My Fiancée Left Me After I Bought a Rundown Apartment

2: 2

"I counted back the days. That whole week I was working late, coming home really late. Don't tell me…" I was still smiling, but inside there was nothing but a sour ache.

She'd get playful with me sometimes, tell me she loved me, but there was always this invisible film between us.

"Get out of here!" Chloe's face changed.

Then she saw me smiling, thumped me once on the chest, and pouted. "Hmph. If you won't own up to it, then I'm not marrying you. Hmph."

I didn't call her out.

Chloe and I met in college. That year the student council organized a hiking trip, and halfway up I twisted my ankle and couldn't walk another step.

I'd been sitting on the side of the trail a long time when Chloe showed up, her hair in two thick braids.

When she heard I couldn't walk, she didn't hesitate to prop me up and help me back down the mountain.

Back then she was so fresh, so innocent, with the sweetest smile. I was smitten, and I threw myself into chasing her.

Half a year later, we were finally together.

From then until now, I doted on her. I sent her little cash gifts and presents all the time. When she got sick, I took time off work to look after her.

She had bad circulation, and every winter her feet turned to ice. I'd tuck her frozen feet between my thighs to warm them while I shivered myself, tossing and turning half the night.

She wanted a bride price of five hundred and eighty-eight thousand, and I agreed to that too. I never imagined what I'd get back was betrayal, that she'd even go and have another man's children.

She didn't notice the change in my mood. She wandered off to chat with a few of her girlfriends.

"Get some rest, okay? First thing tomorrow we're going to buy that luxury flat."

That night, she lay in bed and gave me nothing but the cold curve of her back.

I lay down too.

Not long after, a message came in from a friend of mine: "That development with the luxury flat you mentioned—there are units several floors, even a dozen floors higher than yours, listed at four or five million, and the price is negotiable. Above the thirtieth floor, occupancy is under thirty percent."

That afternoon I'd called him to look into a few things. I hadn't expected an answer this fast.

I thanked him. Now it was clear.

That luxury flat was priced at eight million, double the market rate, and Chloe was crying to have it. So that was it—she wanted to use my money to pay off her male best friend's debts.

The next day, after breakfast, I drove us to the run-down old unit at 28 Franklin Street.

"What are you bringing me here for?" Chloe said the second she got out of the car, thoroughly displeased.

"Just to look at another place." I gave her a smile.

Right then the real estate agent arrived, shook my hand, and led me in to tour the property.

This so-called run-down old unit was a front courtyard plus the main building, a four-story little villa of four or five hundred square meters. Old, its outer walls weathered and patchy, thick with climbing ivy.

It looked like something out of the nineties, but it was solid. The interior had been renovated at some point, though the appliances and furniture were all older models.

The rooms were all big, bright, well positioned.

The yard had a garage, and there was room to plant some flowers.

"Mr. Hughes, the owner's an old man. His wife went abroad three years ago to help their daughter with a new baby and look after their granddaughter. He's lonely on his own, so he wants to sell the place and join them. He won't be coming back."

"That's why he's only asking one point eight million—that's fifty thousand under market."

Hearing that, I was thrilled.

For a place this size, the construction cost alone was no less than a million, and with the land on top of that, the price was honest.

Chloe was stunned. She jabbed a finger at me. "What do you think you're doing? We agreed we'd go buy that luxury flat this morning, and you drag me out to look at some run-down dump?"

I smiled. "The luxury flat's too expensive. We're not buying it. Last night I looked at listings online and thought this place seemed good."

"Good how?" Chloe snapped. "How does this run-down heap compare to the luxury flat? If I lived in a dump like this, my friends would laugh at me for the rest of my life."

Herbert Walker, the agent, put on a smile. "Miss, it's on the edge of town, sure, but everything's here—supermarket, restaurants, mall, the shopping street, all close by, and it's well connected. The new highway that just opened gets you into the city center in only half an hour…"

Chloe just shouted at me, "I only want the luxury flat. If you won't buy it, I won't marry you!"