When David Brown and Christina got engaged, I was at a bar, completely wasted, with their wedding invitation lying on the table in front of me.
At that bar, I saw David's friends.
They used to greet me politely as Mrs. Brown, but ever since they learned Christina had returned from abroad, they stopped calling me that.
One of them even walked past me just now, sneering as he said:
"Amy, it looks like you're not doing too well since the divorce with David, huh?"
My best friend Lily pulled me behind her and shot back:
"He's just a lousy guy, who cares."
"Our Amy is rich and beautiful, Who would care about a poor boy who only rose to power by using a woman's influence?"
The guy had nothing to say, so he just clicked his tongue and walked away.
Lily stayed by my side, handing me tissue after tissue as she wiped away my tears.
She comforted me:
"Amy, David isn't deserving of your love."
"He's too cold-hearted and only ever thinks about his own interests."
Yes, he truly only considers his own interests above all else, even when he approached me, it was with ulterior motives.
I was born into a wealthy family, the third daughter of the Harris Group.
From childhood, I never lacked anything—food, clothes, or anything you name it.
My family spoiled me endlessly, with the finest clothes, limited-edition bags, and dinners at upscale restaurants.
With such a background, it was natural for exceptional men to flock around me.
Some were after money, others after beauty, and some sought to gain power through my family.
David, though—he wasn't after anything.
At least, I thought he wasn't.
When I met David, he was still a down-and-out, penniless guy.
Back in college, after a club event, everyone decided to go out for dinner.
A few seniors in the club knew about David's family troubles—after all, the downfall of his family's company, the Brown Group, had made the news.
So, those seniors deliberately made things difficult for him, choosing the most expensive restaurant and expecting David to foot the bill.
I couldn't stand it, so I spoke up on his behalf:
"This dinner is part of a club event, so naturally, we should split the bill. There's no reason one person should pay for everyone."
One of the seniors chuckled, "Oh, freshman, this dinner was David's idea."
"And since he's the club president, he should pay."
"If you're so eager to stand up for him, why don't you pay for him?"
I was furious but also stubborn, so I stormed over to the counter and paid the bill for him.
I shot a glare at those condescending jerks and spat, "Get lost."
Afterward, David came to thank me. "Thank you for stepping in. How much do I owe you?"
I glanced at his clothes—he didn't look like a rich kid.
I waved him off. "Don't worry about it. It's a small amount."
"I'm leaving now. See you next time."
I thought that was the last I would see of him, but one night, while I was out drinking with friends, everything changed.
The night was dark and heavy.
After the gathering, I was walking home alone when suddenly, someone grabbed me.
It was Victor Dickerson.
He said:
"Emily, our families have arranged a marriage."
Yes.
My family and his family had indeed arranged a marriage for us when we were kids.
I instinctively tried to push Victor away, but he was stronger, and I found myself cornered against the wall.
He seized my hand, pulling me towards his car.
Just then, David appeared.
He punched Victor in the face, sending him crashing to the ground.
David took my hand and led me away, running.
His tall figure was in front of me as I followed closely behind.
In that moment, the scent of gardenias from him filled my senses, and I admit I was a little moved.
He took me to the entrance of his apartment complex and said:
"Stay here tonight. I'll take you back to school tomorrow."
My face flushed slightly, and I nodded in agreement.
The room was dimly lit, with only a desk lamp casting a warm, yellow light.
In the soft glow of the lamp, I could see the layout of his apartment.
On the wall, there were a bunch of photographs.
Most were of him with a girl.
There were also a few of the girl alone.
The girl was beautiful, dressed in a light-colored dress, exuding a gentle aura.
Before I could ask, he spoke up:
"She's a younger sister I grew up with. She's studying in France now."
I replied, "That sounds impressive."
I changed the subject, asking, "Do you know who you just punched?"
He said, "Yes."
"It was precisely because I knew who he was that I hit him hard."
"Since you've helped me before, no one should bully you."
I looked up at him, the dim light casting shadows on his face, revealing a hint of desire.
He leaned in, touched my face, and kissed my lips.
He told me not to be afraid and that he would always stand in front of me from now on.
I believed him.