Chapter 2

Elizabeth's POV

"Elizabeth, do you really have to dig your heels in over something this trivial?"

With that, Owen slammed the door and left.

I sat calmly on the couch, unwrapping the layers of bandage from around my skin and replacing them with a fresh plaster.

I should have realized long ago that Owen and I belonged to completely different worlds. He didn't even know how to properly bandage a wound.

This was the same man who couldn't even make instant pasta without ruining it. Yet tonight, he had taken charge of the entire candlelight dinner, claiming he wanted to cook something delicious for me.

Imported Auserian ribeye steaks, a bottle of estate-cellared Chardonnay, and a custom cake prepared by a private chef—there was no doubt he had the entire spread delivered from an upscale restaurant. Even the candles, as trivial as they seemed, were from a luxury fragrance brand.

With a careless flip of the table, Owen had sent items worth three months of my salary crashing to the floor. In an instant, everything was reduced to worthless junk.

Splashes of red wine stained the wall. There was no way my landlord would be returning my security deposit now.

Amid the wreckage, I began packing my things. I even messaged my landlord to say I was terminating my lease.

The moment the message was sent, a notification chimed behind me. I turned around.

Owen's laptop was still on, its screen glowing with the movie we were supposed to watch together. In a group chat with around seven or eight members, Louise—the group admin—had posted a screenshot of my message.

"Oh, my God, how pathetic can she get? She's actually asking me about the security deposit. That's literally the worst property under my name. Honestly, the fact that she's been living in it makes my skin crawl."

It turned out Louise was the landlord I had been paying rent to all this time.

As I scrolled up, I saw that all the screenshots in the group chat had been taken from my social media.

The matching couple's pajamas I had bought for Owen with my first paycheck were mocked as flea-market junk.

At the same time, the birthday cake he had given me had apparently been leftovers from Louise's dog.

Every part of my life had become a source of amusement for this crowd of privileged heirs.

On the day I started my new job, someone had sent me roses. My pollen allergy flared up, and I ended up hospitalized with severe breathing difficulties.

Half my face had swollen, yet Owen still leaned in for a photo, gushing about how "adorable" I was.

But as I played the voice messages in the group chat, I was met with Louise's and everyone else's mocking laughter.

"Owen, how can you bring yourself to kiss a pig like that? You seriously deserve a medal."

"Louise, this little wager of yours is really putting Owen through hell."

Owen responded indifferently, "As long as Lou is happy, that's all that matters."

At his remark, the others instantly began to tease them.

A suffocating pressure tightened in my chest, as though the rose pollen from that day had once again flooded my lungs.

Even now, Louise still acted like a considerate, caring landlord toward me. "Are you moving out? Where are you planning to live next? I own properties in every neighborhood."

"You don't need to worry about me. Just remember to come to the wedding next week."

After I sent that, the group chat erupted with messages once more.

Louise added contemptuously, "Who is she trying to fool? She clearly thinks she's about to marry into wealth and move into a huge mansion!

"@Owen, where are you? Why aren't you saying anything? Are you really going to marry her?"

Soon after, Owen started a video call. "I'm on my way. Don't be ridiculous. Of course I'm not marrying her."

He was seated in a Maybach, his hands resting on the steering wheel. A pair of sunglasses hid his deep, striking eyes.

"But she's already terminated the lease. That means she'll be staying at your place, right?"

Owen instinctively slammed on the brakes. "What did you say?"

A knot of unease tightened in his chest as he pulled up the remote surveillance app on his phone.

The security camera outside my front door captured me in a thin coat. With my suitcase behind me, I stepped into the elevator.

Still, Owen had never once told me the address of his real home.