Funding My Ex Boyfriends Hot Rival

I couldn't help myself. Watching the live stream, I tapped the screen and sent fifty virtual supercarsa five-thousand-dollar flex in a matter of seconds.

I expected a thank you, or at least a smile. Instead, Preston blew up. He sent me a scathing text, threatening to end thingsagain.

As I sat there, reeling from the confusion, glowing lines of text suddenly began to drift across my vision like a digital hallucinationa live commentary on my own life.

[Is this bitch for real? Does she think having a trust fund and paying for the leads tuition gives her the right to own him? Dropping those cars was a total power move to humiliate him. Such a desperate, territorial move.]

[No wonder hes pissed. Our sweet Daisy finally worked up the courage to send him her first Rosea literal symbol of her pure loveand this rich girl just had to swoop in and drown it out with her tacky display of wealth.]

[Old money, new money, it doesn't matter. Women like her will never understand. A single rose might only cost a dime, but to him, its worth infinitely more than a dozen Ferraris bought with daddys credit card.]

[When is Preston finally going to make enough from his streaming group to dump this nightmare socialite? Im dying for him and Daisy to finally start their struggling artists in love arc! Ugh!]

I froze.

The truth hit me with the force of a physical blow. I wasn't the leading lady in this story. I was the obstacle. The "Other Woman." The villainous ex-girlfriend standing in the way of a fated romance.

Every gift, every cent Id spent on him, wasn't a gesture of love. In his eyesand the eyes of the "audience"it was an insult.

Fine.

I nodded to the empty room, a cold clarity settling over me. I accepted the breakup. I turned my back on the man Id spent three years bankrolling and set my sights on his teammate instead.

Later, I didn't even blink when I dropped five hundred "Universe" gifts on his rivals stream.

Preston, watching from the sidelines, completely lost it. In front of his entire following, with his eyes bloodshot and voice cracking, he begged me for a second chance.

It took me a long time to process what was happening.

In the narrative of this world, Preston was the "Hero." Daisy, my roommate, was the "Heroine."

And me? I was the "Rich Girl Villain"the one who had been foolishly pouring her heart and bank account into a man who secretly despised her.

As I sat there dazed, the floating comments continued to flicker with indignation.

[God, poor Daisy. She skipped dinner for three nights just to save up enough for that digital rose. Im literally crying for her.]

[The villain is so toxic. Preston told her a thousand times not to be so flashy, but she just has to show off. She made poor Daisy feel so small she probably cried herself to sleep.]

[Theyre both kids from the same small town, chasing the American Dream together. Only they can truly save each other.]

[The villain might have helped him win the streaming battle, but look at his face. Hes not smiling. Hes just thinking about how much Daisy is hurting.]

[The script was supposed to be: They share a secret glance of love amidst the crowd. This bitch ruined their first real moment!]

I closed my eyes, trying to clear the static from my brain. This "plot" was absurd, but the reality was undeniable.

If this was the truth of his heart, I was done playing the role of the benevolent benefactor.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Trying to ignore me again?" Prestons voice barked through the phone, pulling me back to the present. "Daisy has a lot of pride. Shes probably hiding somewhere crying right now. If you want to keep this relationship, you go to her and apologize. Once she forgives you, then maybe we can talk."

I didn't hesitate. "Okay," I said.

Thinking he might misunderstand, I added firmly, "I agree. Let's break up."

"Then get over there and apologize! Be sincere for once" Preston started, his voice overlapping mine. He stopped mid-sentence as my words finally registered. "Wait, what? Blair, what is this? Another one of your little tantrums?"

I cut him off, my voice steady. "I said, you wanted a breakup. Youve got it. Were done."

The silence on the other end lasted three full seconds. Then, he let out a sharp, condescending laugh.

"Fine. Great. Have it your way. Keep acting out, Blair. But don't come crawling back when you realize Im actually serious this time. Im done with your drama."

I didn't want to argue. I just gave a muffled "Mm-hmm" and moved to hang up.

Before I could, his voice came through the receiver, a low, venomous threat. "Think carefully, Blair. Don't call me crying tomorrow begging for another chance!"

I didn't bother responding.

I never knew how to love "correctly," I suppose. My version of love was simple: if I cared for someone, I wanted them to have the best of everything. I thought Preston was struggling, that he needed the money, that he was only doing these group streamssomething he used to call "beneath him"out of necessity.

Now I knew. To him, my money was just a shallow, golden cage.

The moment the call ended, I paged my housekeeper and told her to go to the local drugstore and buy two of those massive, cheap plastic moving bags.

All the luggage in this apartment was custom-made, hand-stitched leather. Preston didn't deserve to touch them.

I watched as the housekeeper packed his things. I made sure she didn't include a single designer item Id bought himthose were too "vain" and might "hurt his fragile pride."

I looked around the penthouse. It was in the heart of the city, every square inch costing more than most people made in a year. I had decorated it ourselves, tailoring every detail to Prestons tastes. If I had known he felt "humiliated" living here every day, I would have let the unit sit empty.

I felt a surge of anger, but my eyes betrayed me, stinging with tears. Three years. You don't just switch off three years of feelings, no matter how much of a bastard the guy turned out to be. He had threatened to leave a dozen times before, but this was the first time I was the one walking away.

As I packed, the comments flared up again.

[Why isn't the villain apologizing yet? Does she think this silent treatment will work on him? So manipulative.]

[Is she seriously acting like shes moving out? Shes so obsessed with him, shed die before she actually let him go.]

