The Gloves That Ended Us

My fiancé, Alex Thompson, spent a fortune at an auction for his first love, Betty Bates.

But he only got me a pair of dishwashing gloves from his supermarket points.

On the country's biggest private vacation island, Alex stepped off the plane with Betty, who was in a high-end mermaid gown.

They drew a crowd of admirers right away.

"Mr. Thompson, I didn't expect you'd show up for this charity gala. I heard you took over the company just five years ago and crushed dozens of competitors. You're really making waves young," someone said.

Alex smiled. "This gala is just a cover. Everyone here is gunning for that big investor's attention."

People nodded, sharing the same goal.

The host of this event was a rare gem of an investor.

Someone turned to Betty and showered her with praise. "This must be Mrs. Thompson. She's stunning. You're a lucky man, Mr. Thompson."

Betty hooked her arm through Alex's and giggled behind her hand. "We're not married yet. Alex says once this project is a success, we'll tie the knot. The wedding will be huge and extravagant."

Alex faltered but soon composed himself, smiling. "It's just a piece of paper anyway. We loving each other is what counts."

His words surprised me.

Five years ago, after I broke up with Alex, he had turned around and proposed to Betty.

The next day, all the major media outlets had announced their engagement. They had even held a press conference.

They had been the envy of everyone as the perfect couple, yet the wedding dragged on for five years.

While I puzzled over it, a temp server walked up to me with a straight face.

He looked me up and down with clear disdain in his eyes. "Sorry, ma'am, but there's a gala going on right now. Cleaners come in after it's over."

I'd been doing a full day of beach cleanup with my son for his project. Now I was wearing a ragged uniform I had grabbed from the storage shed.

Compared to the glamorous guests around, I sure didn't look like an invited attendee.

"This beach is mine," I tried to explain. "I'm here to..."

The server burst out laughing. "You're hilarious. A cleaner thinks the beach is her property? Leave now, or I'll call security."

His loud voice drew attention from the nearby guests. Their scornful stares hit me like spotlights.

Among them was Alex, who was chatting smoothly with others.

The moment our eyes met, he froze. "Chelsea?"

The server blinked. "Mr. Thompson, is she a friend of yours?"

Alex regained his composure. "Barely. She is just some gold digger who latches onto rich guys."

He turned back into the crowd, not glancing my way again, like I was too dirty for his eyes.

The server stepped forward to shove me. "Get out! This place is for high-class people. If you're looking for a sugar daddy, hit up a nightclub."

His words annoyed me. I grabbed his arm and snapped, "I'm just doing a parent-child social project. I'll clean up this beach and leave. If there's any damage, I'll cover it myself."

"You think you can afford anything here?" he snorted. "One highball glass would cost you a lifetime of trash picking to pay off."

I tried to explain, but Alex came up. "I know you're here for me. But we're done. Save your stunts to get my attention. I'm not interested. I'll give you 500 grand. Go find a decent job."

I laughed, ignoring him, and continued to pick up the garbage.

My attitude stung his pride. He reached out to yank at my work uniform, tearing it with a rip.

My necklace snapped. Pearls scattered and clattered to the ground.

Betty, noticing the situation, covered her mouth in shock. "Oh my God, you're out here being someone's side chick?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I snapped.

Unfazed, she spoke seriously. "I know what I saw. That necklace on your neck was bought at last year's auction by some mysterious guy with a kid. But here it is on you. If you're not a mistress, what are you?"