She Left When I Was Broke, Regretted When I Was King

CHAPTER 3: Thrown Away

Ethan's POV

His fist never connected.

My body moved on instinct, jerking sideways just enough that his knuckles grazed my ear instead of my jaw. The momentum carried him forward, off balance, and I shoved him. Hard.

Michael stumbled backward, his expensive shoes sliding on the hardwood floor. His arms pinwheeled, grabbing at air, at nothing. The purse flew from his hand, hitting the wall with a dull thud. Then he went down, landing on his back with a grunt that knocked the wind from his lungs.

For a second, nobody moved.

I stood there, breathing hard, staring at my hands like they belonged to someone else. My brother, adoptive or not, lay on the floor. I'd put him there.

"You piece of shit." Michael's voice came out wheezy. He rolled onto his side, coughing. "You actually hit me."

"You swung first."

"I barely touched you."

"You tried." My hands were shaking again, but different this time. Not from fear or heartbreak. From something darker. Something that felt almost good. "You tried and you missed."

He pushed himself up on one elbow, touching his lip where it had split against his teeth. Blood, bright red, stained his fingers. He looked at it like he'd never seen his own blood before. Maybe he hadn't. Golden boy Michael, who'd never been in a real fight, who'd paid other kids to take his punches in middle school.

"Look what you did." He held up his hand, showing Lena. "Look at this."

"Oh my god." Lena rushed to him, dropping to her knees beside him. Her hands fluttered over his face, his shoulders, checking for damage like he'd been hit by a car instead of pushed by someone twenty pounds lighter. "Michael, are you okay? Can you breathe?"

"I'm fine." He batted her hands away, but gently. Always gentle with her. "But your psycho ex just assaulted me."

"I'm not a psycho."

"You attacked me in my girlfriend's apartment."

"Your girlfriend?" The words tasted like acid. "She was mine first."

"Was." Michael got to his feet, Lena supporting him even though he didn't need it. "Past tense. Get it through your thick skull, Ethan. She doesn't want you. She never really did."

I looked at Lena. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Tell me he's lying." My voice came out smaller than I wanted. "Tell me you loved me. Even if it's over, tell me it was real once."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"I cared about you," she said finally. "I did. But Ethan, you have to understand. I'm twenty-six years old. I can't keep living like we're broke college students forever. I need stability. Security. A future."

"I was building that. For us."

"On what? Walmart paychecks and tutoring gigs?" She shook her head. "That's not a future. That's barely surviving."

"So you picked him because he has money." The words felt heavy, final. "That's what this comes down to."

"It's not just the money." But her voice wavered. "Michael can give me things you can't. Nice dinners. Vacations. A life where I'm not worried about making rent every month."

"I helped you with rent."

"And I felt terrible about it every time." She finally looked at me, and her eyes were hard. "Don't you get it? I don't want to be someone's charity case. I don't want to date someone who makes me feel guilty for wanting nice things."

"I bought you a two-thousand-dollar purse."

"With money you couldn't afford to spend." She gestured at me, at my worn jeans and faded shirt. "Look at yourself, Ethan. You're falling apart trying to impress someone who never asked you to. That's not love. That's a form of obsession."

The room tilted. Or maybe I did. Everything felt wrong, like I'd woken up in someone else's nightmare.

"You're right," I said quietly. "I was obsessed. With someone who doesn't exist."

"Finally, he gets it." Michael draped his arm over Lena's shoulders, pulling her close. The gesture was possessive, deliberate. "You know what your problem is, little bro? You think being poor makes you noble. Like suffering somehow makes you better than everyone else. But it doesn't. It just makes you poor."

"And you think being rich makes you a man." I bent down, picking up the purse from where it had fallen. The leather was soft against my raw palms. "But it doesn't. It just makes you rich."

"Rich is better." He smiled, blood still on his teeth. "Ask anyone. Ask Lena."

I did. I looked at her, really looked, giving her one last chance to prove me wrong.

"I choose Michael," she said. Simple. Clean. Final.

"Then I hope you're happy together." I tucked the purse under my arm. "I hope his money keeps you warm at night. I hope it fills whatever hole you have inside that my love wasn't enough to fill."

