2

The cheap lisianthus hadn't been my first choice.

Earlier that day, I'd stopped outside a florist and fallen in love with a bouquet in the window: strawberry-almond spray roses nestled among white violets. Soft, full, and warm pink under the evening light.

The florist told me it cost 398 yuan.

Julian took my hand.

“It's your birthday, Lily. If you love it, let's get it. I still have a little money left.”

He paused before adding, “I might have to live on instant noodles for the rest of the month, but don't worry about me. You're what matters today.”

I thought I knew how hard his life was.

His mother had died young. His father had left him buried under gambling debts. Almost everything Julian earned went toward paying them off.

We'd met during our internship at Hart Group. He had joined after I did and was always coming to my desk with questions. Somewhere between project reports and late dinners, he started pursuing me.

He was exactly my type. Handsome, poor, but determined to build a better life.

So I said yes.

I believed we were two people from difficult backgrounds, working side by side to earn a place in Beijing.

How could I let him eat instant noodles for a month over a bouquet?

No matter how much I wanted the strawberry-almond roses, I pulled him away from the florist. Near closing time, I bargained with a street vendor and bought the lisianthus instead.

When Julian paid, his eyes reddened.

“You've had such a hard time because of me,” he said. “I swear I'll work hard and give you everything you want someday.”

I threw my arms around him, ridiculously happy.

I didn't know that while he held me, he was quietly ordering another woman flowers worth a hundred times as much.

I didn't know that Hart wasn't merely his surname.

It was the name of Beijing's richest family.

And the name on the building where we both worked.