The Billionaire's True Love Game

My boyfriend's birthdaymy first time staying over at his place.

In the middle of the night, while he was sound asleep, I got up for a drink and accidentally bumped his computer.

The screen lit up, showing an Instagram post visible only to friends.

The bold title read:

[The Billionaire's True Love Game]

Eight months ago, this billionaire had started publicly documenting his operation to hunt down a Cinderella.

The post had plenty of followers. I scrolled to the latest comments.

"What's up with Ethan lately? No updates? Isn't the new target supposed to be dumb and cluelessdifficulty level zero?"

I refreshed. A new reply appeared:

"Ethan already said he's taking this girl's virginity tonight. He's busy with that right now!"

I looked at the blogger's profile pictureunmistakably Ethan's profile.

That side view I could never mistake.

A bone-deep chill washed over me.

What I thought was true love was just a con.

He'd pretended to be a poor, hardworking, innocent boyjust bait tossed out by a wealthy playboy in his game.

I forced down my explosive emotions and posted from my Instagram burner account to ask strangers for advice.

Half an hour later, I'd made my decision.

I grabbed some chicken blood from the fridge and climbed back into bed.

I didn't sleep well. When I woke up, my eyelids felt heavy.

Ethan sat at the small table typing on his laptop, his white dress shirt glowing faintly in the morning light.

Campus heartthrob lookstruly captivating.

Hearing me stir, he brought over a glass of warm milk.

He affectionately pinched my cheek, his voice doting and magnetic:

"Baby, drink your milk."

Then he pulled out a paper jewelry box and opened it.

Inside was a tarnished silver ring that looked dirty and old.

He knelt on one knee, held the ring up in front of me, and said:

"Baby, this is the silver ring my mom took off her own finger and gave to me. It was also a gift from my grandmother to her."

"It's not expensive, but to my family, it means everything."

"We've only been dating for five months, but from the moment we met eight months ago, I fell deeply in love with you."

"Please don't refuse me, okay?"

I silently sneered to myself.

Wasn't this the exact suggestion from the comment section when he posted pictures last month?

A cheap alloy ring bought online for a dollar, free shipping during promotions.

And they'd written so confidently: Game props don't deserve expensive investments.

Their disgusting game involved deliberately pretending to be poor, deceiving girls who struggled to make ends meet, scamming them for money and sex.

And they justified it shamelessly: This is the only way to find girls who aren't materialistic.

Ha! Screw their "good girls!"

I stayed silent, lowering my eyes.

Ethan maintained his kneeling posture, his expression gradually tensing.

He was worried I'd reject this piece of trash.

I hid my left hand under the covers and viciously pinched my thigh. Tears immediately sprang to my eyes.

Then, overcome with joy, I extended my right hand and slipped my ring finger into the silver band.

I quickly pulled it back, as if afraid he'd change his mind.

"It's too precious. Are you sure you want to give this to me now?"

Ethan blinked, caught off guard.

He set down the paper box, using that movement to compose his expression. He gave me a sincere smile:

"Of course. I'm sorry, baby. This is all I can give you right now."

What award-winning acting.

I wiped away my tears and clasped my hands tightly together.

"Ethan, don't you dare look down on yourself!"

I pressed the ring against my chest and solemnly declared:

"I swear, it's more important to me than my own heart."

His expression froze slightly, the mockery hidden in his eyes quietly dissipating.

I shyly pulled him close, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his white shirt.

I mentally reviewed all the netizen comments from last night.

Ethan stroked my hair and murmured:

"I'm sorry. Last night... I couldn't hold back."

Fighting the urge to jump up and slap him, I gently pushed him away and turned to pull at the bedsheets.

Against the large expanse of sky blue, a spot of oxidized rusty red stood out prominently.

From where Ethan stood looking down, he could definitely see it.

I quickly bundled the sheet into a ball.

When I turned around, his face indeed showed poorly concealed smugness.

"Last night was worth commemorating. Baby, don't bother cooking. I'll treat you to pizza."

I stuffed the sheet into the secondhand washing machine, poured in detergent, and replied casually:

"Forget it. Takeout is expensive and dirty. I'll cook instead. We need to save money if we're going to buy a house someday."

Ethan looked deeply moved and tender.

"You're right, baby, but today's an exception."

Without waiting for my answer, he placed the order.

Then he walked over and held me tight.

"Don't worry. I'll definitely make you happy. I'm going to work and earn money now. You eat first, okay?"

The door closed.

As I listened to the washing machine rumbling, memories flooded back.

Eight months ago, I was running a street stall on Central Street. Ethan worked at the boutique shop next door.

That night, a woman with a nose ring and tattoos all over her body walked past my stall and kicked over my most expensive crystal ball.

It shattered completely.

I immediately stopped her and demanded compensation.

The woman shoved me hard, climbed on top of me, and started hitting and cursing me.

Ethan, from the boutique a few meters away, stepped forward and pulled her off me.

The woman pointed at his nose and cursed him out, then stormed into the shop threatening to cause trouble.

The shop owner wanted to keep the peace and told Ethan to apologize.

I grabbed him and refused to let him.

In the end, Ethan and I packed up my little stall and left together.

We were both ordinary people who'd come from far away to make a living. No special skills, no connectionsjust warming each other through hardship.

Half a month later, he handed me discounted red roses.

Blushing, I kissed the corner of his mouth.

That's how our relationship began.

Ethan was wonderfulhandsome and gentle.

Worried about my safety, he accompanied me to my stall whenever possible.

