Horace and I had originally been two parallel lines.
We should never have crossed paths.
But, unfortunately, Horace had made too many enemies. His big mouth always got him into trouble. People were afraid of his family's influence, but sooner or later, someone had enough. One night, when he was drunk, they bundled him up in a sack and beat him nearly to death.
Being a model student with a part-time job, I was just getting off work that evening when I found Horace, nearly unrecognizable from the beating he'd taken.
The young master, gazing at his bruised face in the mirror, couldn't bring himself to leave my humble apartment.
At first, I wanted to kick him out.
But he offered too much money.
With the swipe of his black card, I had no choice but to invite him in and care for him until his swollen face returned to normal.
I think it was the first time he had ever experienced anything like this.
Everything was new and fascinating to him.
Meanwhile, I—following the golden rule of "always side with the one who pays"—treated him well, all for the sake of that black card.
Then, the naive young master confessed he had developed feelings for me and began to pursue me relentlessly.
It was so unrealistic.
The gap in our status was far too wide.
If I were still in high school, maybe I would have dreamed of this kind of life. If a handsome, wealthy man like Horace came after me, I would probably have fallen for him.
But I was already in the working world and had seen too much of how cold and calculating life could be. I knew what social status meant.
So, I simply couldn't be bothered.
But Horace was the type of person who, the more I ignored him, the more persistent he became. He would stop at nothing to try and win me over, constantly by my side, doing everything he could for me.
I couldn't resist.
In the end, I was moved.
I became immersed in his tenderness, dreaming of the future with him.
At first, when we started dating, Horace treated me like a queen. He wanted to shout our relationship from the rooftops, but I stopped him.
After all, his name was far too eye-catching.
I just wanted to live my life quietly.
But that peace didn't last.
After three months together, the cracks in our relationship started to show.
Horace often complained that I didn't spend enough time with him, but the truth was, I simply didn't have the time. The whole point of my working student job was to cover my tuition and living expenses for the next year.
I needed to survive.
Only by surviving could I indulge in matters of love.
But Horace had never worried about money, and from the beginning, our values had been at odds.
He couldn't understand.
He couldn't understand why I had to humble myself for money.
He couldn't understand that after working all day, I only earned twenty dollars.
He couldn't understand why I had to neglect him for the sake of those two hundred dollars.
He said, "It's just twenty dollars. A month's worth is only six thousand. I spend more than that on a single meal."
I knew he wasn't trying to insult me.
He was just stating a fact he thought was obvious.
One thousand dollars wouldn't even cover his meal.
But it could sustain me for an entire month.
So he found my school and started giving me "subsidies" under various pretenses, and soon, the entire campus knew I had someone with significant backing.
Behind my back, they mocked me, saying I must be someone's mistress to afford the national scholarship.
But the truth was…
Even without Horace, my grades alone would have secured that scholarship.
Yet no one believed that.
They only wanted to believe the rumors, believing I had powerful connections, believing I used improper means to compete for the scholarship.
No one believed it was rightfully mine.
That was our first fight—hysterical, explosive.
Horace didn't understand why, after he'd tried so hard to do something he thought was good for me, I shouted at him.
But in the end, he relented, promising there would be no "next time."
But what happened?
He waved his hand and, without asking for my approval, quit the job I had worked so hard to get. Then, as if presenting a treasure, he handed me his black card.
"From now on, I'll support you. All the money in this card is yours."
Given my obsession with money, I should have taken it with a smile. After all, he was my boyfriend. Spending his money wasn't unreasonable, right?
But… it was humiliating.
I couldn't stop myself from arguing with him.
At that time, I was staying at my best friend Celine's place.
She didn't quite understand why I felt this way, but she was always there to support me unconditionally.
I told her, "Do you know what happened to the last person who heard those words?"
Celine shook her head.
I suddenly remembered the woman who, to this day, harbored resentment and was slowly losing her mind.
She had once been so optimistic.
Then she met a very rich boyfriend. He was kind to her, and this naive girl thought they'd be together forever.
She was so naive.
Because of one phrase, "I love you, I'll support you from now on," she ended up losing both her heart and herself.
Maybe when they were in love, the man really cared for her. But once the novelty wore off, the naive woman, pregnant and dependent on him, was treated like a bird in a gilded cage, watching as her man tangled with other women.
She cried, she shouted.
In the end, the man grew tired of her.
He said, "I've been supporting you all along, spending my money. What right do you have to demand more?"
And so, the foolish woman left the city heartbroken, carrying a child. She never fully recovered, and to this day, she hasn't moved past that emotional hurdle.
That's why the foolish woman told me:
"Clara, you need to be independent. No one can support you for life."
"Only you can save yourself."
