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My Billionaire Boyfriend Faked Poverty—Then Called Me a Gold Digger
Novelix
Completed
"Just before we left work, Evan Carter, my boyfriend of five years, bought a latte for his new assistant, an intern named Brooke Miller, and picked one up for me too. The order sticker read: Double shot. Almond milk. I glanced at it and asked the woman cleaning nearby if she wanted it. She took it. Evan's expression darkened. ""Lia, it's a cup of coffee. Seriously?"" I kept packing my bag. ""I'm allergic to almonds. Did you forget?"" Brooke always ordered her lattes with two shots and almond milk. Back when Evan pretended to be broke, I'd shared a cheap apartment with him and lived on canned soup and toast for over two months to buy him a new phone and computer. I'd passed his test. I'd thought we could finally get married. Then my mother suddenly fell ill. Her surgery and follow-up treatment would cost $300,000. The first time I asked him for a loan, he looked at me with disgust. ""Brooke warned me you were a gold digger. You just found out I have money, and now you're asking for two hundred grand?"" He refused to lend me the money, but spent over $200,000 on luxury gifts for Brooke. When he saw me eating canned soup, he accused me of hinting that he should give me money, picked a fight with me, then took Brooke out for an expensive dinner. I borrowed from friends, arranged a payment plan with the hospital, and worked three jobs a day to pay down my debts and cover my mother's care. He was still waiting for me to prove I loved him more than his money. But I was done loving him."
Chapters (2)
Chapter 1
Just before we left work, Evan Carter, my boyfriend of five years, bought a latte for his new assistant, an intern named Brooke Miller, and picked one up for me too.
The order sticker read: Double shot. Almond milk.
I glanced at it and asked the woman cleaning nearby if she wanted it. She took it.
Evan's expression darkened. "Lia, it's a cup of coffee. Seriously?"
I kept packing my bag. "I'm allergic to almonds. Did you forget?"
Brooke always ordered her lattes with two shots and almond milk.
Back when Evan pretended to be broke, I'd shared a cheap apartment with him and lived on canned soup and toast for over two months to buy him a new phone and computer. I'd passed his test.
I'd thought we could finally get married.
Then my mother suddenly fell ill. Her surgery and follow-up treatment would cost $300,000.
The first time I asked him for a loan, he looked at me with disgust. "Brooke warned me you were a gold digger. You just found out I have money, and now you're asking for two hundred grand?"
He refused to lend me the money, but spent over $200,000 on luxury gifts for Brooke. When he saw me eating canned soup, he accused me of hinting that he should give me money, picked a fight with me, then took Brooke out for an expensive dinner.
I borrowed from friends, arranged a payment plan with the hospital, and worked three jobs a day to pay down my debts and cover my mother's care.
He was still waiting for me to prove I loved him more than his money.
But I was done loving him.
...
Evan glanced at the sticker on the cup, paused, and softened his voice.
"I'll get you another one. What do you want?"
"No, thanks. I have to get to my shift at the diner."
He looked down at the split along the edge of my worn shoe. For once, his voice was gentle. "I'll drive you."
This time, I said yes.
At least I'd save the elevated train fare.
I'd just buckled my seat belt when someone knocked on the window.
Brooke leaned down outside the car. "Evan, I can't get a ride. Can I come with you?"
Evan unlocked the doors. "Get in."
She opened the back door, then closed it again, resting a hand on it as she looked at him. "I get carsick in the back. Can I sit up front?"
Evan turned to me. Before he could say anything, I got out and moved to the back seat.
He smiled at me in the rearview mirror. "I knew you'd understand."
I looked away. "Let's go. I'm running late."
I didn't care where I sat, as long as I got there for free.
Brooke buckled up and turned around. "Where are you going, Lia?"
I ignored her.
"She has a shift at the diner tonight," Evan said, turning the wheel.
Brooke laughed. "Some women love making sure men see how hard they have it. Get him feeling sorry for you, and suddenly you've got someone to pay your bills."
Evan said nothing, but his jaw tightened.
She turned and smiled at me. "It's a joke. Don't take it so seriously."
I watched her for a moment, then smiled back. "Insult someone, then say you're joking. You've had some practice."
Her smile disappeared, and she lowered her head. "I just wanted to warn Evan about being used. Fine. I won't say anything else."
"Then shut up."
Evan frowned. "Lia. Enough."
I rolled my eyes just as an email arrived with a job offer from another company. I had seven days to accept.
I opened a reply, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for a long moment.
Then I closed my email.
Our annual promotion reviews were coming up in a few days. The salary after a promotion would be higher than the new company's offer.
I'd go wherever paid more.
After a while, Brooke suddenly pointed out the window. "That place! I've been dying to try their cheesecake."
I looked at the line outside. "Don't stop. I'm almost late. My manager will cut my hours. I can't afford to lose any more pay."
Brooke lowered her hand, looking disappointed. "I've tried a few times. They're always sold out."
Evan had already put on his turn signal. "We'll be quick. You'll get there on time."
Brooke immediately unbuckled, then linked her arm through his after they got out. "Perfect. Thank you!"
I stayed in the car, checking the time. The wait on my rideshare app kept getting longer, and the nearest train station was too far away.
Fifteen minutes later, they finally came out.
Evan handed me a small box of cheesecake. "Try it."
Brooke was carrying two large bags stuffed with desserts.
"Can we go?" I said.
We'd only been driving for a few minutes when Brooke suddenly clutched her stomach and doubled over.
"Evan, my stomach really hurts."
He immediately hit the brakes. "I'll take you to the ER."
