Love Grows With Time

Under a video of me selling stir-fried rice from my street stall, a scathing comment went viral:

[She dumped her poor boyfriend for a rich one back then, only to find out the poor boyfriend was the Crown Prince of the capital. That gold-digger must be fuming, huh?]

I replied: [Oh yes, furious, cant sleep. Do you know him? Could you put in a good word for me?]

That very night, someone trashed my stall.

As I was cleaning up the mess, a pair of gleaming leather shoes stopped in front of me.

I looked up.

It was my "poor" ex-boyfriend, Brandon Fitzgerald.

1.

It wasnt that I hadnt imagined a reunion with Brandon.

But I certainly hadnt pictured myself looking this dishevelled.

Brandon was dressed in a bespoke suit, the aura of power radiating from him, an inherent authority in his gaze.

Our eyes met, and he indifferently shifted his focus, then spoke, "Manager Hayes."

His voice was unhurried, yet carried a heavy, palpable pressure.

"When did the company entrance turn into a marketplace?"

A man, wiping cold sweat from his brow, rushed forward.

He kicked aside the scattered cooking pots, grumbling, "Who allowed you to set up a stall in front of the company! Clean this up immediately!"

"Be careful, I'll have the city wardens fine you to death."

A rag was flung at me, carrying a sour smell.

Brandons expression remained unchanged; he didnt even twitch an eyelid.

I couldn't afford the fine.

I squatted down, picked up the rag, and gently wiped the ground, kneeling.

As I wiped near Brandons feet, his fingers seemed to curl slightly.

For a moment, I thought he might pull me up.

My eyes must have deceived me.

He remained standing ramrod straight, aloof and distant, keeping everyone at arm's length.

A surprised voice rang out from behind him.

"Is that Emily?"

A brightly dressed woman stepped forward, covering her mouth in disbelief. "Oh my god, it really is you."

"Didn't you emigrate with your rich boyfriend? How how did you end up like this?"

It was my high school classmate, Sarah Evans.

I hadn't expected her to be working at the same company as Brandon.

Now, she was impeccably groomed down to her hair, standing shoulder to shoulder with Brandon, a picture of a perfect couple.

"Don't bother cleaning, you're a top university graduate, you shouldn't be doing this kind of work."

She quickly pulled me up, intimately linking her arm through mine, and told Manager Hayes, "Manager Hayes, could you please ask the cleaning staff to work overtime?"

"This is an old classmate of mine and Brandon's. She used to be even better at academics than me."

Manager Hayes was shrewd. He masked his surprise and stepped forward, apologizing with a flattering smile.

Sarahs face was full of concern. "Emily, let's find somewhere to catch up."

"Back then, you just left with that rich boyfriend without a word. Everyone thought you were living the good life abroad and didn't want to disturb you."

"What exactly happened? How how are you selling stir-fried rice?"

"Look at your hands, they're so rough! Your down jacket is shedding feathers, how can you even wear that!"

She had manicured, meticulously cared-for hands, long and pale, which made my swollen, frostbitten hands look like ugly carrots.

But before, Brandon used to say I had natural pianist's hands.

I knew Sarah wanted to embarrass me.

But it didn't matter anymore.

My tone was calm. "We broke up."

Sarah subtly glanced at Brandon.

Seeing his indifference, a flicker of glee crossed her eyes, but her face showed regret as she comforted me. "It's alright. We'll just live steadily from now on."

"As classmates, we'll definitely help where we can."

"Brandon, doesn't facilities need a cleaner?"

Brandon looked at her and said coldly, "Sarah, it's time to go."

Sarah winked playfully. "Brandon, why don't you go ahead and wait for me in the car? I'll be right there."

Brandon said nothing, stepping down the stairs.

His gaze was cool and directed straight ahead, never once straying towards me.

As he passed, only the sleeve of his overcoat brushed imperceptibly against the back of my hand.

