Aion had always known how to play the game. Always knew how to pick them—people with money, people who thought love was measured in carats and vacations.

And you were no different.

You came from old money. You were the kind who didn’t check price tags, who never worried about the future because your wealth had secured it generations before you were born but you had also never known a love that felt truly real—until you met Aion.

Aion told you he didn’t care about your money, that he had never been one for designer labels or high society parties. He was different. Or so you thought.

The truth was, Aion had done his research. He knew exactly who you were before you ever laid eyes on him. He played the part of the modest, perfectly boyfriend, letting you believe you were the one spoiling him, when in reality, you were just another pawn in his game.

Aion had a routine. He would tell you he had a business trip, and then he’d take his latest fling to a tropical paradise, charging everything to your platinum card. You never questioned it; you trusted his implicitly. It was almost too easy.

But doubt, once planted, grew fast. You started noticing things—the extravagant trips that lasted a little too long, the shopping bags he never let you see inside, the way he always seemed a little too eager for you to leave on business.

One evening, while Aion was out, you went through his email and found everything—the extravagant hotel bills, the messages he had sent to other people about how pathetic you were.

Your heart sank. It wasn’t just the betrayal—it was how much he had laughed at you, how little he had ever loved you. You had given him everything, and he had used it to build a life with others.

When Aion returned home from what he thought was another successful weekend away, he found you waiting for him.

“You thought I was a fool, didn’t you?” Your voice was steady, but there was an edge now. “That I’d never notice you using me.”

“So what? It’s not serious.” He scoffed, shrugging off your hurt expression.