09/08/2026
CHAPTER I: THE WORDS THAT KILLED SEVEN YEARS OF YOUTH
"When Victoria returns to the US, I'll dump that pathetic poor girl. Playing around with her has been more than enough."
Eleanor froze outside the VIP room door, her tray with three glasses of red wine suddenly feeling as heavy as a slab of stone. She recognized that voice even before hearing the snickering of the men accompanying James. It was the voice that, for the past seven years, had always told her to hang in there just a little longer, that one day they wouldn't have to count every single coin to pay the rent, that once he secured a stable job, they would marry in a small church and live a life unpretentious yet peaceful.
Inside the private room of New York's most luxurious hotel, there was no impoverished young man.
James was dressed in a custom-tailored dark blue suit, wearing a watch worth more than the apartment they were renting, and sporting Italian leather shoes that Eleanor couldn't afford even if she worked for an entire year. He sat amid heirs to the country's wealthiest dynasties. He sipped a glass of red wine that exceeded her monthly salary and smiled with the casual ease of a man who had never known the terror of financial scarcity.
"Seven years with the exact same girl?" one friend asked. "You're more patient than a saint."
"It's not patience," James replied. "It's curiosity. I just wanted to see how much a woman in love can endure. Eleanor works, cooks, pays every single bill, and still looks at me like I'm her savior. It's almost sickeningly touching."
Harsher laughter pierced through the door.
Eleanor felt her fingertips go numb. A glass slipped from her tray, crashing onto the floor and shattering against the carpet. The sound brought the room to an abrupt halt for a second. She didn't wait for them to open the door. She bolted down the hallway, sprinted down the service stairs, and burst out onto the street without a coat, exposing herself to the biting November chill.
She walked blindly, not knowing where she was going. Crossing two avenues as the traffic lights flickered red, ignoring the blaring car horns, she finally collapsed onto a bench outside a closing coffee shop. There, she dug through her purse for a business card a woman had handed her a few weeks prior.
Margaret Vance.
Chairwoman of Vance Corporation.
Eleanor dialed the number with trembling hands.
"Mrs. Vance," she said upon hearing the voice on the other end. "I've made my decision. I agree to marry your son."
A long silence followed.
"Eleanor, my son has been in a coma for the past five years. I don't want you making this decision out of desperation."
"This isn't desperation. This is the first decision I'm making for my own life."
Two hours later, Mrs. Margaret sat across from her in that very coffee shop. She was dressed elegantly, but there was no arrogance in her gaze. Her son, Matthew Vance, had fallen into an unresponsive state following a traffic accident. Doctors could offer no guarantees of recovery. Margaret, exhausted after years of agonizing waiting, had sought someone who would read to him, talk to him, and accompany him as a real human being rather than a shell hooked up to machinery. The idea of this marriage sprang from a blend of family superstition, legal guardianship, and a mother's desperation.
In return, Eleanor could finish her unfinished college degree and receive enough financial support to start an independent life.
"You don't have to love him," Margaret made clear. "I only ask that you respect him. And as long as you are a member of this family, no one will ever dare treat you as worthless again."
Eleanor lowered her head. That simple promise touched her far deeper than James's mockery ever could. No one had ever spoken such words to her.
She returned to the apartment close to ten o'clock. James was waiting for her in front of a cheap birthday cake, wearing an old, frayed sweatshirt. The expensive suit, the luxury watch, and the shiny leather shoes were gone. On the table, he had deliberately left a catalog open to a page featuring a forty-thousand-dollar watch.
"Where have you been? It's my birthday."
Eleanor hung up her purse and swept her gaze around the living room. She was the one who had broken her back paying for the sofa, the curtains, the lamps, and even the slippers James was wearing. For years, she had called this place home. But tonight, everything looked like the set of a deceitful play.
"I didn't buy that watch."
"Why not?"
"And I'm not going to keep paying the rent for this apartment, either."
James slowly stood up.
"What new game are you playing?"
"Let's break up."
He let out a short laugh, convinced he had misheard.
"I can dump you, Eleanor. But you can never dump me."
"I heard everything at the hotel."
James's expression shifted. First came panic. Then, arrogance.
"You dared to spy on me?"
"I was working. Just like any other night. Trying to buy the watch you planned to use to win a bet."
James's phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with a text from his friends' group chat: “Did that idiot pay for the gift yet?” Right beneath it: “Take a photo of her sleeping and send it over.”
Eleanor turned away.
"I know you're Richard Sterling's son. I know your family owns one of the country's largest tech corporations. I also know Victoria is your childhood fiancée."
"So what?" he shot back. "I was just playing the poor boy. I didn't kill anyone."
"You made me live a fake life for seven years."
"You should feel lucky. A man like me even looked twice at a girl like you."
James slammed his hand against the table. Plates slid off, one shattering right at Eleanor's feet. A shard of porcelain sliced into the top of her bare foot, drawing blood, but she didn't even look down.
"When I first met you, I thought you saved my life," she said. "Now I realize you just used seven years of my youth to repay that debt of gratitude."
"You won't survive without me."
"That's just what you need to believe."
Eleanor picked up her purse and walked away. James shouted behind her that she would crawl back to beg him, that nobody would ever want a woman without a degree, without a family, and without a single penny to her name. She slammed the door shut without answering.
That night, she still had to visit her mother at the hospital. Her mother, Susan, suffered from cancer and had spent years using her illness as a leash to bind Eleanor to her. When Eleanor mentioned she had broken up with James, her mother didn't bother asking what had happened.
"He called me," she said. "He's willing to give you money if you go back, even just as his mistress."
Eleanor stared at her for several long seconds.
"Is that what you want for your daughter?"
"I just don't want to die because you want to act high and mighty."
In the past, Eleanor would have apologized. But not tonight.
"I've paid for every treatment, every debt, and every mistake you've ever made. But I am not selling my life to pay for yours anymore."
She walked out of the hospital with tears streaming down her face. She didn't cry for James. She cried for all those years she had mistaken sacrifice for love. And, though she didn't realize it at the time, it was also the last night she would ever allow anyone to use her sense of guilt to dictate her life.
The story is too long to post in the caption, so just say you "Yes". The full story will be in the comments below.👇👇
