worked overtime every day, but in reality, his private blog posts showed yachts, mansions, and seafood feasts.

Naturally, I couldn't fall behind. I turned around and increased my workload, getting up early and staying out late, running all over the south and north sides of the city.

Every night in the latter half of the night, I'd return to this cheapest basement apartment with my voice hoarse.

But I never complained.

I took care of him a hundred times more attentively.

I'd rather eat rock-hard bread myself than skip making him chicken soup.

Watching me grow increasingly pale, the mockery in Ethan's eyes gradually disappeared. Instead, he occasionally seemed lost in thought.

One morning, I knelt on the floor polishing his leather shoes.

He seemed to choke up. After a long pause, he said:

"Baby, they're not worn out. I can still wear them."

I carefully wiped them, saying:

"Clothes make the man. You can't wear shoes with peeling polish—people will laugh at you."

"I don't have money to buy you new ones right now, so I'll just touch up the polish for you. Look! All done! Come try them on!"

Ethan hesitated for a long time before walking over and stepping into them.

His smile looked very unnatural.

This weekend, Ethan said he had time off and took me to the night market.

He bought me a grilled sausage, half-jokingly apologizing that this was all he could afford.

I ate it with a blissful expression, as if it were a delicacy.

Just then, the woman with the nose ring walked toward us from across the way.

She was fawning all over a bald man's arm.

What rotten luck.

The bald man had a face full of flab. He listened to the woman whisper in his ear, then sneered at us:

"So you two are the ones who offended my woman?"

This nouveau riche posture—in the past, Ethan wouldn't have been worthy of pouring him water.

Ethan's fists clenched tight.

If he threw that punch, the so-called game would end early.

My eyes swept the area. I grabbed nearby pasta and hurled it at them.

The bald man and nose-ring woman both shrieked, utterly embarrassed, then cursed and charged at us.

I shielded Ethan behind me, waving the bamboo stick from my sausage while shouting tremblingly:

"You bastard! Don't think having money means you can bully people!"

The bald man's eyes widened as he tried to kick me.

"Bitch, who are you trying to scare?"

But he didn't succeed.

Ethan stepped forward quickly, kicked his foot away with one leg, then kicked him to the ground.

His hand gripped the bald man's throat, his expression murderous.

"You want to die?"

The bald man's face turned completely red.

A few seconds later, Ethan released him.

The bald man didn't even bother with nose-ring woman and fled directly.

Ethan grabbed my hand and threw away the bamboo stick.

"Do you know you could go to jail if you hurt someone? Just because of me... you fool."

His words were tender, but his eyes held scrutiny.

I squeezed out tears and smiled at him.

"You're my man. I protect my boyfriend. Do I need a reason?"

"Ethan, I'd do anything for you."

For an instant, something seemed to crack in his eyes.

Ethan, who played with people's hearts, claimed not to believe in genuine feelings—but what he wanted most was exactly that: genuine feelings.