The Three Thousand That Ended My Devotion

Five years into our relationship, I asked my rich boyfriend for three thousand dollars.

He turned me down without a second's hesitation.

"Baby, three thousand is what I spend on one dinner. I can give it to you on my own, but you can't ask for it. My family will look down on you."

I begged him through my tears. "Tristram, my mom's been in a car accident. The surgery costs money, and this is all we're short. Help me, please. I swear I'll pay you back."

Before I could finish, I heard the crack of a gavel on the other end of the line.

Then an auctioneer's sweet voice.

"Eighteen million! Congratulations to Mr. Rowe on winning this exquisite ruby necklace."

The call cut off.

Only then did I remember—he'd gone to an auction today, to buy a birthday gift for his childhood sweetheart.

A necklace worth over ten million. I couldn't even picture it, but I knew it had to be prettier than the silver chain around my neck.

He was afraid I was after his money.

Fine. Then I didn't want his money, and I didn't want him either.

…

I took the necklace off and dropped it in the trash.

It was the token of our relationship, Tristram's and mine.

A silver chain that cost a little over a hundred dollars, shabby to the point of being laughable, and yet I'd worn it all this time like it was some treasure.

He'd told me back then, "Angie, bear with it for a while. I'm afraid if I give you something too expensive, my family will get the wrong idea and think you're only with me for the money."

I was drunk on the joy of being in love, and I threw my arms around him and kissed him like a fool.

"It's no hardship. I fell for you, not your money."

Too bad Tristram never believed that line.

Five years together, and in his mind I was still nothing but a gold-digger chasing his status.

Just then my phone lit up. A news alert popped onto the screen.

Tristram Rowe Spends Millions on Desiree Galloway's Birthday—Childhood Sweethearts Rumored to Wed

I wiped my eyes and pulled up a chat.

【You said once that you'd give me money if I ever agreed to break up. Does that still stand? I only need three thousand.】

The reply came almost instantly.

【Of course it stands. What's your account number? I'll send it now.】

Clean, direct, not a wasted word.

Moments later, a transfer landed in my account. A full three hundred thousand.

I stared at the number for a long time, then sent Tristram a message.

【Let's break up.】

He didn't reply. Probably too busy soothing his little childhood sweetheart.

I blocked every way he had of reaching me, packed my suitcase, and booked a ticket home for early the next morning.

At ten that night, Tristram came home.

He pressed me down onto the couch and leaned in to kiss me.

I shoved him off, hard.

"Tristram, didn't you see my message? We're done."

He straightened up, his face dark.

"Angie, be good. So I didn't give you the money this afternoon—it was three thousand dollars, that's all. Don't throw a tantrum at me. Once you marry me, you'll have far more than that."

I pulled my lips into a smile and said, bitterly, "Right. I get it now. From now on I'll never ask you for money again."

Tristram pinched my cheek and laughed. "That's my good girl. With your background, if you want to marry into the Rowes without any trouble, you have to give my family nothing to criticize. That's why I can't give you a cent before the wedding. Otherwise they'll think you're greedy."

I broke free of his arms, and a deep helplessness rose up in me.

Here we go again.

Every time there was a problem, Tristram said the exact same thing.

In college, I worked part-time to cover my living expenses. A modeling agency wanted to sign me back then, promised me an A-list contract. Tristram said parading in front of a camera was too humiliating, that there was no way he'd marry some show girl.

So I gave it up. And the girl who signed around the same time is on the cover of an international magazine now.