My fingertips suddenly trembled, as if uncontrollably trying to catch that breath of wind.

But it was an empty grasp.

He didn't stop.

A bottle of mineral water suddenly splashed onto my face.

"Emily Smith, how dare you try to seduce Brandon Fitzgerald?"

2.

The icy water droplets dripped down my loose hair.

With the crowd dispersing, Sarah dropped her act, her eyes blazing with undisguised mockery and resentment.

"What? Are you deliberately putting on a pathetic show here, hoping to make Brandon feel soft? What a dream!"

"You dumped him for that rich boyfriend back then, and he went crazy, searching the whole world for you."

"He dropped out of school, abandoned his projects. The moment he heard anyone might have seen you somewhere, he'd rush off without a second thought, completely dazed, he even fell onto the tracks and almost got run over."

"Someone like you actually thinks he'd still have feelings for you? He said it himself, you're the person he hates most.

"Did you see him even glance at you just now? He doesn't even want to mention you, because you disgust him."

Her voice was unnaturally clear in the night, like thumbtacks, pressing one by one into my heart.

But my chest felt numb, like rotting flesh, incapable of feeling pain.

The phrase "he hates you most" echoed endlessly in my mind.

Let him hate me.

It didn't seem to matter much.

I wiped the water from my face and pushed my cart, intending to leave.

Sarah placed a foot on the cart, sneering, "Running away, old classmate?

"You're so desperate to act trashy, so I have to give you a big gift in return. Look at this, what is it?"

Sarah raised her right hand, revealing a diamond engagement ring the size of a pigeon's egg. "Brandon and I are getting married. As old classmates, I'll send you an invitation."

"But we're getting married in Bali, and flights and hotels aren't cheap. With your income, tsk, a round trip would mean frying rice for several years. I won't put you through that, after all, our levels are different."

"So, please get lost and don't even think about pursuing Brandon, otherwise"

Her lips curled upwards, and she slapped the partitioned containers off my cart, scattering ham and cured meat all over the ground.

"Emily Smith, I couldn't beat you in school, but now, I can easily crush you."

She crushed the meat and vegetables on the ground with her heel, her voice triumphant. "Security, keep an eye on this person. Drive her away every time she shows up."

"Don't let any trash sit in front of the company."

"Ugh, Brandon will have to buy me another pair of lambskin shoes. These are dirty now."

She sashayed away, leaving behind the mangled meat and vegetables.

I stood silently in the wind for a few seconds.

Then, I squatted down to pick up the meal containers and any edible pieces of meat and vegetables.

I didnt have much money left; I couldn't afford to waste food.

A black Maybach drove past me, its dark shadow enveloping me.

The rear window was halfway down, and in the shifting light and shadow, Brandons face was clearly visible.

Sarah clung to his arm, cooing something.

He turned his head to respond, his gaze inadvertently sweeping over my face, like looking at an unimportant stranger, indifferent and unfamiliar.

The cars lights faded into the distance, merging with the bustling city.

I picked up the last piece of cured meat and prepared to go home.

A security guard came over and quietly said, "Don't take it to heart, miss. It's hard to be the boss."

"But they usually don't bother street vendors. Did you upset them?"

Upset them?

The night wind dried my dripping hair.

Yes, I had.

In high school, Sarah liked Brandon, but Brandon only had eyes for me.

Now, the tables had turned. She should be satisfied.

Was Brandon relieved too?

3.

When I met Brandon, his name was still Nathan. He was a high school student.

His parents had killed each other in an argument, and his relatives divided up their belongings, all calling him a bastard and refusing to take him in.

On a freezing winter night, he stood on the street in a worn down jacket, with nowhere to go.

His cool, distant eyes held a hint of a breakdown on the verge, as if he would shatter with the slightest touch.

That day, I happened to be helping at my dad's small food stall and saw him, on the brink of breaking.

My heart softened.

