Chapter 1

Right when our high school reunion hit its peak, Carter Hayes—our former golden boy, now a ruthless billionaire—slammed his crystal wine glass onto the floor right at my feet.

Red wine and shattered glass splattered across the hem of my white dress, looking just like fresh blood.

"Vivian Hall," he sneered, loosening his silk tie with a cruel, mocking smirk. "I heard you specialize in entertaining wealthy old men these days."

He leaned in. "How much for a night? For old time's sake, I'll book you for the whole month."

The private suite fell dead silent.

Every pair of eyes pierced through me like needles.

I slowly knelt down, picking up the jagged shards piece by piece, ignoring the sharp edges slicing deep into my palm.

Then, I looked up at him with a flawless, radiant smile. "Sure, Mr. Hayes. But my rates have gone up. I charge by the minute now. Are you sure you can afford me?"

His smug expression instantly froze.

Wiping the blood from my hand, I added calmly, "After all, your fiancée offered me half a million dollars last month just to carry your baby. And I turned her down."

At eleven that night, I pushed open the double doors of VIP Suite 8.

Thick cigar smoke mingled with heavy designer perfume, making the air stiflingly sweet.

"Here she comes! The club's star has finally arrived!"

Someone let out a low whistle.

I wore the club's mandatory black slip dress. The silk barely covered enough skin to be considered legal.

My manager had specifically ordered me to wear it, claiming tonight's guests were the highest tier of VIPs.

"Vivian? Is that really you?!" A woman with curled hair gasped dramatically. "We haven't seen you since graduation! How on earth did you end up in a place like this?"

I recognized her immediately.

Chloe Davis. The girl who used to trail behind me in high school, kissing the ground I walked on.

Now, the diamond ring glistening on her finger was massive enough to blind someone.

"It pays the bills," I replied with my perfectly practiced customer service smile—eight teeth showing, pleasant and detached.

"You need to pay bills in a place like this?" Carter's voice cut through the noise from the darkest corner of the room.

He sat at the head of the table, his long legs crossed, a cigarette glowing between his fingers.

Seven long years.

He was still devastatingly handsome.

Except the warmth in his eyes—the eyes that once looked at me as if I hung the stars—was completely gone. Only Arctic ice remained.

"You're flattering me, Mr. Hayes," I said, offering a slight, professional bow. "I'm the VIP guest relations manager here tonight. I'm at your service."

"VIP manager?" Carter let out a sharp, mocking chuckle. "Dressed like that?"

Subtle snickers rippled through the room.

Chloe leaned in close, her heavy floral perfume stinging my nose. "Oh, Vivian, don't be shy! We're all old friends here. We all know what happened. Word on the street is that after your dad went bankrupt, you..."

She paused deliberately, letting everyone's dirty imaginations fill in the blanks.

I kept my composure. "What can I get you to drink, Ms. Davis? We just received a rare vintage Burgundy."

"Stop acting so classy!" Brad, a man in gold-rimmed glasses, chimed in with a leer. "Vivian, remember how untouchable you used to be? Prom queen, straight-A student, guys lined up around the block just to buy you coffee. And look at you now."

His gaze crawled over my bare shoulders. "Guess at the end of the day, a woman always ends up relying on a man's wallet."

Carter hadn't said a word.

He just watched me. His gaze felt like a cold scalpel, peeling back my skin layer by layer.

My mind involuntarily flashed back to that rainy night seven years ago. Carter had stood outside my family's gated mansion, soaked to the bone, clutching a cashier's check in his trembling hands.

"Vivi, I managed to borrow some money! Thirty thousand dollars! Take it, please, just to get through this week..."

I had stood behind the second-floor window, watching his stubborn silhouette in the downpour.

My father's harsh roar echoed behind me: "Don't you dare go down there! What is Carter Hayes? A broke college kid! What can thirty grand do against twelve million dollars of debt? Chad Miller has agreed to bail us out—the only condition is that you marry him!"

"Dad, please... I love Carter!"

"Love?! Does love pay off ruthless creditors? The firm is ruined! The Millers have political power and infinite capital! What can Carter Hayes offer you? Love? How much does a pound of love cost on the market?!"

That night, I never walked down the stairs.

The next day, I met Carter on the rooftop of our campus library.

"We're done," I said.

He went pale. "What did you say?"

"I'm breaking up with you." I forced my voice to stay cold, forcing myself to look straight into his crushed eyes. "My dad arranged my engagement to Chad Miller. We're from different worlds, Carter."

"Different worlds?!" Carter grabbed my wrists desperately. "Vivian, you told me you'd wait for me! Wait until I graduate, wait until my startup takes off! I promised I'd give you the world!"

"I don't have time to wait!" I yanked my hands back. "My father is sick, our company is dead, and I need money. Serious money. Something you'll never be able to provide."

I pulled out the diamond tennis necklace Chad had bought me and dangled it in front of his face.

"See this? This single necklace costs seventy-five thousand dollars. Carter, you couldn't earn this in a lifetime."

His expression shifted from utter shock to agonizing despair, and finally, to complete, dead numbness.

"So... you chose the money."

"Yes. I chose the money." I turned around, every step feeling like walking on shattered glass. "Don't ever look for me again."

That was the last time I saw him.

Later, I heard he dropped out of university and vanished.

Years later, news headlines broke out: Carter Hayes had built a tech and logistics empire from the ground up, took his conglomerate public, and became one of the youngest multi-billionaires in the country.

And my family?

My father couldn't survive the shame. The day before federal marshals seized our mansion, he jumped from the eighteenth floor.

My mother suffered a mental breakdown from the trauma and has been confined to a psychiatric facility ever since, costing fifteen thousand dollars a month.

And Chad Miller? Once he got bored of me, he tossed a divorce agreement in my face along with a miserable hundred-thousand-dollar settlement—barely enough to cover a fraction of the interest on my father's old debts.

I fell from high-society heiress to a broke, disgraced divorcee drowning in hospital bills.

That was the reality of my life.