Chapter 3: Broken Crowns, Bitter Hearts

Fine, fine, since you want to use him, go ahead. I can refuse anyone, but not the Queen Bee. But don’t say I didn’t warn you—be careful.”

I said nothing, hung up, and thought of how Julian told me he had a girlfriend. I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt sorry for him.

Then I checked Sierra Lane. She had a lot of dirt—cheating on Julian, sleeping around for roles, being some Texas oil tycoon’s mistress—even while dating Julian, she hadn’t broken it off with the oil guy.

I sighed with regret. (What a mess—and what a gift.) Then, very, very happily, I laughed out loud.

I called Julian, told him everything was settled. He was silent for a moment, then said, “Thank you.”

I calmly said, “I’ve helped you with something big. How about you treat me to dinner?”

He agreed.

At dinner, I gave Julian a hotel room keycard.

When he saw it, his face changed. His gaze moved from the card to my face, almost indifferent, his tone icy: “Is this your condition for helping me?”

I smiled and explained, “No, it’s a gift for you.”

He looked at me, confused, raising his eyebrows.

I tapped the table with my finger. “I’ll go with you to see something.”

I used that keycard to open a hotel room. Inside was Julian’s supposedly wholesome girlfriend—America’s-sweetheart wholesome, at least in the tabloids—Sierra Lane.

For a role in her new show, she was tangled up with the director and producer—three people, tangled together, moaning.

They were so lost in their own world, they didn’t even hear the door open.

I stood behind the pale, shaking Julian, smiling, and asked, “Julian, do you still have a girlfriend now?”

It was drizzling that day. I stayed with Julian, who walked silently in the rain.

We walked for a long, long time until he finally looked at me.

His hair was soaked, making his eyes and brows look even darker. I couldn’t help but marvel at how unfair the world was to others, favoring him so much. I said, “Julian, I mean nothing else. I just put the facts in front of you. The choice is yours.”

He looked at me expressionlessly. I didn’t get it. Sierra Lane was the one who cheated, who betrayed him, who would do anything for a role or to climb up.

But he seemed to hate me more than her. He didn’t show much expression, his tone barely changed.

But I could hear the deep resentment.

He asked calmly, “Monroe, do you think that as long as you have money, power, and status, you can control everything?”

“Do you really like me?” He looked me up and down in the rain. After confirming from my expression, he suddenly laughed—cold, mocking, full of malice, as if my love had given him a knife to hurt me. He said:

“Then let’s be together. Let’s see how much you like me.”

And so, Julian and I got together.

When we first started dating, all my friends laughed.

They said, as expected of me, there was nothing I couldn’t get if I wanted it.

Later, maybe I got too serious.

I was so serious about Julian, it scared them.

They tried to talk sense into me. “Monroe, it’s just for fun. Don’t get too attached, okay?”

I smiled, unconcerned, and asked, “What’s the point of dating if you don’t get attached? It’s not a game.”

My friend hesitated, then warned, “But he doesn’t love you.”

I held my wine glass in silence.

Julian really didn’t love me, even though we were together.

Even in our most passionate moments, his gaze was still cold, analyzing.

Maybe he hated that I made him see his ex-girlfriend’s ugly side.

I didn’t really get it. After drinking, I asked my friend, “His ex-girlfriend climbed into the director and producer’s bed for roles on her own. I didn’t force her. I just let him see the truth. Why does he hate me instead of her?”

“Maybe he hates you for shattering his fantasy,” my friend said bluntly. “He can’t bear to hate Sierra Lane, so he can only hate you. You’re just collateral damage.”

She didn’t sugarcoat it. I could only down my wine and smile.

To be fair, I was truly sincere with Julian.

All my life, I’ve gotten everything I wanted. But only with Julian did I bow my head, compromise, and humble myself for love.

I aimed my love at the moon and it splashed into a gutter. That’s the American version of the old proverb. I gave my heart away, and it went nowhere.

Julian said, “Let me see how much you like me.”

At the time, I was young and had never been in love. I took it as his way of testing me, so I tried my best to get a perfect score—or at least a passing grade.

The first time he embarrassed me in public was on his birthday.

It was the first time in my life I’d put so much effort into someone else.

Venue, flower colors, flutes sweating on silver trays—I even made the cake myself.

From the base to the frosting to the decorations, I did it all by hand.

I ruined maybe a hundred cakes before finally picking the smoothest, prettiest, best one.

I invited all my friends, planning to introduce Julian to them. God, I was proud.

Julian was my first real boyfriend.

A boyfriend I liked seriously, sincerely, and wholeheartedly.

My friends pretended to dislike seeing me so busy. “Look at you, acting so desperate.”

I just smiled.

Later, I brought the cake to him myself, beaming, asking him to make a wish and blow out the candles.

He looked at the cake, then at me, his face blank.

He closed his eyes… When he blew out the candles, he made a wish. “I wish I’d never met you.” Happy?

My smile froze, but no one noticed—because after blowing out the candles, Julian smeared the cake all over my face.

In front of all my friends.

The room went dead silent. The music had cut out. Someone probably wanted to step in, but I raised my hand to stop them.

I wiped the frosting from my eyelids, opened my eyes. The sticky sweetness clung to my lashes, blurring my vision. Somebody coughed. The AC was too cold.

But I refused to close my eyes. I looked up at Julian. He looked down at me. In his eyes, I saw myself—face covered in frosting, just two big eyes showing, maybe red, maybe not.