After Five Years, I Left the Man Who Faked Being Poor

Kent had barely opened the door when a woman threw herself against him.

"Kent, what took you so long? I've been waiting forever."

Her soft, coaxing voice reached me in broken pieces.

I watched Kent ruffle her hair and carry her inside with an arm around her.

I wiped away tears I hadn't noticed forming and pulled out my phone to search the property prices here.

The screen took a moment before it refreshed.

The Ziyu Estate. Three hundred thousand per square meter, and you had to prove your assets before they'd even show you a unit.

The truth hit me across the face like a slap.

Only yesterday I'd caught myself making excuses for him, telling myself Kent had maybe just bought his sister some outrageously expensive necklace.

Now it was perfectly clear. He'd betrayed what we had a long time ago, and he was with another woman.

My nails dug hard into my palms, and it was a long while before I drifted home in a daze.

On the way, it suddenly struck me that if it had been that other person, he would never have treated me like this.

Lying on the bed in the basement, I stared hard at the water stain on the ceiling.

When had it started? I kept interrogating myself.

And I couldn't find a single sign. Kent had never given anything away.

He was the attentive boyfriend, thoughtful down to the smallest detail.

Spring, summer, fall, winter, he'd always pick me up after work, hand me a bowl of warm honey tea at exactly the right temperature during my period, and even in his sleep he'd pull me into his arms without thinking.

Inch by inch, my heart went cold.

My eyes wandered without purpose over the basement I'd lived in for five years.

Every single thing here Kent and I had picked out together. Cheap, all of it, but warm.

A rapid string of message alerts cut through my thoughts.

"Philippa, an owner at the Ziyu Estate wants housekeeping this afternoon. A thousand an hour. If you want it I'll hold it for you."

I'd taken on several jobs so I could save up the down payment faster and finally have a home with Kent.

My finger hovered over the screen. A moment passed before I typed out two words: "I'll go."

Maybe it was for the best. See that gilded splendor with my own eyes, and maybe then I could finally give up for good.

At three that afternoon, I walked into the villa complex loaded down with bags.

The instant I looked up and saw the woman's face clearly, the blood shot straight to my head.

It was her. The woman Kent had cheated with.

She wore a silk nightgown, and behind her stood a whole wall of Hermès.

I paused, then stepped inside.

"Hey, shoes off. Honestly, some housekeeper you are."

"Don't get my imported wool carpet dirty."

She rolled her eyes at me, her look full of distaste.

"The kitchen and living room both need a real cleaning. Skip the bedroom."

"Oh, and the bathroom floor—you wipe it down with a rag three times. The last housekeeper always mopped it and left it reeking."

Under the huge crystal chandelier overhead, her hand looked so pale and soft.

I glanced down at my own hands, covered in thin calluses, and nodded in silence.

While I cleaned, she sat on the sofa with her legs crossed, watching, and then out of nowhere she said,

"You people seem so tired. Good thing I don't have to work. My husband takes care of me."

I dragged a bitter smile to the corner of my mouth.

"Then he's good to you."

"He's all right. Gives me five hundred thousand a month for spending money."

She said it like it was nothing.

"Hey, wait, that's not clean."

She pointed at the seams between the floor tiles.

"Ma'am, that's the color of your grout—"

I said helplessly.

"I don't care. I don't care how you do it, you scrub it white."

"Or do you think I'm paying you to sit around and enjoy yourself?"

Her spoiled, sharp voice came at me.

I crouched down and scrubbed at it, hard, over and over.

"Ma'am, I've finished. If you're satisfied, please leave a five-star review."

Before she could answer, I dragged myself, drained, toward the door.

My hand had just landed on the handle when the door was pushed open from outside.