I ran over, asking for his help in an exaggerated tone. "My dad's new stir-fried rice is terrible, but he insists it's delicious. Could you try a bite and help me judge?"

He looked at me, startled, then after a moment, slowly nodded.

After that, he became a part of our little food stall family, studying under the lamp, tutoring me with my homework, helping my parents out, becoming one of us.

I loved the clean, fresh scent of soap on him, I loved his cool, quiet tone, I loved the way his eyes would drop when he looked at me.

A young girl's affections bloomed wildly in my heart.

The night after our final exams, a girl confessed to him.

His smile was gentle, and I thought hed accepted. My heart felt like it had fallen into a vat of vinegar, so sour I couldn't speak, so I ran off to a karaoke bar to sing love songs.

When he found me, I was singing "The one who loves you most is me~," tears and snot flowing.

He laughed helplessly, pulling me home.

I refused, pouting, "You're someone else's boyfriend now, why are you still bothering with me? Don't you have any boundaries?"

He instantly guessed what was going on, and exasperated, flicked my forehead.

"What's your mouth for? Can't you even verify things?"

I stared at him blankly.

He looked at me evenly, and said seriously, "I turned her down. I have someone I like."

Under the moonlight, his eyes shone like stars, making my heart pound.

"Who?" I asked, burying my head.

"Who do you think?" He laughed wryly.

I guessed the answer.

It felt like fireworks exploded in my heart, but my mouth remained stubborn.

"I don't know."

A soft kiss landed on my lips.

"Do you know now?"

That night, my face burned red.

Holding his hand, under the hazy moonlight, I kissed him awkwardly and greedily.

I felt as happy as if I owned the whole world.

And I believed we would always be this happy, forever.

Until an ordinary afternoon, a distinguished lady knocked on our door, presenting a paternity test report.

We then learned that Nathan, now Brandon, was the lost young master of the wealthy Fitzgerald family in the capital.

She pushed a bank card towards us. "Five million. That's enough to cover your family's expenses for Brandon over the years. From now on, cut ties."

My dad angrily threw the card back, saying we didn't take Nathan in for money, and we wouldn't abandon a family member for money.

Mrs. Fitzgerald smiled composedly. "I'm doing this for your daughter's good too."

She looked at me, her gaze frank. "Brandon doesn't know about this yet. We're observing him to see if he qualifies to return to the Fitzgerald family. He's excellent in every aspect, except for you as his girlfriend."

"I wouldn't mind leaving him as a gold nugget buried in the dirt, or even using certain means to ensure he never rises. But if he one day learned the truth, do you think he would hate you?

Our home fell into a dead silence.

My mom wanted to call Brandon, but my dad wouldn't let her.

That year, Brandon was in his final year of college.

He'd given up his graduate school spot to start a business with some friends, and they were in a critical phase of their project.

"We can't ruin him," my dad said, stubbing out a cigarette, making his decision. "I'll sell the stall, and we'll move."

I refused, every cell in my body resisting leaving.

He was the boy I loved with all my heart; how could I bear to let go?

How could I bear to let him experience the pain of abandonment again? He would go mad.

I argued with my dad.

"I'm not leaving! Why should I break up with Brandon just because of a few words from her?"

"I'm going to tell Brandon; he has a right to know."

My dad slapped my phone out of my hand, demanding, "Do you really want him to hate us for life? And is that kind of family one we can marry into? Marrying up is like swallowing needles."

"You have to listen to me on this. Break up with Brandon, and don't contact him again."

"Impossible!" I stared into my dad's eyes, red-rimmed. "As long as Brandon doesn't break up, I'll be with him even if the sky falls!"

"This is between Nathan and me. You don't need to meddle!"

"Smack!" A slap landed on my face.

It was the first time my dad had ever hit me, and his whole hand was trembling.

That night, I stormed out of the house in a fit of pique, took a cab to the train station.

I was going to the capital; at least Brandon should have a choice.

But before I could reach Brandon on the phone, the hospital called first.

