He Called Me Gold Digger I Left Him

Chapter 2

The red light above the operating room lit up.

I collapsed to the floor, trembling so hard my teeth chattered, as I begged every higher power I could think of to let my mom pull through.

A ten-second countdown blared on repeat from the video playing on my phone.

I picked it up, and the screen was flooded with vicious comments tearing me apart.

A: [Are you kidding me? Of course grifting pays well when you've got no shame.]

B: [Young as hell and already working as a bar hostess. Pathetic.]

C: [200K for ten seconds of chugging? Sign me up, I'd do that too.]

I dropped my head and let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

Back when I was a wide-eyed freshman, Harris had crashed into my life out of nowhere, crisp and clean in a plain white button-down.

Back then, I was working every possible hour to scrape together enough money for tuition.

I picked up shifts at the library on weekdays, taught at a tutoring center on weekends, and interned at a top tech firm every summer. I was spinning like a top, never slowing down for a second.

Harris stuck to me like glue the whole time, tagging along to every single one of my odd jobs.

He said he loved that endless drive I had, the way I'd fight tooth and nail just to earn a little extra cash.

But that fire burned out the second we graduated.

I'd gotten offers for high-paying out-of-town roles, client-facing positions that required frequent networking dinners, and project gigs that would've meant pulling regular all-nighters to hit deadlines.

All it took was one line from him, he didn't want me to take those jobs, and I turned every single one down, no questions asked.

The top new comment in the thread caught my eye.

Some user had posted a pic of a luxury car, with a caption that read "Real strength comes from earning it yourself!"

Likes were pouring in by the hundreds.

A: [Holy s**t, you drive a Cayenne? Queen s**t!]

B: [You're so badass!]

C: [Hey gold digger, look up! This is what actual talent looks like.]

A Cayenne.

My mind flashed to the bet Audrey had mentioned once.

The car Harris had lost to her was the exact same model, wasn't it?

I clicked on the user's profile on some random impulse, and my phone nearly clattered to the floor right out of my shaking hands.

The first pinned video was a car pickup clip posted 15 minutes ago, and the woman grinning next to the brand-new Cayenne was Audrey.

The second pinned video showed two people holding hands, watching the auroras swirl and glow across the Arctic sky.

The guy's face was out of frame.

My blood ran cold when I spotted the faint scar on the ring finger of his left hand, exactly identical to Harris's.

*****

Six months earlier, I'd gotten sick.

Harris had followed a recipe online to make me soup, and he'd accidentally cut his hand while chopping ingredients.

I'd felt so guilty dabbing antiseptic on the cut, terrified it would leave a permanent mark.

He'd just smiled and brushed off my worries, telling me it was no big deal.

"I can cover this spot with a wedding ring later," he'd told me then.

The aurora video had been posted three months prior.

That was when he bailed on our beach trip, claiming he had to head back to his hometown to take care of some personal business.

Our entire relationship was stitched together with lies, and I'd been such an i***t I didn't catch on until right this second.

Just then, a text popped up from Harris.

Harris: You holding up okay? I brought you a present.

I tapped open the photo he'd sent.

Etched onto the black suitcase was the official Cayenne logo.

This was the same old routine he'd been running for years.

Every six months, Harris would vanish for a few days, telling me he was going back to his hometown to visit relatives.

Every time he came back, he'd hand me some fancy little gifts that looked expensive at first glance.

Sometimes it was limited-edition plush merch.

Other times it was a high-end insulated water bottle.

An Hermès silk scarf.

A sample vial of Chanel perfume.

He'd always say his relatives back home had given them to him as gifts.

Turns out they were just free throwaway goodies that other people didn't even want.

And stupid me, I'd treasured every single one of them, too precious to even use them.

I fired back a sharp text.

Juliana: Harris, I used to settle for practical stuff because you were too broke to afford anything better. This isn't a dumpster. Don't ever bring me other people's castoff freebies again.

Buzz-buzz-buzz. His phone call came blaring in right after, loud and shrill like it was demanding to be answered.

I just hit mute without a second thought.