They Gave Her Eight Thousand And Me Eight Hundred And Called It Fair Chapter 09

They Gave Her Eight Thousand And Me Eight Hundred And Called It Fair Chapter 09

That afternoon, I transferred the full amount of eighty-three thousand dollars—down to the last cent—into my mother’s bank account.

The note read only two words: “Paid in full.”

After doing this, I walked out of the auditorium.

Miami was suddenly hit by a rainstorm.

I opened my umbrella and was about to head back to my dorm when I saw Evan standing at the bottom of the steps.

He was soaked through. Clutched tightly against his chest was a carefully protected paper bag, completely untouched by the rain.

When he saw me, his eyes reddened and he rushed forward, blocking my umbrella.

“Megan—this is the speaker from the brand you like. And a necklace. I spent a long time picking them out.”

He thrust the paper bag toward me. He pulled out a velvet box, his voice trembling.

“I was wrong. I couldn’t tell what mattered before. I got used to you being sensible. I thought you would never leave…”

I looked at the sparkling pink rhinestone necklace inside the box. I suddenly laughed.

“Evan. I hate pink the most. Do you remember?”

I looked at him calmly.

He froze. The hand holding the box hung stiffly in midair.

Before he could answer, I continued.

“You don’t remember now. But you used to remember.”

“When we first met, you remembered I didn’t like sweets. You remembered I hated pink. Whenever you ordered bubble tea, you always added a note: no sugar.”

“But then you changed. Because Grace loves pink the most. She loves sweets the most. She loves everything flashy and dazzling.”

I watched his face drain to a deathly white. Every word I spoke pierced straight through.

“You took her preferences and imposed them on me as if they were mine.”

Evan clutched his hair in anguish.

“No—it was just a momentary oversight… Megan, can we start over? I swear I’ll only be good to you from now on!”

“I don’t need it.”

I walked into the rain.

Not once did I look back.

—

After school started, I used that scholarship to raise myself all over again.

I threw away those faded, pilled old clothes.

I bought myself dresses with clean, fitted cuts. I learned to apply light makeup. I let down the ponytail I’d worn for years—the one that used to pull at my scalp until it ached—and got soft, loose waves.

I no longer needed to suppress my own preferences to please anyone.

On the Fourth of July, I posted my first Instagram post since starting college.

In the photo, I wore a red slip dress, standing on the reef by the ocean, the sea breeze blowing through my hair, smiling brightly and freely at the camera.

Within ten minutes of posting, my high school class group chat exploded.

Emma was the first to comment frantically below.

“Holy crap! Megan, you were this beautiful all along?! Your facial features are incredible!”

The class president followed with a sigh.

“You used to wear that baggy old uniform every day, always with your head down. None of us ever noticed. Now you look even more dazzling than your sister.”

“Confident girls are the most beautiful. Megan, right now you’re absolutely glowing!”

Looking at these comments, I simply sent back a smile emoji.

The truth was, I had never changed.

The reason I wasn’t dazzling before was only because I’d been buried under a thick layer of dust by years of neglect and suppression from the Conrad family.

Now, that layer of dust had been washed away by my own hands.

Four years later.

The graduate school recommendation list at the University of Miami was surrounded by a crowd.

My name was ranked first on the chemistry department’s direct PhD track list.

My roommate Leah was helping me pack up lab materials when she casually mentioned some gossip.

“Megan, I heard that your sister—she’s been buying luxury goods every day in New York, skipping class, failing so many courses she didn’t even get her diploma.”

“Your parents sold your hometown house just to send her abroad to get some gilded credentials. Now they’re begging for money in the relatives’ group chat every day, and nobody dares to respond.”

“And that Evan—I heard he dated a few girls in college. Every single one of them looked a little like you. He broke up with all of them.”

I archived the last set of experimental data and locked the cabinet.

“Really.”

I responded casually, not asking a single word more.

Whether their lives were mired in mud or had become a bottomless abyss—it had long since ceased to have anything to do with me.

I changed out of my lab coat and walked out of the laboratory building.

The sun was bright. The sea breeze carried a salty, damp scent against my face.

I drew a deep breath and strode toward the tree-lined path ahead.

My journey was the vast, boundless ocean of stars.

As for the swamp behind me—I’d already crossed it long ago.