[If her family didn't have money, would a guy like Preston even look at her? He only stayed because she paid his tuition at the acting conservatory. She bought his time, not his heart.]

[Shell never understand that every cent she spent on him felt like a slap in the face. He despises her 'charity.']

[He hates the 'capitalist filth.' He dreams of a tiny, one-bedroom apartment with Daisy. Simple meals, three seasons, four directions. Thats real happiness. The villain will never get it.]

I tried to ignore them, but the sheer delusion was suffocating. If Preston hated my familys help so much, he shouldn't have accepted the tuition. He shouldn't have accepted the black card. He was the one who pursued me for an entire year when we first met.

He was a scholarship student from a small town; I was a girl with a trust fund that could buy the town.

I had paid for everything. His fifty-thousand-dollar-a-year allowance, his skincare, his wardrobe, his travel for auditions. I never made him ask. I just put the money in his account because I wanted him to focus on his "art."

In return, he kept me a secret at school. He said he didn't want people thinking he was a "gold digger." He refused to be seen with me in the cafeteria or the library.

He chose streaming because it was "quick money," but every time I supported him with a gift, he acted like Id spit on his grave.

It all made sense now. My support was his "burden." My love was his "humiliation."

Fine. Let him be free.

I was sitting on the floor, crying despite myself, when the front door clicked open. Preston stood there, his face tight with fury.

"Blair, what is this?"

He pointed at the cheap plastic bags in the foyer, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.

Oh. I forgot to change the door code.

He saw my tears and his expression softened into a look of weary annoyance. He rubbed his temples. "Its five in the morning. I just finished a ten-hour stream. Im exhausted. Stop with the theatrics."

He started to walk past me, carrying the limited-edition designer duffel Id given him for his birthday.

I stood up and blocked his path.

The comments surged: [Look at her, trying the 'breakup' move to get his attention. We all know shes terrified hell actually leave.] [Hes not falling for it. She could crawl on her knees and hed still choose Daisy. Their love is pure.]

I cleared my throat, wiping my face. "Your things are packed. The bags are by the door. You can check them if you want."

"Give me the car keys," I added. "And Im changing the codes. As for the money Ive spent on you... consider it a donation to the needy. I spend more on my dogs grooming anyway. I think were done here. Blocked and deleted."

Prestons greatest weakness was his "high self-esteem"or what I now recognized as fragile ego. My words hit him like a physical barrier. He looked at me with pure disbelief.

"Blair, youre really going to blow this out of proportion?" he sneered. "Have you thought about the consequences?"

"I think I was pretty clear on the phone," I said, my voice finally finding its cold edge. "Were over."

He laughed, a bitter, mocking sound. "Do you realize that because you wouldn't apologize, Daisy cried all night? I had to drive to her dorm after my stream just to sit with her. You have no idea what youve done, do you? But thats you. Always the same."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a hiss. "To you, fifty supercars is just the price of a Chanel bag. You have a closet full of them, so it means nothing. But Daisy... she skipped three days of meals just to support me. Do you know how many shifts she had to work at the tea shop to save that money? And you just had to mock her. You had to drop fifty cars right after she sent her rose."

"Youre a spoiled little princess who knows nothing of the real world," he spat. "Thats why Im angry."

I was stunned. The streaming studio was an hour away from Daisys dorm. He finished at 2 AM and drove all that way to "comfort" her? And he still claimed they were "just friends"?

I didn't even know which account was Daisys. I didn't know their "digital rose" was some sacred ritual. I only stepped in because he was losing the "Live Battle" and I didn't want him to look bad.

I wanted to scream all of this at him. But looking at his self-righteous face, I just felt... tired.

Preston saw I wasn't responding and, in a fit of pique, grabbed the plastic bags and headed for the elevator.

Before the doors closed, he threw one last line at me: "Blair, remember this. Youre the one who pushed me to her."

I didn't understand.

He was the one who asked for the breakup. Now it was my fault for "pushing" him?

It was always like this. He was the saint; I was the sinner. My kindness was "hatred," and my help was a "seed of resentment."

I lay in bed as the sun began to peek through the curtains, tossing and turning. I pulled up my phone.

At 6:30 AM, Daisy had posted a new update on social media.

Thank you for never giving up on me. Thank you for understanding my heart. And thank you to a certain someone for finally giving you back to me.

The photo was a "Live" shot in front of a floor-to-ceiling window at a five-star hotel. In the reflection, you could see the city lights. In the foreground, Daisy was wrapped in a passionate embrace with a man. He was shirtless, his back to the camera, but I knew those shoulders anywhere.

Daisy was in a sheer lace nightgown, Prestons arms wrapped tightly around her waist. The "Live" photo captured the movement of the kisslingering, hungry, and far from "just friends."

Strangely, I wasn't even angry. I just felt a wave of nausea. How did I ever fall for this ungrateful parasite?

The comments were throwing a party.

[OMG! The sugar! My ship has sailed!] [Finally, they belong to each other. No more obstacles.] [We have to thank the villain. Her jealousy finally made the lead realize he couldn't live without Daisy.] [Hes going to work so hard now to give her a future. True love wins!]

I didn't feel like crying anymore. I felt like doing math.

If they wanted to "work hard" and "rely on themselves," why was the bill for that twenty-thousand-dollar-a-night presidential suite being charged to the black card Id given him?

I looked closer at the photo. On the nightstand, "accidentally" caught in the frame, was a custom Hermes handbag. My handbag. The one my mother gave me for my birthday.

Preston probably thought I had so many I wouldn't notice one missing.

I called my assistant. "Cancel the black card I gave Preston. Effective immediately."