Chapter 1

I sponsored a high school kid when I was in college. Eight years later, I never expected him to show up at my doorstep with his girlfriend.

"Chloe, you've supported me all these years. In my heart, you’re just like a mother to me."

"Now that I’m getting married, you have to give me some financial support!"

I froze for three solid seconds.

Eight years ago, Ethan Carter was huddled in a cramped, rented room, writing me a letter:

"Chloe, I got accepted into a top university, but I'm still $500 short for tuition."

To sponsor him, I worked three jobs back-to-back. My monthly paycheck was only $1,000, but I immediately wired him $800.

For the next eight years, I paid for his textbooks, living expenses, grad school application fees, and even his apartment deposit.

I raised him like my own son. Whenever he asked, I gave.

The year he graduated, he voluntarily wrote a promissory note and promised me:

"Chloe, once I start making money, I will pay you back every single cent."

I just smiled and didn't take it to heart. I tossed the note into a drawer and forgot about it.

Now, he was making $80,000 a year. But his first words to me weren't about giving back. They were about demanding more.

He wanted $150,000. And he wanted me to wire it to his card immediately, claiming his future mother-in-law needed to see "the groom's financial sincerity."

"Chloe, you’ve always loved me the most. You won't just stand by and watch me ruin my marriage, right?"

I smiled. "If you need a show of sincerity, go ask your own mother."

"I supported you for eight years, spending a total of $180,000. Since you’re here today, let's settle the old debt first."

The smile on Ethan’s face froze instantly.

He stared at me blankly, as if he had just heard a ridiculous joke.

Sitting next to him, Tiffany Vance also frowned, her eyes filled with annoyance.

"Chloe, are you kidding me?" Ethan let out a dry laugh, trying to ease the tension.

I wasn’t laughing. I looked at him expressionlessly.

"I’m not kidding."

I turned, walked into my study, and retrieved a thick folder from my safe.

Thud.

I slammed the folder heavily onto the coffee table.

Ethan flinched.

I untied the string and poured out a stack of bank statements, payment receipts, and that yellowed promissory note.

Black ink on white paper covered the entire table.

"This is your tuition and dorm fees for three years of high school—totaling $18,000."

"This is your living allowance for four years of college, $500 a month, including breaks—totaling $24,000."

"This is the fee for your grad school prep courses—$15,000."

"And these are your expenses during grad school, plus the $10,000 deposit for your apartment after graduation."

Ethan’s face went from flushed to pale. He jumped to his feet, his voice trembling with emotion.

"Chloe! What is the meaning of this?"

"I’ve called you my guardian angel for eight years! Is our bond only worth these cold, hard numbers?"

He pointed at the receipts on the table, looking utterly heartbroken.

"I thought you genuinely cared about me! I respected you like a mother!"

"I can't believe you were secretly keeping track of every single dollar behind my back!"

"Have you been guarding yourself against me this whole time?"

Looking at his shameless, hypocritical face, I felt deeply disgusted.

Over the past eight years, I had scrimped and saved, never buying any clothes over fifty dollars. And in return, all I got was him accusing me of "guarding myself."

"Our bond?" I sneered.

"When you demanded $150,000 from me, why didn’t you bring up our bond?"

Tiffany rolled her eyes and spoke up in a sarcastic tone.

"And here I thought Ethan's sponsor was some generous philanthropist. Turns out you’re just a cheapskate."

She disdainfully flicked the receipts on the table.

"It’s just under $200,000. Is it really worth being this petty?"

"Since you decided to sponsor Ethan back then, it was charity. Who asks for charity money back?"

"Besides, you’re an old, unmarried woman with no kids. What do you need so much money for anyway?"

"You might as well give it to us for our wedding. When we have kids in the future, they can call you Aunt Chloe."

Looking at this heavily made-up, Botox-filled woman, I laughed out of sheer anger.

"I would rather throw my money into the ocean than give you a single dime."

I pointed at the front door.

"Get out. Right now."

"Don't talk to me again until you've gathered the $180,000 you owe me."