They said my dad was in a car accident.

On his way to find me, he was run over by an out-of-control truck.

He died instantly.

4.

But fate's punishment didn't cease with my remorse.

In the morgue, seeing my father's broken body, my mother suffered a heart attack out of grief and was admitted to the ICU.

Our meager family savings were no match for this bottomless pit.

I sat on the bench outside the emergency room, terrified and desperate, my mind filled with the thought that I was to blame.

Brandons mother appeared at that moment.

With just one sentence, she arranged for the nation's top heart specialist to treat my mother.

The medical expenses that were crushing me were merely a few casual figures in her mouth.

My mom was saved, but due to the immense shock, she developed mental health issues.

One moment, she'd be holding me, calling me "Emily," the next she'd smash a teapot over my head, cursing me as a "jinx," saying I killed my dad, asking why I didn't just die.

Mrs. Fitzgerald looked at me with pity. "Do you want to continue?"

"You see, even heaven doesn't approve of you two being together."

Before, I would have certainly jumped up and cursed her.

But the overwhelming self-reproach and internal struggle had drained all my strength.

I couldn't even summon hatred for her.

I only hated myself; hated my willfulness, my impulsiveness, and even hated that I fell in love with Brandon.

"Let me show you Brandon. He's been busy with a joint project lately. You haven't seen him in days, have you?"

She opened a video.

In the video, Brandon, wearing a white lab coat, was intently discussing something with a girl.

A person I knew down to the last hair, yet in that moment, he felt as foreign as if I had never known him.

"This girl is Brandon's classmate, and also the heir to a company.

"Even the most soul-matched lovers, at least need to understand what the other is saying. Emily, can you understand?"

I couldn't understand.

They were speaking English, yet it sounded like gibberish to me.

How could I be so stupid!

"You don't need to worry about your mother's medical expenses."

"But your studies will probably have to stop for a while. However, I will give you enough money so you'll never lack food or clothing."

She picked up my phone. "Call Brandon."

"Of course, you can refuse me, but your mother's medical care will stop tonight."

She was threatening me, yet she was my only lifeline.

The call connected, and Brandons gentle, joyful voice almost shattered me.

He eagerly shared his latest achievements with me, what he had discovered, what breakthroughs he had made In the past, I would always enthusiastically react, showering him with praise until he blushed.

But at that moment, I had a splitting headache and just wanted to go crazy.

I couldnt understand, not a single word.

"Stop talking! Let's break up."

The joyful voice came to an abrupt halt, then he laughed lightly. "Let me guess, what day is it today? April Fool's?"

"Nathan, I'm serious."

A long silence, so long I thought the call had disconnected, before he finally asked, his voice raspy, "Did I do something wrong to upset you?"

"Is it because I've been busy with projects lately and haven't spent enough time with you? I'll come back right now."

"Emily, I can change anything you don't like. Don't say break up, please?"

My fingernails almost dug into my palms.

My whole body felt like it was being ground by a blunt knife, aching to the point of breaking, but when I spoke, it was with forced ease:

"It's not your fault, I just got tired of it."

"To be honest, there's a rich guy at school pursuing me. He offered five million for my whole family to go on vacation, and said he could help us emigrate."

"Dating anyone is dating, why would I stay with a poor guy like you?"

Brandon's breath hitched, and he pleaded earnestly, "I'll earn five million, just wait for me, okay?"

"I know I can't give you a wealthy life right now, but I'll work tirelessly. In less than three years, I promise I'll hand you five million."

"So please don't break up, don't go with him, okay?"

He begged desperately, almost abandoning all his pride.

He was on the verge of shattering.

I was on the verge of dying.

But I had no path left.

"What if you can earn five million?" I retorted with extreme sarcasm.

"Yes, you're brilliant, you have boundless potential, but can you really compete with generations of family wealth?"

"For the sake of my family raising you, don't hold me back from a good life."

