Chapter 3: The College Sweetheart Illusion

Marcus and I were college sweethearts.

We’d sprawl on the quad under the old oaks, swapping stories while the smell of grilling hot dogs drifted from the frat houses. The chemistry was instant, the kind you only find once in a lifetime.

We dated for three years at university.

Three years of late-night study sessions, tailgates, weekend trips to the city, and falling asleep on each other's shoulders after finals. He always seemed to be struggling with money—never flashy, always careful.

When I first met him, he was working part-time in the campus library.

He'd show up in faded jeans and worn sneakers, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled, glasses perched on his nose. I thought he was just another kid hustling to get by.

During our relationship, he always acted like he was short on cash.

He'd count out change at the coffee shop, insist we split the bill, claim he couldn't afford a bigger apartment off-campus. I never questioned it; I just assumed we were in the same boat.

It wasn’t until after graduation, when we started talking about marriage, that I learned Marcus was actually from a wealthy family.

The reveal was almost cinematic—a slip of the tongue during a dinner at his parents' house, a mention of the family trust, the way his mother wore pearls at breakfast. My world tilted on its axis.

I was nervous the first time I met his parents.

My palms were sweating as I clutched a bouquet of flowers, standing on the steps of their mansion in old Maple Heights. The place looked like something out of a magazine—gleaming floors, chandeliers, a grand piano in the foyer.

Because I knew wealthy families usually have strict standards for daughters-in-law—certainly not someone from an ordinary background like me.

I imagined they'd size me up and find me lacking. My thrift-store dress suddenly felt out of place among their tailored suits and designer heels.

But to my surprise, Marcus’s parents were very satisfied with me.

His mother hugged me warmly, his father asked about my studies, and for a moment, I let myself believe I belonged. They made me feel seen, like I was more than just a pretty face to hang on Marcus's arm.

Back in college, to toughen Marcus up, they’d only given him a small allowance every month.

A "teaching moment," they called it. His parents wanted him to learn the value of money, to understand the real world. I admired them for that, even if I didn’t fully get it.

They hadn’t expected that, even so, there would be a girl willing to date their son.

They looked at me with this mix of surprise and approval, as if I were a unicorn—rare and precious.

They thought I wasn’t with Marcus for his money, and that made them very pleased.

Three years of dating, and not only did I get my boyfriend, I also found out he was rich, and his parents liked me.

I remember lying awake that night, replaying every conversation. It felt like I’d hit the jackpot without even buying a ticket.

At that time, I really felt like all the good things in the world had landed on me.

I called my best friend, giddy and breathless. We planned out my wedding in our heads—white roses, a country club, a new last name. I never saw the storm coming.

Until, on the eve of our wedding, I accidentally overheard Marcus talking with his friends.

It was late. I went looking for him, my shoes silent on the plush carpet. The hallway carpet muffled my steps, but my heart thudded so loud I was sure they’d hear it. The door was open just a crack, and the voices spilled out—low, conspiratorial, just for them.