Chapter 3
990 Words
A sharp pain twisted at my heart.
Three years ago, I might not have understood what Larry meant by that, but right now, I heard it loud and clear.
To him, the heir of the Lockwood family, I was nothing more than a plaything, unworthy of any further association with rich heirs like them.
Unconsciously, I clenched my hands into fists.
Crap, I'm already thinking about breaking up with him again.
I had clearly made up my mind that to escape the time loop, I would endure whatever garbage Larry spewed out, no matter how offensive it was.
Just then, Michelle beside me glanced at me and casually tossed a drink menu at me.
"Ms. Lambert, order whatever you want; don't worry about the price! We're just catching up with Larry; this has nothing to do with you."
I froze for a moment.
The disdain and arrogance in Michelle's words were exactly the same as Larry's when we first crossed paths.
That year, I had just arrived in this city and was working part-time at a flower shop.
I was carrying a money tree plant into the shop to unload the delivery when I bumped into Larry, who was walking over while on a phone call.
With a loud crash, the ceramic flower pot hit the ground and shattered into pieces.
I grabbed Larry and demanded he pay for the damage.
The exact same expression from our first encounter was now on Larry's pampered, privileged face.
Contempt, tinged with sneering mockery.
He put away his phone, brushed the dirt off the leg of his trousers, and spoke with an air of strict, self-righteous authority.
"Miss, according to Article 1165 of the Civil Code, where a person causes harm to another person's civil rights and interests through their fault, they shall bear tort liability."
"Your goods have occupied the public street. If you're trying to extort me, I can report you to the authorities."
I was intimidated by his words back then, and in the end, I had to accept the bad luck and cover the cost for the shop out of my own pocket.
After work, I carried the money tree without its pot back to the shared apartment and ran into Larry again.
Covered in dust, he was moving his luggage into the empty room next to mine.
In that moment, a surge of fury at being tricked rose in my chest.
"Well, well! You look so put-together; I actually bought that you were some hotshot lawyer! Turns out you live in this run-down shared apartment too!"
"You liar! Pay me back! That tree cost me 16 dollars! Pay me now!"
Larry turned his gaze on me. Even in that dim, shabby environment, his attitude remained as arrogant as ever.
Then he casually rummaged through his bag, pulled out a lawyer's license, and held it up for me to see.
"Which law prohibits a lawyer from living in a shared apartment, may I ask?"
That was when our bad blood started.
I never would have guessed that later, we would go from feuding strangers to lovers.
Must have been so hard for a spoiled rich heir like Larry to keep up the poor guy act in front of me for five whole years.
I snapped back to my senses. Larry, sitting beside me, was already chatting and laughing with his friends.
They talked about topics I couldn't grasp, occasionally dropping phrases in a language I didn't recognize.
Larry and I were clearly sitting right next to each other, yet I felt an invisible barrier separating us into two entirely different worlds.
After chatting for a long time, they finally got to the main point: celebrating Larry's birthday.
Michelle took out a gift box covered in text I couldn't read and handed it to Larry with a smile.
"Larry, happy birthday! That cheap tie you're wearing will make people laugh if you go out in it."
That was the tie I had saved up money for three whole months to buy.
To them, it was just plain and cheap.
The private room was so stuffy I could hardly breathe.
I couldn't sit there a moment longer. Standing up, I said, "Larry, I'm not feeling well. I'm heading back first."
Without so much as a glance at Larry, I turned and left straight away.
Larry was a jerk!
Why did I still have to put up with his nonsense three years after we broke up?
Inside the high-end club, I wandered through a maze of hallways before I finally found the exit.
When I stepped out through the club's main entrance, the sky, which had been clear just moments before, had started raining again.
I stood at the doorway for a long time. This time, Larry still did not come after me.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the rental apartment once more.
I'd looped back to the start of this same day once more.
I watched Larry, with a sour face, say that line for the twelfth time.
"Quincy, can you have some self-respect? It's just getting fired from your waitressing..."
I cut him off, asking calmly, "In the eyes of the heir of the Lockwood family, what exactly counts as having self-respect?"
The air went dead still in an instant.
Larry's expression froze on his face. For the first time, genuine shock flashed across those eyes that had always held either mockery or indifference.
He frowned tightly, and spoke softly, "Who told you that?"
I lay on the bed, staring up at the shabby, mold-stained ceiling, and gave a thin, bitter smirk.
"Larry, we were together for five years, and in those five years, when you watched me cram onto the bus and eat instant noodles just to save a few bucks, when you saw me so overjoyed at a minuscule raise that I couldn't sleep—did you think I was a complete joke?"
- Writer