"Don't be dramatic," she said. "This is exactly why we didn't work. You're always so intense about everything."

"Get out." Michael pointed at the door. "You're not welcome here anymore."

"It's her apartment."

"And she wants you gone." He looked at Lena. "Right, babe?"

She hesitated. For half a second, she hesitated.

"Leave, Ethan." Her voice was tired. "Please just leave. You're embarrassing yourself."

"Embarrassing?" The word hit like a punch. "I'm embarrassing?"

"Yes." She wrapped both arms around Michael's waist. "This whole thing. Showing up unannounced. Fighting. Making a scene. It's childish."

"I caught you cheating on me."

"We were taking a break."

"Since when? Since when were we on a break, Lena?"

She didn't answer.

"That's what I thought." I headed for the door, each step feeling like walking through concrete. "You know what's really embarrassing? I actually thought you were different. I thought you saw past the money, the clothes, the car. I thought you saw me."

"I did see you," she said. "That's the problem."

The words followed me into the hallway. I didn't look back. Couldn't. If I looked back, I might do something stupid. Cry. Beg. Break.

The door slammed behind me. I heard the deadbolt click. Then voices, muffled. Then laughter.

They were laughing.

The elevator took forever. I stood there, staring at my reflection in the polished doors. Sunken eyes. Hollow cheeks. When had I become this person? This ghost wearing Ethan's face?

The purse felt heavier with each floor. By the time I reached the lobby, it weighed a thousand pounds.

"Have a good night, Ethan," Leonard called.

I didn't respond. Couldn't. If I opened my mouth, I'd scream.

Outside, the February air hit like a wall. Freezing. Biting. The kind of cold that found every gap in your clothes and crawled inside. I had no coat. I'd forgotten it in my rush to get here, to surprise the woman I loved.

Loved. Past tense.

For the first time in my life, love turned into something else. Something darker. Not sadness. Not heartbreak.

Hatred.

Pure, clean, burning hatred.

I hated Michael for being born into wealth. I hated Lena for choosing it. I hated myself for being stupid enough to believe I could compete.

My phone rang.

I almost didn't answer. Almost threw it in the gutter and kept walking into the night until I disappeared. But habit made me pull it from my pocket, check the screen.

Unknown number.

Scam, probably. Some robot trying to sell me car insurance or tell me my social security number had been compromised. I answered anyway. Why not? The night couldn't get worse.

"Hello?"

"Is this Ethan?" The voice was elderly, male, cultured. Like someone from an old movie. "Ethan Cross?"

"Who's asking?"

"My name is Winston, young master. I've been searching for you for quite some time."

Young master. Right. Definitely a scam.

"Look, I'm not interested in whatever you're selling. And I don't have any money, so if this is about a debt, you're wasting your time."

"On the contrary." Papers rustled on his end. "You have quite a lot of money. You simply don't know it yet."

I laughed. Actually laughed. It came out bitter, broken. "Sure. I'm secretly rich. And I'm also the king of England. Listen, old man, I've had the worst night of my life. I'm not in the mood for games."

"This is no game, young master. Your grandfather has been looking for you since you were five years old. We've finally found you."

"My grandfather is dead." I started walking, no destination in mind. Just away. Away from that building. Away from her. "Both of them. Nice try."

"Your adoptive grandparents, yes. I'm speaking of your biological grandfather. Mr. Sterling Cross. He's quite eager to meet you."

Sterling Cross. The name meant nothing. Some made-up rich person's name. These scammers were getting creative.

"I'm hanging up now."

"Please, just check your bank account. You'll see I'm quite serious."

"Yeah, okay." I pulled the phone from my ear. "Have a nice life, Winston."

I hung up.

Stood there on the freezing sidewalk, breath making clouds in the air.

Checked my bank account because why not? Might as well see how broke I really was after buying that stupid purse.

The app loaded slowly. My phone was old, the screen cracked, the processor struggling.

Then the numbers appeared.

I blinked.

Blinked again.

The numbers didn't change.

My bank account, which had contained exactly two hundred and thirty-seven dollars this morning, now showed a balance of one hundred million dollars.

And four cents.