I checked the time and tightened my grip on my bag. "Drop me at the diner first. Then take her to the ER."
Evan turned to me. "Can't you see she's in pain? What's the big deal if you're a little late?"
My job at the diner paid for my mother's monthly rehabilitation care.
Before I could speak, Brooke grabbed his arm. "It really hurts."
That settled it for him. "Get out. You can order a ride. I need to get her to the ER."
Standing on the curb, watching him drive away, I suddenly wanted to laugh.
When he'd told me he was actually the heir to the Carter Group and had taken over as CEO, it had taken me days to process it.
Then Mom fell ill. For a moment, I'd even been grateful he could afford to help.
He'd agreed to lend me $200,000. Then Brooke, who'd only just started working for him, said one thing, and he changed his mind.
"Gold diggers wait until you trust them before they ask for money. Evan, are you really sure she didn't already know your family was rich?"
In the end, I borrowed from friends and paid the rest in installments.
It started raining. By the time I ran into the diner where I worked part-time, I was soaked, and my manager was right in front of me.
She checked her watch. "You're twenty minutes late. You're clocking out two hours early tonight. Do this again, and don't bother coming back."
Two fewer hours meant less pay and fewer tips. I could lose over a hundred dollars, enough to buy my lunches for two weeks.
There was no time to argue. I hurried to the back, took off my wet jacket, tied on my apron, and slipped my order pad into my pocket.
The dinner rush had started, and I hurried between tables.
Someone called for me, and I immediately put on a smile. "Be right there."
When I looked up, Brooke was smiling at me from a table, with Evan sitting across from her.
Chapter 2
"The doctor said I'm fine." She set down her menu. "I'm so sorry I made you late. We figured we'd eat here so you could make a little extra in tips."
I said nothing, set out their silverware, and took their order.
For the next two hours, I carried burgers, steaks, and drinks to tables and cleared away dirty dishes. By the time I came back to their table, my hands were shaking under the plates.
Evan steadied my wrist, took the stack of dirty plates, and set them on the nearby bussing station. "Leave them. Take a break."
I stared at his hands, briefly lost in a memory.
Back when we lived in that tiny Chicago apartment, he'd go several blocks out of his way after work to get my favorite chicken soup from a deli. He'd practiced making the roast chicken and mashed potatoes I loved, not even complaining when he burned his arm taking a pan out of the oven.
Whenever he served it, he'd sit across from me and wait for me to take the first bite.
I could barely remember the taste of any of the expensive dinners that came after.
"Lia, this coffee's cold. Could you bring me a hot one?"
Brooke's voice brought my attention back to her.
I brought over the freshly refilled cup, and she immediately reached for it.
"Careful. It's hot."
I'd just reached for an empty plate when she suddenly let go of the cup. Hot coffee spilled over the back of my hand, with a few drops splashing onto her wrist. The cup rolled off the table and shattered.
I sucked in a breath at the pain, but she was already jumping up and screaming.
"Ow! That's hot!"
Evan immediately put down his phone, stepped past me, and pulled up Brooke's sleeve.
"It's red. Let me see. Does it hurt?"
Brooke leaned into his arms, her voice shaking. "Lia, are you still mad that I made you late? I already apologized..."
Evan looked at me. "Apologize to her."
I cradled my injured hand. "She let go of the cup. What am I apologizing for?"
"Do you want me to get your manager? Let's see if they'll let you treat customers like this."
My hand burned. I bit my lip and finally forced out, "I'm sorry."
Evan looked down at Brooke. "I'll take you back to the ER. Have someone look at it."
As he passed me, he finally noticed my red, swollen hand and stopped to catch my wrist.
"You should come too."
I pulled free. "No."
He stood there for a moment, then left with Brooke anyway.
I watched them through the floor-to-ceiling windows until my vision blurred. Wiping my face, I turned to take the next table's order.
My manager fired me that night over the customer complaint.
When I got my final paycheck, I repaid part of what I owed a friend. That left eighty dollars in my account.
I still had no way to pay for Mom's care the following month. I stood in the convenience store for a long time before picking up a single can of condensed soup on sale.
Back home, I saw Brooke's new post.
"Best day of the week. Thanks for dinner and the gifts, Evan."
The photos were full of designer clothes, handbags, and shopping bags. Evan's wrist was visible at the edge of one shot.
Behind them was the restaurant overlooking Chicago's skyline. I'd checked the prices. The meal and wine in those pictures cost as much as six months of my salary.
The lock clicked, and Evan came in. He put a tube of burn cream on the table. "Got this for you. Remember to use it."
He frowned at my bowl. "This again?"
"I'm broke."
He immediately grew irritated. "Here we go. Can you stop bringing up money?"
I looked up, and he went on. "Lia, what are you really after?"
I put down my spoon. "Worried I'll spend your money? Break up with me. Then you can stop worrying."
He stared at me for a few seconds, then went into the bedroom and slammed the door.
Over the next few days, I spent my newly free evenings preparing for my promotion interview. I revised my project presentation, checked my performance figures, and practiced answering questions over and over. I even scraped together enough of what I had left to buy an outfit that fit me at a discount store.
On the day of the interview, I walked into the conference room in my new clothes and presented my projects from the past two years and my plans for the future to several department heads.
They kept nodding. Afterward, my coworkers said I was sure to get promoted.
But when the list came out, even the coworker with the worst performance had been promoted. I hadn't.
After I kept asking, my manager finally told me:
"The panel gave you the highest score, but the promotion wasn't approved. I asked. Evan vetoed it himself."