Ignoring his near-broken cries, I quickly hung up the phone.

One more second, and I was afraid I would break down, go crazy, lose my mind and tell him everything in tears, crying out for a hug.

But I couldn't.

I curled up on the floor, my whole body aching as if my bones were being pulled apart.

Clutching my chest, I cried until I was almost suffocating, so pathetic that even Brandons mother didn't mock me further.

She stroked my head.

"If it weren't for the complications, I'd quite like you."

"Bright and innocent, like a little sun. But these are useless qualities in an elite family."

"I'll arrange for you to leave; accommodation and hospital care are all set."

"You should go soon."

She tossed my phone into a fish tank, then handed me a new one.

"Your phone is broken. Use this one from now on; I've already arranged the SIM card for you."

Like the phone drowning in water, I could no longer contact the outside world.

After that day, I completely lost touch with Brandon.

The feelings I thought were monumental were gradually worn away by my mother's daily scolding, turning into wounds, resentment, and illness.

I poured out the last few pills from the bottle and swallowed them all at once.

5.

The bad reviews escalated.

Overnight, netizens dug up the identity of the "poor boyfriend."

Brandon Fitzgerald, heir to the capital's Fitzgerald family and CEO of Sterling Group.

Netizens, like hungry beasts, tagged me relentlessly.

[Gold-digger, you're selling stir-fried rice outside Sterling's office, are you trying to get back with him?]

[Please, just uninstall the dating app. Getting back together isn't for a gold-digging B like you.]

[I'm a Sterling employee. Last night, the gold-digger's stall got trashed. Our CEO just walked past, didn't even glance at her, and got straight into his Maybach.]

[Could the gold-digger have hired people to trash it herself? LOL, our CEO has a fiance, you know!]

It had been a long time since so many people talked to me. My spirits lifted, and I replied to each comment:

[What's embarrassing about it? Is there anything wrong with bravely pursuing love?]

[Your CEO isn't avoiding looking at me; he's afraid to, afraid of falling for me again.]

[So what if he has a fiance? As long as they're not married, I still have a chance, don't I?]

The netizens exploded, filling the comments with insults, calling me shameless, and even tagging his fiance, Sarah Evans.

Sarah quickly replied: [Sorry for the trouble, everyone. Life is tough, just trying to grab some traffic. Think of it as entertainment for you all.]

[However, if you defame our CEO, our legal department will pursue it~]

I turned off my phone, laughing and rolling around on the bed.

Dr. Lee said I needed to talk to people more, better to be carefree than to overthink, otherwise I'd get sick, and then I'd need medicine.

But I found that netizens were more effective than medicine.

I could say anything, and hundreds, even thousands, of people would respond to me.

Besides them, who else would talk to me like this, coax me into happiness?

My pots and pans were smashed, so I couldn't set up my stall for now.

But rent was due soon.

I pulled on my yellow waterproof jacket, hopped on my scooter, and went to deliver food.

Five consecutive orders were all from Sterling Group.

I couldn't refuse them; I'd be fined.

Thanks to the delivery job, I entered Sterling, sharing an elevator with the corporate elite.

The floor numbers flashed rapidly, and my thoughts were restless too.

If I hadn't dropped out, I'd probably be working in a place like this now. I went to a top university too.

In a daze, I wasn't paying attention and missed my floor.

And it was lunchtime, so several elevators were crowded.

Only the elevator outside the side door was empty.

Without thinking, I ran over, frantically pushing the button.

The elevator doors opened, and I rushed inside.

Two men in suits reached out to stop me. "This is a private elevator. Please use"

I brazenly pleaded, "Please, my delivery is almost overdue, I don't want to be fined"

They tried to push me out, but a cold, stern voice came from behind.

"Let her in."

The man in the suit stepped aside.

Only then did I see that standing at the very back was Brandon Fitzgerald.

He wore gold-rimmed glasses, and behind the lenses, a pair of eyes stared coldly at me.