He Spoiled His First Love and Forgot His Wife

On our anniversary, Julian even used random condoms he found to inflate three balloons for me.

Then Vanessa sent a message to mock me:

“Arielle, do the balloons made from the condoms Aze and I used look nice? He’s long since had enough of you. If you know what’s good for you, get lost.”

That was the final straw. I gave up completely and filed for divorce.

Now, thinking back, I pointed at my electric scooter and looked at Julian.

“Julian, get this straight—I’m married now, and I have a child.”

“Please don’t speak to me like that again. I don’t want my husband getting the wrong idea.”

Only then did Julian notice the child seat mounted on the back of my scooter.

He turned to me, stunned.

“You actually got remarried? And had a kid with someone else?!”

Before I could answer, he suddenly let out a scornful laugh.

“Arielle, this is all a show, isn’t it? You just want to see my reaction. You think I don’t know how delivery workers operate now? That baby seat is probably just for helping customers with their kids, right?”

“You’re a divorced woman with no real skills. Who else but me would’ve been kind enough to want a second-hand good like you?”

His voice was dripping with contempt.

The boy who once sat under the campus corridor, gazing at me tenderly and promising I’d become a world-famous painter—had completely vanished.

Maybe all those sweet words were just lies.

After all, he once said Vanessa was his true love.

I was merely a distraction, something to pass the time while he figured himself out.

As the elders say—there’s no need to explain yourself to people who don’t matter.

I raised an eyebrow.

“That has nothing to do with you.”

Just as I was about to walk past, Vanessa stepped in front of me with a mocking smile.

“Arielle, didn’t I make myself clear? Imperial Crest Manor is a luxury community. Poor people like you aren’t allowed in.”

“But if you really want to enter, fine. I heard one resident’s kid smeared poop all over the public restroom walls. The cleaning lady’s on leave, so you can go clean it up.”

“And while you’re at it, why not paint something on the walls? They’re a bit dull. I’ll even pay you 30,000 dollars. Better than delivering takeout, right?”

Julian chimed in as well.

“Arielle, Vanessa’s being generous. Don’t be ungrateful. No one buys your awful paintings anyway.”

I didn’t expect people could be this shameless.

“Since you two have such talkative mouths, why not put them to better use and lick the toilet clean yourselves? Keep your 30,000 and buy some mouthwash—you’ll need it to stop stinking up the place.”

Just last month, a European duke offered to trade two of his castles for one of my paintings—but I declined.

Is my art bad?

What a joke.

Hearing my retort, Manager Holloway immediately charged me.

“How dare you insult Mr. and Mrs. Cross like that? You must be tired of living!”

During the shoving, someone nearby shouted, holding up their phone:

“Wait! Stop making a scene. My friend just texted—he saw the international boss’s car coming from the hotel. His son’s in it!”

“Julian, Arielle insists on going in, but with a mouth like hers? She might scare the kid. What if the boss complains to his father? If he pulls out of the deal, that’s a disaster.”

“Exactly! She’s just a delivery worker. Let her go in. Don’t risk the cooperation just because of her.”

With Julian’s silent approval, Manager Holloway gave me a hard shove—

and pushed me inside.