Chapter 2

I stood there, motionless for a long time.

I didn't even notice my arm getting burned until the skin blistered.

It was Scarlett who frowned, pulled me to the couch, and applied medicine.

Her voice was full of concern, as if she hadn't just said those words.

"How can you be so clumsy? You can even hurt yourself ironing clothes."

I got injured often over the past five years.

Scarlett had done this many times.

Each time, a warmth spread through my chest.

Only this time, my chest felt heavy, as if something was lodged there.

I pulled my arm back, my voice low.

"Scarlett, don't you find it pointless, living with a fake for five years?"

Scarlett's face darkened. "Alex, don't talk about yourself like that."

She was too calm.

I couldn't help but smash the first-aid kit.

"Didn't you turn me into this?!"

My chest heaved uncontrollably.

Scarlett sighed, gathered the scattered medicines, and spoke softly.

"I know it's hard for you to accept right now, but we've been together for five years. There's no need to deny everything over such a small matter."

As she spoke, Scarlett reached out to touch my shoulder.

I moved aside, avoiding her.

Suddenly, I felt like I was back on the day she confessed to me.

My mom had a heart attack and was hospitalized.

To earn money, I worked as a server at a club.

One accidental spill soaked the guest's shoes, and the people behind them started jeering.

"Designer shoes! So, handsome, are you going to pay up, or spend a few nights with Tiffany?"

"I recommend the latter, it's a better deal."

"Yeah, Tiffany has high standards."

I clutched the tray, caught between a rock and a hard place.

That's when Scarlett appeared.

Seeing me, she paused for a moment, then came to my rescue. "Didn't you say this was for my birthday? Come on in, don't bother him."

She was a close friend of Tiffany's, so no one dared to say anything when she intervened.

The group left.

Before long, someone brought me a band-aid.

It was Scarlett's doing.

After that, I often saw Scarlett at the club.

She'd watch where I went, and she'd have her friends order from me.

One evening, a few drunk guests blocked her in the hallway, making crude comments.

She ignored them, her face cold, but one of them reached out to grab her purse.

My blood boiled, and I grabbed a bottle nearby, smashing it.

The scene descended into chaos.

I was surrounded and kicked several times. Eventually, security rushed in and pulled everyone apart.

I leaned against the wall to stand, blood oozing from the corner of my mouth, my back covered in bruises.

Scarlett pulled me into the break room, got a first-aid kit, and treated my wounds.

Her movements were gentle, and she didn't speak for a long time. Finally, she asked in a low voice, "Why are you so good to me?"

I leaned back in the chair, wincing from the pain, and casually replied, "If you don't know how to repay me, how about you just give yourself to me?"

Scarlett stopped what she was doing, looking up at me.

"Alex, I'm serious."

"Will you be my boyfriend?"

It would be a lie to say I wasn't moved.

Because of that, all these years, I'd always felt Scarlett was a stroke of luck from above.

I never imagined it was all a deception from the very beginning.

I turned my head away, not looking at her, my voice unusually firm.

"Scarlett, let's break up."