Chapter 12

Vance stared at the puppy, his expression awkward.

"Well… I misunderstood. If there's nothing else, I'll just go."

I stopped him. "Since you're here, let's clear things up."

He followed me inside, head bowed like a child who'd done wrong.

"Vance, I admit that at first, I was with you for the money."

He nodded. "I know. That's why I worked so hard to earn it."

"But I also wanted your body. Your body is very nice."

He blinked. "…What?"

"Your face. Your arms. The thing you do with your—"

"Sophie."

"I'm being honest! You said I was only with you for money, and that's not the whole picture. The physical component was significant."

His ears turned crimson. "Are we really having this conversation?"

"We are, because you keep running away based on incomplete data."

He sat on the edge of the sofa, the puppy—a stray Vivi had smuggled home—climbing onto his lap.

"Here's the full picture, Vance. I transmigrated into this world knowing you'd go bankrupt. I hoarded money as a survival strategy. That part was true."

He winced but nodded.

"But somewhere between the condom bulk orders and the gold necklaces, I started caring whether you ate breakfast. I started noticing when you looked tired. I started dreading the day the plot would take you away from me."

The puppy licked his hand. He absently scratched its ear.

"When I heard you planning to jump, I didn't think about the money. I thought about never hearing your voice again. About Vivi never having a father. About me, alone in a penthouse full of designer bags, and none of it meaning anything."

"Sophie—"

"I'm not finished." I sat beside him. "I don't love you because you were rich, and I don't love you in spite of you being poor. I love you because you worried about scaring strangers with your death. Because you make three-eared bunny pancakes. Because you kicked a little boy's entitled mother out of a preschool while wearing a delivery uniform."

"I didn't kick anyone—"

"Metaphorically."

He looked at me. The broken villain with instant noodle seasoning on his shirt and a stray puppy on his lap.

"You love me?"

"Unfortunately."

"Even though I have eleven dollars?"

"Even though you have eleven dollars."

He pulled me into his arms. The puppy yelped and scrambled away.

"Sophie, I love you too. I've loved you since day one, when you demanded a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bag and I thought, 'This woman has excellent taste.'"

I laughed into his chest. "You're impossible."

"And you're stuck with me."

"I know. Now stop crying."

"I'm not crying."

"Your shirt is wet."

"…It's the puppy."

The puppy was across the room.

I let him have that lie.