When He Called Me a Gold Digger, I Left

I had just put the spare phone and gift list back where I found them when Enzo Valenti came home.

The faint smell of whiskey followed him as he sat down beside me and reached for me.

"Are you still mad at me? Where have you been these past few days? I thought you were really going to leave me, but here you are. You couldn't stay away from me, could you?"

He nearly said the rest out loud—that I had come back because I wanted more money from him.

Maybe that's all I'd ever been to him. I was just a gold digger after the Valenti family fortune.

I didn't react. I just shifted away from his arm.

Enzo paused. He glanced at his arm, then at me. He assumed I was avoiding him because he reeked of alcohol.

"You're impossible. I had a few drinks, and now I'm thirsty. Get me some water."

He was always like this. He never seemed to realize how much he carried himself like a future Don.

I remembered how he'd put on a terrible act and pretend to be some street punk barely scraping by when he first started pursuing me.

Back then, he wore a battered baseball cap crooked on his head and a faded hoodie. He gazed at me with genuine affection, and his voice was full of the earnest sincerity of a naive young man.

"Sienna, I can't offer you much right now. I can't even promise that I can keep you safe," he began. "But we'll work for it together. One day, we'll have a good life, and no one will be able to hurt you again."

I found myself nodding at the confident look on his face.

I wasn't rich, but I could certainly support myself.

I chose him because I was drawn in by the promise of a good life.

Having grown up struggling, I knew better than anyone how hard it was to climb my way out of poverty. I believed him when he said that we would work for it "together".

I loved him because he never pitied me when I was at my lowest. He just stayed by my side and shared the misery with me.

He knew that what I feared most wasn't poverty, but being alone.

The longer we were together, though, the more I realized he was nothing like those other punks.

He knew far too much. He'd instinctively turn his nose up at cheap coffee and food. He'd even order me around even when he could easily do things himself.

One day, while working a shift at a private club in the Bellano district, I happened to pass the tennis courts and saw Enzo.

He wore a white custom-made tennis shirt and held an expensive racket. Four armed men in black suits stood a few feet away. The club owner personally opened the door for him. Several other groups on the courts quietly put away their rackets and left when they saw him.

The entire court was making way for him.

I couldn't help but find the whole thing ridiculous.

All this time, he'd been guarding against the possibility that I was after the Valenti family's money.

There was no trust left between us.

Enzo spoke again, pulling me out of my thoughts. "If you really need money, just ask me. Using your own child's life as an excuse won't work. God won't forgive you for that."

I looked up at him, my expression cold.

"Would you give me any if I just asked?"

He paused as a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. Then, as if my question had just confirmed his suspicions, he gave me a mocking look.

"Vivian was right. You're with me because you're after my money," he spat.

He pulled out his phone and transferred me a penny. The note read, "Gold digger."

As soon as the transfer went through, he casually took a screenshot.

"There. Just so I have proof. I wouldn't want you telling people that I never gave you anything later."

I stared at the screen in disbelief. He was the heir to the entire Valenti family, yet he'd just done something that even a petty thug would've looked down on.

Knowing him, I had a feeling that he'd make the transfer record public.

He couldn't wait for everyone to see just how greedy I was for his money.