Part 3His White Moonlight Tax

He saw my tear-filled eyes, and his tone softened slightly. "Don't go to work for the next few days. Get some rest. I've scheduled some appointments with a few stylists. We'll give you a makeover."

He paused, looking down at me. "Until then, let's just pretend we don't know each other, okay?"

It was as if I hadn't heard him. I enunciated each word with chilling clarity. "Give. Me. My. Money."

His patience snapped. His eyes darkened, and he ground out the words through clenched teeth. "If you just behave, I'll give you any amount of money you want."

He said it as if he were making a great concession. "Even if you only got close to me for my money, fine. I accept it."

I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall freely. "Patrick, let's break up."

He laughed, a smug, knowing sound. "Afraid I'll think you're a gold digger, so you're preemptively breaking up with me? Is that the game?"

"You knew my identity all along, didn't you? You deliberately joined this event. Even crawling on the ground... you did that for us to see, didn't you?"

I stared at him in disbelief. I had never known him to be so delusional.

"Patrick, how did I never realize how disgusting you are?" I spat. "If you hadn't faked being sick, would I have had to work myself to the bone? My life would be better without you."

He sneered. "Still pretending?"

"Without me, do you think you would have graduated? Without me, do you think you would have landed a job at a Fortune 500 company right out of college? You're nothing without me!"

I turned my back on him, no longer wanting to waste another breath.

His voice, dripping with certainty, followed me. "You won't last a week. You'll come crawling back to me."

The next few days were a living hell.

One by one, my part-time jobs suddenly "no longer needed me." Then, my corporate job fired me, offering a generous severance package just to get me out the door. The moment the money hit my account, long-lost relatives I'd never met materialized, claiming my parents owed them money.

After everything, all I had left was the three thousand dollars from the Gold Dust Challenge.

I clutched my chest, each breath a struggle. Three years of sleeping only five hours a night had taken its toll. My body was shutting down. After buying my medication, I didn't even have enough left for rent.

Every company I applied to rejected me the second they heard my name.

Just as I was about to lose all hope, I got an offer for a one-day gig. When I arrived, I realized my employer was Isabelle.

She poured a glass of water on the floor and ordered me to clean it up on my hands and knees. One of her friends poked me with a stick, tsking theatrically.

"You stink," Isabelle said with a laugh. Then she kicked me into the swimming pool and watched me struggle to stay afloat, plastering hundred-dollar bills to my soaked, semi-sheer shirt.

When I remained silent, she seemed to lose interest. "Don't you have any dignity?"

I gathered the wet bills, tucking them carefully into my pocket. "Dignity is a luxury for the rich. You've never been poor. You wouldn't understand."

She smiled. "What about this? Does this mean anything to you?"

I looked at the necklace in her hand, and my world stopped. It was the only thing my mother had ever given me. I had given it to Patrick on his birthday.

The last thread of my sanity snapped.

I lunged at her, but a strong hand caught me mid-air. Patrick held me back easily, looking at me like I was a misbehaving pet.

"Isabelle has a weak heart," he said calmly. "Just let it go. How much is the necklace worth? I'll buy it from her for you."