Chapter 2 Proof of Devotion

So, I asked my aunt, a designer, to help me commission a custom piece overseas. When it was finally finished, I brought it to Tilly with barely contained excitement. "Tilly, look—I had this specially commissioned for you through my aunt overseas. You'll look amazing in it."

I watched her expectantly, but she only gave it a cold glance before saying, "Thanks, but no."

Whispers immediately rippled through the room.

"What's Jenkins putting on an act for?"

"That's a privately commissioned foreign designer Lolita piece. It must be worth a fortune—Tilly could work a hundred jobs and still never afford it."

"Oh, what would you know? I bet she's playing the long game, waiting to reel in a bigger fish."

The sharp comments made Tilly's eyes redden instantly. Her hands hung stiffly at her sides, fingers clutching the faded hem of her washed-out floral dress, at a loss for what to do. I shot the room a single look, and everyone immediately fell silent before scrambling out of the classroom.

"Tilly, I just want you to be happy. At the very least, I wish you wouldn't be so resistant toward me." I pleaded carefully, hoping she might accept my goodwill.

Tilly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Jace, please stop bothering me. I can't afford the games you rich people play."

I stood there frozen, unable to understand what I had done to make her misunderstand me so badly.

Tilly continued working multiple part-time jobs after class, just as she always had. To keep her from rejecting me outright, I secretly sought out the businesses where she worked, slipped them money, and asked them to treat her better.

If she thought I was just playing around, then I would prove it to her—I was serious about her. From that day on, I forced myself to settle down and actually study. Even just catching a glimpse of her passing the classroom windows during break was enough to keep me grinding through hours of work.

Eventually, we were accepted into the same university. Once we got there, tuition was no longer something that could be covered by a few weeks of part-time work like in high school. The high fees weighed more and more heavily on Tilly, and her name appeared constantly in the school's part-time job group chats.

More often than not, she couldn't even afford to eat after paying tuition.

When I heard that she had started selling blood just to make ends meet, I finally decided to sponsor her. To protect her pride, I asked my father to set up a scholarship fund at our university and specifically had her advisor recommend her for it.

That way, her tuition for the remaining years of college would be completely covered.

Once tuition was no longer an issue, I ran around asking the children of wealthy families whether they needed tutors for their younger siblings. Private tutoring was one of the most lucrative part-time jobs for college students, and in affluent neighborhoods, a single hour could earn what would otherwise take two or three weeks' worth of meals.

After gathering the necessary information, I matched suitable tutoring opportunities to Tilly's class schedule and recommended them to her. By then, the look she gave me no longer carried the disgust or irritation it once had. I was slowly able to get closer to her, spending more and more time together.

After graduating, Tilly had saved up enough money to rent a place with relatively decent conditions. But she had studied design, and her work had never been appreciated or accepted by investors, which meant she had no real chance to break through on her own.

I knew this was her dream career, and as long as it was something she cared about, I would help her see it through. So I brought her to meet my aunt—the world-renowned design master—and asked her to take Tilly on as an apprentice.

I had already worn my aunt down with relentless persistence, and when she saw how diligent and eager to learn Tilly was, she finally agreed.

With my aunt's guidance and introductions, Tilly's work exploded onto the scene, earning her the title of the industry's most promising newcomer. And it was also under my aunt's matchmaking that Tilly and I got married.

"Jace, why are you so good to me?" Tilly asked me on our wedding night.

"I love you, Tilly. I'll treat you well for the rest of my life." I took her hand, pressed it to my chest, and made that promise solemnly.

In my mind, I pictured our future together—peaceful, loving, sweet in every way. But I had been fooling myself. After the wedding, there was no place for me in Tilly's heart—or even in her eyes.