Chapter 1

I stared at the screen in disbelief, my ears ringing as Steven Delaney's mocking smile stared right back at me.

That face was far too familiar to me. On the corner of his right eye was the scar he'd gotten fighting for me back then.

Steven had laughed and said it was a badge of honor for loving me.

But now, he was mocking me together with others, calling me a "beer lady", when he knew perfectly well how much I hated that nickname.

It was as if my heart stopped beating in that instant. I stood frozen in place, so out of it that I didn't even notice the customer sliding his hand onto my waist.

He said, "So, it really is you in that live stream? You're better off coming with me, missy. It's better than serving someone who treats you like a joke—"

I snapped back to my senses when the customer's greasy breath brushed against my ear.

Not bothering to wipe away my tears, I instinctively pulled a can of pepper spray from my bag and sprayed it straight into his eyes. Then, I turned and ran.

I slipped and fell in the pouring rain, as the customer's furious curses rang out behind me. "Stop acting so high-and-mighty when tens of thousands of people have seen you washing Mr. Delaney's underwear!"

As if I couldn't feel the pain, I ran back to the dive bar without looking back.

Only after I reached the kitchen did I realize that my right leg had been scraped open at some point. Blood trickled down my calf into my socks, sticky and cold.

"What are you doing spacing out, Melanie? The customers are waiting outside! There are still 20 crates of beer to move!"

I immediately shot up, numbing myself as I gritted my teeth and carried crate after crate of beer.

I was exhausted, but I dared not stop.

That was because the moment I stopped, the live stream comments would come rushing back, mocking the three years I'd sacrificed under the guise of love.

…

It was already midnight by the time I finally clocked out. With my injured leg, I took the long way to the five-star hotel.

Lately, Steven had been obsessed with their foreign cuisine. Even after his family went bankrupt, and when one meal meant my entire day's salary was gone, he still insisted on having their late-night snack.

"You're late today," he said without looking up from his game.

"There are more customers during the weekend…" I explained quietly, setting the takeout on the only wooden table in the apartment.

Steven glanced at it and frowned. "Why is it soggy? Don't you know that ruins the flavor of the dish?"

I apologized almost instinctively. Only then did he wave his hand impatiently.

Steven took two bites before pushing the takeout aside.

I sat blankly on the plastic stool until a sharp twist in my stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten all day.

Just as I was about to make do with last night's leftovers, Steven suddenly asked, "What happened to your leg?"

He finally noticed something was off ten minutes after I got home.

I replied, "A customer got handsy when I was delivering beer today. I shoved him away and ran into the rain. I accidentally fell—"

Before I could finish, Steven walked over and dropped to one knee. Then, he lifted the hem of my skirt.

The pain made me flinch, but he tightened his grip around my ankle.

"Don't move." He turned on his phone camera. The flash that went off was so bright it forced my eyes shut.