When I caught a cold and felt chilly, he held me through the night.

Last month, he proactively suggested I move in with him.

Living together would save more money than living separately.

Once we'd saved enough, we could get married.

I was overjoyed and nodded eagerly.

I looked forward to our future.

But "the future" was just a joke.

Now, I opened his profile page.

Sure enough, there was a new post.

"Easy as pie. She's even dumber than I thought."

In the comments, his buddies posted a string of emoji.

"That's our Ethan!"

"Ethan's the best! Destroy her!"

I smiled mockingly.

Ethan put serious effort into pretending to be poor.

He worked overtime every day, but in reality, his private blog posts showed yachts, mansions, and seafood feasts.

Naturally, I couldn't fall behind. I turned around and increased my workload, getting up early and staying out late, running all over the south and north sides of the city.

Every night in the latter half of the night, I'd return to this cheapest basement apartment with my voice hoarse.

But I never complained.

I took care of him a hundred times more attentively.

I'd rather eat rock-hard bread myself than skip making him chicken soup.

Watching me grow increasingly pale, the mockery in Ethan's eyes gradually disappeared. Instead, he occasionally seemed lost in thought.

One morning, I knelt on the floor polishing his leather shoes.

He seemed to choke up. After a long pause, he said:

"Baby, they're not worn out. I can still wear them."

I carefully wiped them, saying:

"Clothes make the man. You can't wear shoes with peeling polishpeople will laugh at you."

"I don't have money to buy you new ones right now, so I'll just touch up the polish for you. Look! All done! Come try them on!"

Ethan hesitated for a long time before walking over and stepping into them.

His smile looked very unnatural.

This weekend, Ethan said he had time off and took me to the night market.

He bought me a grilled sausage, half-jokingly apologizing that this was all he could afford.

I ate it with a blissful expression, as if it were a delicacy.

Just then, the woman with the nose ring walked toward us from across the way.

She was fawning all over a bald man's arm.

What rotten luck.

The bald man had a face full of flab. He listened to the woman whisper in his ear, then sneered at us:

"So you two are the ones who offended my woman?"

This nouveau riche posturein the past, Ethan wouldn't have been worthy of pouring him water.

Ethan's fists clenched tight.

If he threw that punch, the so-called game would end early.

My eyes swept the area. I grabbed nearby pasta and hurled it at them.

The bald man and nose-ring woman both shrieked, utterly embarrassed, then cursed and charged at us.

I shielded Ethan behind me, waving the bamboo stick from my sausage while shouting tremblingly:

"You bastard! Don't think having money means you can bully people!"

The bald man's eyes widened as he tried to kick me.

"Bitch, who are you trying to scare?"

But he didn't succeed.

Ethan stepped forward quickly, kicked his foot away with one leg, then kicked him to the ground.

His hand gripped the bald man's throat, his expression murderous.

"You want to die?"

The bald man's face turned completely red.

A few seconds later, Ethan released him.

The bald man didn't even bother with nose-ring woman and fled directly.

Ethan grabbed my hand and threw away the bamboo stick.

"Do you know you could go to jail if you hurt someone? Just because of me... you fool."

His words were tender, but his eyes held scrutiny.

I squeezed out tears and smiled at him.

"You're my man. I protect my boyfriend. Do I need a reason?"

"Ethan, I'd do anything for you."

For an instant, something seemed to crack in his eyes.

Ethan, who played with people's hearts, claimed not to believe in genuine feelingsbut what he wanted most was exactly that: genuine feelings.

That day when we got home, Ethan proactively put his arm around me for a selfie and posted this couple photo to social media for the first time.

I understoodmy progress bar had advanced another notch.

Late that night, I opened his private profile page in the bathroom. Sure enough, there was a new blog post.

He'd written about today's events.

The comments were full of mockery:

"This chick's got some fire in her."

"Ethan, are you catching feelings?"

"Tsk tsk tsk, is Ethan going serious? You'll lose the game if you do."

Ethan hadn't replied to a single comment.

The next night at midnight, he came home reeking of alcohol, looking at me with both despair and pain.

"I'm sorry. Baby, let's break up."

He pulled out a diagnostic report.

"I've been feeling unwell these past few daysdizzy, headaches. I went to the hospital today for a checkup. Turns out I have a brain tumor."

"Surgery would cost at least two hundred thousand dollars. Where would I get that kind of money?"

Did he steal this from a soap opera?

I resisted rolling my eyes.

Ethan half-reclined on the sofa, tears streaming down his face.

"Lily, I can't ruin your entire life."

I clasped my hands together, my nails digging into my palms, my lips biting until they bled.

Between my part-time jobs and street stall, I'd only managed to save fifty thousand dollars so far.

Two hundred thousand could crush me.

Ethan cried while sneaking glances at me.

He was waiting to see how I'd agree to break up, dump this terminally ill boyfriend, and restart my life.

But I said nothing and turned to leave.

The door clicked shut.

His mouth openedhe hadn't expected me to leave without a single word.

After turning two streets, I opened his profile page.

Ethan's tone was agitated.

"She ran off over two hundred thousand. Really poor, cheap, and worthless."

The comment section echoed in agreement:

"Normal. For poor people, two hundred thousand is worth more than life itself."

"Ethan, you've played with this one for most of a year. Getting bored? Let's find someone new!"

Ethan didn't reply, but he didn't leave either.

He stayed in the basement apartment, continuing to smoke and drink.

Staring fixedly at the door.