He Faked Poverty, Tricked Me Into an Abortion, All for a Bet Chapter 01

He Faked Poverty, Tricked Me Into an Abortion, All for a Bet Chapter 01

I got pregnant in the poorest year of our lives.

Ethan Walker borrowed the money for my abortion from a short-term loan app.

While I was recovering, the most nourishing food I ate was frozen chicken drumsticks that cost a dollar each at a discount grocery store.

It hurt to watch Ethan work temporary construction jobs during the day and ride his bike around delivering food at night.

To ease the pressure on him, I rested for only three days before taking a part-time job serving the private suites at the exclusive members-only club where my friend worked.

“This opening is hard to get. The hourly pay is good, and the tips are even better. I only recommended you because I know how badly you need the money. Don’t worry. All you have to do is bring the guests whatever food and drinks they order.”

That night, I saw Ethan sitting at the center of a private suite, surrounded by a crowd of people.

They had ordered seven or eight bottles of red wine that cost twenty-five thousand dollars each.

Ethan casually handed one of the bottle-service hostesses a watch worth an estimated two hundred and twenty thousand dollars.

When the party finally ended in the early hours of the morning, he wiped the lipstick marks from his face, picked up the helmet beside him, and said he was going home.

“Ethan, you’re seriously still playing poor for that factory girl? Pretending to be a delivery guy and calling it love? Dump her already. If she ever finds out who you really are, she’ll latch onto you and never let go.”

Ethan gave a scornful laugh.

“She’ll never find out.”

I stood silently in the shadows with my head lowered, my fingers slowly curling into fists.

My abortion had cost six hundred dollars.

The food I had eaten during the three days afterward had cost forty dollars altogether.

Six hundred and forty dollars, the price of a single fruit platter in that private suite.

Apparently, that was all I was worth.

…

Ethan got home before I did.

He called just as I finished changing out of my uniform and collected my pay for the night.

Three hundred dollars.

A full month at the factory brought me only twenty-four hundred dollars.

“If we’re short-staffed again, will you come back?” my friend asked.

I hesitated for two seconds, then shook my head.

My grandmother had taught me from childhood that money should be earned through honest work.

The money had come too easily, and something about it made me uneasy.

“All right.” My friend shrugged and did not push me. “Be careful on your way home. Text me when you get there.”

I nodded and left the club.

Late-night buses always took forever to arrive, and after standing at the stop for so long in the cold wind, my head ached and my stomach cramped.

Ethan had already called me eight times.

When the ninth call came, I finally answered.

“Where did you go? Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

His voice was sharp with panic.

“You went out without telling me. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

I said nothing.

Ethan seemed to realize that he had lost control of his emotions.

After taking several deep breaths, he forced his voice to soften.

“Where are you? Let me come get you and take you home, okay?”

The bus pulled into the stop, and I climbed aboard and tapped my transit card.

“No need. I’ll be home soon,” I said quietly before ending the call.

There was no traffic along the night route.

The moment I stepped off the bus, I looked up and saw Ethan waiting for me at the stop in his dusty delivery jacket.

The dim yellow streetlight fell across his sharply defined face.

The truth was, he had never looked like a delivery driver.

Even in that uniform, he looked like a model in an ad for the delivery app.

I had always assumed that was because I loved him and thought he looked good in anything, whether it was an old T-shirt and worn-out sneakers or hair crushed into a mess beneath his helmet.

Everything about him had looked beautiful to me, and everything about him had made me love him.

When Ethan saw me, he said nothing.

He simply took the canvas bag from my shoulder, gently touched my cheek, and wrapped both hands tightly around my freezing fingers.

“You must be hungry. I bought you fried rice and added an extra fried egg.”

When money was at its tightest, even adding an egg was a luxury.

That extra egg was always for me, and Ethan always asked the restaurant to fry the edges until they were crisp, exactly the way I liked them.

He could never bear to take even one bite and always saved the whole thing for me.

Those memories had once been among the most precious things I had.

I had given Ethan all the love in my heart, believing that no matter how difficult or exhausting life became, I could endure anything as long as we were together.

But now I understood.

In Ethan’s eyes, it did not matter whether it was me, the love I had given him, or even the child I had carried.

All of it combined was worth no more than a fruit platter.