Chapter 6
498words
"Emma, how many zeros are you thinking?"
"The number of zeros isn't important. I'm not greedy. But look—we need to travel, right? This neighborhood's being demolished, so I need a new place. I'm sick of the subway, so I need a car. My parents struggled to raise me, so they deserve comfort in retirement. We've been friends forever—is buying you a house too much? And Mrs. Plum downstairs needs medical care she can't afford. Helping her isn't excessive, right? And..."
"So... how many zeros?"
I glanced at Lena, then at the check, grabbed a pen, and confidently wrote eight zeros.
Staring at the eight zeros and the Hayes Group's seal, I squealed, rolled around the sofa, and planted a kiss on Lena's cheek.
"Let's go! Quit our jobs! Book flights! Your girl's taking you on the glow-up tour of a lifetime!"
As I bounced out of the building, neighbors watched my celebration and assumed I'd lost my mind from heartbreak.
I dragged Lena to the bank to cash the check, then booked first-class tickets to Europe.
When we returned a month later, I hauled my designer luggage to the door, only to find Blake sitting on my sofa, smoking.
Shit, did I get too greedy? Is he here to take back the money?
"Emma, I've missed you terribly."
Just as I was formulating excuses for the eight zeros, Blake rushed over and embraced me.
"Blake, what the hell are you doing?"
I shoved him away, giving him my iciest stare.
You manipulative bastard, switching tactics when Plan A fails. Now that I've cashed in, suddenly you're lovesick?
Blake's eyes locked onto my wrist.
Only then did I realize I was still wearing his stupid red string bracelet.
I frantically tried to remove it, but it wouldn't budge. Without hesitation, I grabbed scissors and snipped the red string in half.
"Blake, we're done. You go your way, I'll go mine."
With that, I tossed the cut string at his feet.
Blake's eyes turned bloodshot, his hands trembling like he was going through withdrawal.
Truly Oscar-worthy performance from Wall Street's golden boy.
If I hadn't lived through his cruelty, disgust, and ultimately my own death...
I might have actually bought this performance.
Men are about as reliable as WiFi in a thunderstorm.
It's a dollar-store string, yet he's acting like I've ripped out his heart.
I watched Blake take deep breaths to compose himself.
After a moment, his face hardened into the same cold mask from our "breakup."
"Gold-digging woman."
With that, he stormed out without a backward glance.
Me, gold-digging? What was I supposed to do? Choose love over money? Been there, done that—and you pushed me into my grave, Blake.
Watching Blake's retreating figure, my heart gave an unexpected twinge.
But glancing at my new Hermès bag, I quickly recovered.
The smart don't chase men; the smart chase the bag.
