Chapter 6: Bloodlines and Betrayals

But actually, even without Julian, with my grades, the scholarship would have been mine. I’d worked my butt off, pulled all-nighters, aced every test. I’d earned it. But no one believed it. They only believed the rumors, believed I had a powerful backer, believed I’d cheated my way to the scholarship.

My accomplishments felt tainted. I started to doubt myself, even when I knew the truth. No one thought it was rightfully mine. I felt invisible, like my hard work didn’t matter.

That was our first big fight—screaming and hysterical. We yelled until our voices were hoarse. He didn’t understand why I was so upset. I didn’t understand how he could be so clueless. He looked genuinely hurt, like he’d tried to give me the world and I’d thrown it back in his face.

But he still gave in first, promising it wouldn’t happen again. He apologized, brought me flowers, swore he’d never meddle again. But in the end? He waved his hand and, without asking me, quit the job I’d worked so hard to find, then handed me his platinum card like it was a treasure. He made a call, and suddenly I was unemployed. Then he handed me his card, smiling like he’d solved all my problems.

“I’ll support you from now on. Everything on this card is yours.” He said it so earnestly, as if he was giving me a gift instead of taking away my independence.

With my love of money, I should have been thrilled. After all, he was my boyfriend—spending his money shouldn’t be a big deal, right? A part of me wanted to accept. Life would be so much easier. But... it was humiliating. It felt like he didn’t trust me to make it on my own.

I couldn’t help but fight with him. I threw the card back at him, yelling that I wasn’t for sale.

Back then, I was crashing at my friend Mariah’s place every day. Mariah made me tea, listened to me rant, never once judging. She was my rock. She didn’t get why I was so upset, but still supported me.

She said, "Girl, if someone gave me a platinum card, I’d be on a beach in Miami right now." But she hugged me anyway.

I told her, “Do you know what happened to the last person who heard these words?” Mariah shook her head, raising her eyebrows, waiting for the story.

I suddenly remembered that woman, still full of resentment, half-crazy to this day. She used to be so positive and optimistic—the kind of person who baked cookies for her neighbors, always saw the best in people.

Then she met a rich boyfriend, who felt sorry for her. The silly girl thought they could be together forever. She believed every promise, every sweet word. She was really naive. Just because he said, ‘I love you, I’ll support you from now on.’ She thought love would conquer all. She was wrong.

In the end, she lost her heart and her body. He moved on, but she was left behind—pregnant, alone, and heartbroken. Maybe when they were in love, he really did love her. But when the novelty wore off, the pregnant girl was kept like a canary. He put her up in a fancy apartment, but she was a secret, never a real part of his life. Watching him with other women. She saw the tabloids, the Instagram posts. It broke her.

After crying and making a scene, she begged him to choose her, but he was already gone. Eventually, he lost patience. He said, “I’ve always supported you, it’s my money—what right do you have to ask for so much?” His words cut deeper than any betrayal. She realized she was just another possession.

In the end, she left the city with her child, broken for life, unable to move on. She started over in a new town, but the hurt never really faded. So she told me—“Emily, you have to be independent and strong. No one can support you forever. Only you can save yourself.”

Her words stuck with me. I promised myself I’d never end up like her. With that lesson in mind, I began to fear this relationship. I started pulling away, guarding my heart. Afraid that after giving him all my love, Julian would treat it like a game. I worried he’d get bored, move on, leave me behind. Just like that man, showing his cold, ugly side in the end. I saw the warning signs, but I didn’t want to believe them. I didn’t want my story to end that way.

Because I liked him. I loved him. It hurt to admit it, but it was true. So I wanted to keep the good memories. I wanted to remember him the way he was, before things got complicated.

In the end, I broke up with him. I did it over coffee in a crowded café, so I wouldn’t cry. He looked stunned, then angry, but I didn’t back down. Julian had always been spoiled. He’d already compromised for me so many times, his pride wouldn’t let him bend any further.

He clenched his jaw, eyes shining with unshed tears. I almost caved, but I held firm. So, red-eyed, he told me coldly, “Emily, I don’t have to have you.” His words were like ice, but I knew he was hurting, too. It hurt. But I still pretended it didn’t matter. I put on my bravest face, forced a smile, and walked away. “That’s good. I’m the same.” I lied, but it was the only way I could let him go.

For three years after that, I only saw Julian in the news. He became more and more famous, partying with friends, playing extreme sports, living wildly. I watched from a distance, wondering if he ever thought about me. And I kept grinding for a living. I worked long hours, took extra shifts, focused on my future. It was lonely, but I survived. We were from two different worlds and shouldn’t have crossed paths again. Sometimes, I’d see him on TV or in the society pages, and my heart would ache. But I told myself it was for the best.

