Chapter 3 - “Was Any of It Real?”
I told Ethan I would come over.
He said:
“No.”
That scared me more than shouting.
Ethan almost never said no harshly.
“Then where?”
“Coffee shop on Liberty.”
Twenty minutes later, I walked inside.
He was sitting in the back.
No planet tie.
No teacher smile.
Just Ethan.
Phone on the table.
Connor’s message open.
A screenshot from an old business article.
My photograph.
The acquisition.
Estimated founder payout.
Eight figures.
Ethan looked up.
“How much?”
I sat.
“Nine point seven currently.”
His face changed.
Not greed.
Shock.
“Million.”
“Yes.”
He laughed once.
Quietly.
“Of course.”
I hated that reaction.
“What does that mean?”
“It means my mother was right.”
“She didn't know the number.”
“She knew you were hiding something.”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
I had no answer.
Ethan looked at the table.
“That’s what I thought.”
“It isn't because I don't trust you.”
He met my eyes.
“Natalie.”
“What?”
“You lied.”
“I told you exactly what my job pays.”
His expression tightened.
“Don't do that.”
I stopped.
“Don't use technical truth to pretend you weren't trying to make me believe something false.”
I felt my face burn.
“I needed to know you weren't with me for money.”
“I didn't know you had money.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly?”
His voice rose slightly.
People looked.
He lowered it.
“So I passed?”
I froze.
“What?”
“Was that the test?”
“No.”
“Then why did you tell me about your cheap apartment?”
“Because I live there.”
“Why did you always split dinner exactly?”
“Because I don't want—”
“Why did you act nervous when I bought you that ninety-dollar coat?”
“I was nervous.”
“Because it was ninety dollars?”
“No.”
“Because?”
I swallowed.
“Because Connor used gifts like leverage.”
Ethan leaned back.
That hurt him.
Good.
Not good.
But honest.
“Natalie.”
His voice softened.
“I understand being afraid.”
I almost relaxed.
Then:
“But you didn't protect yourself from me.”
I waited.
“You turned me into him before I had done anything.”
That landed.
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
He tapped the phone.
“You decided that knowing about your money would reveal who I really was.”
Silence.
“So the version of me you've trusted for eight months is apparently conditional.”
“I trust you.”
“No.”
His eyes reddened.
“You trusted the experiment.”
I had never heard Ethan speak like that.
Not cruel.
Wounded.
“I love you.”
He looked away.
“That makes this worse.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I love you too.”
Silence.
“If we were casual, this would just be weird.”
He laughed bitterly.
“But I was imagining a future.”
“I was too.”
“With what information?”
I had nothing.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I told my mother I was worried after you gave me your salary.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You thought I was preparing to break up.”
“Yes.”
“I was doing math.”
“What math?”
“Rent.”
I stared.
“My lease renews in January.”
He looked embarrassed even now.
“I was thinking if we eventually lived together, my place was too small.”
My eyes burned.
“I was trying to figure out whether we could afford a two-bedroom without making you feel pressured.”
I could not speak.
“That was why I went quiet for three days.”
Everything rearranged.
I had spent those three days judging him.
He had spent them trying to build an affordable future around the number I gave him.
Ethan laughed softly.
“My mother thought I was insane.”
“What did she say?”
“She said if I'm doing apartment math after three months, I’m already gone.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
Then cried.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“Can we fix this?”
He took a long time.
“I don't know.”
My heart dropped.
“I need space.”
There it was.
The sentence I had expected months earlier.
Not because I was poor.
Because I lied about being rich.
“How much space?”
“I don't know.”
“Are we breaking up?”
Ethan looked devastated.
“I don't want to.”
“Then don't.”
He closed his eyes.
“I can't pretend I’m fine.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I need to know whether I can trust what you tell me without wondering if there’s another test hidden inside it.”
I nodded.
Fair.
Painful.
Fair.
We left separately.
That night, I moved through my apartment like a ghost.
Nine point seven million dollars.
And I had never felt poorer.
Around ten, somebody knocked.
Diane.
Of course.
I opened the door.
“Did Ethan send you?”
“No.”
“How did you know?”
“He called me.”
I stepped aside.
She entered carrying a casserole.
“Why do mothers respond to emotional disaster with baked food?”
“Because jail is inconvenient.”
I laughed despite myself.
She put the dish down.
Then looked at me.
“You told him?”
“Connor did.”
“That man is garbage.”
“Yes.”
“How bad?”
“He wants space.”
Diane nodded.
“Good.”
I stared.
“Excuse me?”
“He should.”
“Thanks.”
“You should too.”
She sat.
“Natalie, my son isn't angry that you're rich.”
“I know.”
“He's angry because you made him unknowingly audition for your trust.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Diane studied me.
Then softer:
“You aren't a bad person.”
That almost made me cry again.
“You're scared.”
She touched the table.
“But scared people can still hurt good people.”
I sat opposite her.
“What do I do?”
“Stop trying to control his answer.”
“Meaning?”
“Tell him everything.”
“He already knows.”
“No.”
Diane shook her head.
“He knows the money.”
She pointed at my chest.
“He doesn't know the fear.”
I looked down.
“And then?”
“Then let him choose.”
Those words terrified me.
Because that was exactly what I had avoided.
Choice.
His.
Not mine.
My phone buzzed.
Connor again.
Did Teacher Boy survive the surprise?
Then:
Maybe he'll understand you better when he sees the house you could buy him.
I stared.
Diane noticed.
“Connor?”
“Yes.”
She held out her hand.
I gave her the phone.
She read it.
Then typed something.
“Diane.”
She hit send.
“What did you write?”
She handed the phone back.
She already knows one man who confused her money with his future. She doesn't need another.
I stared.
Connor responded almost instantly.
Who is this?
Diane smiled.
May you like
“His nightmare.”
For the first time all day, I laughed.