If not for that chance encounter—when I saw someone trying to hurt Julian again, and, out of old feelings, knocked two people down with one punch. It happened outside a club. I saw the fight brewing, recognized his voice, and jumped in without thinking.

His car was scratched, and when it went in for repairs, they found the brakes had been tampered with. The mechanic called the police, and suddenly everyone was on edge. It was a miracle he hadn’t crashed already.

The next day, he was supposed to go racing. He’d signed up for a charity street race, the kind that drew crowds and headlines. Everyone was watching. Someone wanted him dead. The police started asking questions, but no one had any answers.

Julian was furious, swearing to find out who it was. He was all fired up, then suddenly went quiet, thinking of something. He paced his penthouse, ranting about betrayal, then stopped mid-sentence, lost in thought.

The next day, I heard he’d crashed and become unresponsive. The news broke on every channel. I watched the footage, my hands shaking.

He was my ex, and our breakup hadn’t been pretty. I felt guilty, so I used the caregiver recruitment as an excuse to check on him. I sent in my application, half hoping I’d be rejected. But fate had other plans.

Who knew I’d be lucky enough to get hired? I almost laughed when I got the call. It felt like the universe was playing a joke on me.

And I never expected Julian would be so ruthless—actually staging a real car crash to play along. For a second, I wondered if he’d done it on purpose, just to get my attention.

"Julian, you were one step from death." We sat side by side on chairs by the window, looking at the bright moon outside. The city lights shimmered on the lake, and for once, everything felt calm. A rare moment of peace. Neither of us spoke for a while. The silence was comfortable, like an old sweater.

Julian turned to me. “If I died, would you be sad?” His voice was soft, almost shy. He looked younger in the moonlight.

“I’d be pretty sad.” I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. But my heart ached.

Seeing him perk up, I added, “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have broken up with you. I’d have married you, and when you were gone, inherited all your money. Wouldn’t that be great?” He burst out laughing, the tension broken. For a moment, we were just two kids, joking about the future.

Julian silently gave me a thumbs up. He grinned, shaking his head. "You’re a piece of work, Emily."

What happened with Tessa couldn’t be kept secret. The staff was buzzing by sunrise. Word spread fast in a house this big.

So we didn’t get rid of her. Instead, early the next morning, we put her back on the bed, right at the edge. We staged the scene, making it look like she’d fainted. I tucked a blanket around her for good measure.

As for the lamp hanging above the bed, before I could react, Julian broke it with some old farm tool he found who-knows-where. He swung the tool with surprising skill, sending glass flying. I ducked, covering my head. The lamp was expensive and heavy. It probably cost more than my car. If it fell, it could do real damage.

If it fell on the bed, it could really knock someone out. So when everyone found out in the morning, I was still “unconscious” on the floor. I kept my eyes closed, listening to the chaos around me.

When I “woke up,” Mrs. Whitaker arrived with a crowd and checked the juice with residue in it. She sniffed the glass, her face turning pale. The staff whispered, glancing nervously at one another. Plus the footage before the camera was destroyed. They reviewed what little was left, piecing together the events. The facts came together. It didn’t take a detective to figure out what happened. Mrs. Whitaker’s anger was volcanic. Someone had bad intentions toward her precious son. Mrs. Whitaker was so furious she slapped Tessa. The sound echoed through the house. Tessa whimpered, but no one stepped in to help her.

“What are you? Wanting to touch my son? With your status, you’re not even fit to carry his shoes!” Her words were cruel, but in this world, status was everything.

In the end, she sent her to the police. The officers arrived quietly, leading Tessa away in handcuffs. The staff watched in silence, no one daring to speak.

As for me, Mrs. Whitaker docked a whole month’s pay for not protecting well enough. I bit my lip, trying not to argue. Money was money, but pride was something else. It broke my heart. I did the math in my head, mourning all the shoes I wouldn’t be able to buy.

But after saying that in front of everyone, she pulled me into Julian’s room and handed me another check. It was for twice the amount she’d docked. I almost laughed.

“Emily, I know you’re a good kid. I won’t fire you. As long as you listen and take good care of Julian, if anything happens, tell me right away and you’ll be well rewarded.” She squeezed my hand, her eyes softening. For a moment, she seemed almost human.

She was buying me off with money. And I was happy to take it. A girl’s gotta eat.

Of course, I agreed immediately. I nodded so fast I almost got whiplash. "Thank you, Mrs. Whitaker."

After she finished, she got a call and left in a hurry, not even glancing at the “comatose” Julian. Her heels clicked down the hallway, fading into silence.

The surveillance was broken, and the new one hadn’t arrived yet. For the first time in weeks, I felt free. No blinking red light, no one watching.

So as soon as Mrs. Whitaker left, Julian sat up in bed, legs dangling, looking a little lonely. When he saw me, he smiled—a crooked, bittersweet smile. I sat beside him, waiting for him to talk.