Fake dating my enemy, The playboy billionaire-Chapter 31: Rather sell my body

YIREN (PART 1

I storm back to my room, the heat of the argument still burning in my chest. How could he? How could Jun accuse me of playing some twisted game, like I’m manipulating my way through this? The nerve of him—accusing me of trying to seduce him just because I showed up in a bikini? I wasn’t even thinking about him. But now, every word he spat lingers, sharp and cutting.

"Asshole!" I mutter under my breath, slamming the door shut behind me. The sound echoes through the apartment like a final statement. "Ridiculous, arrogant... Ugh!"

I yank open my closet, grabbing the first large bag I can find, and start throwing clothes into it. My movements are jerky, fueled by pure frustration. I don’t even care what I’m packing—I just want to get out. My head feels like it’s going to explode from all the anger and hurt. I’m done. I quit.

As I zip open another drawer, there’s a knock at the door. My teeth clench.

"Go fuck yourself, asshole!" I scream at the door, not caring if he hears the crack in my voice. He doesn’t deserve my restraint. Not now. Not after all this.

"Yiren, open the door," Jun’s voice comes through, low and hard. He sounds as fed up as I am. "You can’t quit. Not after everything."

Quit? Like hell, I can’t.

Without thinking, I yank the door open so fast it startles him. I point a finger at his face, my eyes burning with tears I refuse to let fall. "Watch me."

His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. "You break the deal, you get nothing," he says, voice cold and cutting. "No money for your business. You won’t get a dime from me, Yiren. Not after this."

For a second, his words hit me harder than I expected. I need that money. For NING. For her baby. But the thought evaporates as quickly as it comes. I tighten my fist and glare up at him. "Shove your money up your ass!" My voice cracks. "I don’t need your pity at the cost of my self-respect! I’ll rather sell my body first."

His jaw twitches, but I slam the door in his face before he can say another word. I take a deep breath, trying to stop myself from crying, from letting him get under my skin. Again. I march back to the bed, grabbing more clothes, more things to stuff into the bag, as if I can pack away my anger and hurt along with them.

Then, my foot hits something hard under the bed. I stop, breath hitching in my throat. Crouching down, I pull out a dusty, worn carton. My hands tremble as I sit on the cold floor, staring at it. The box of memories and secrets—both beautiful and painful. It’s been years since I’ve touched it. Years since I’ve let myself remember.

Slowly, I open it. The first thing I see is an old photo album, its cover worn and frayed. I flip it open, and the first picture hits me like a punch to the gut—my mother, her smile so warm, her eyes full of light. She’s in the kitchen, cooking with me and NING.

My heart clenches. She’s guiding my tiny hands through one of her treasured recipes, her laughter still ringing in my ears even though she’s been gone for so long. My father had taken this picture. I can almost hear his voice, teasing us about the mess we were making.

Tears spill over before I can stop them, hot and uncontrollable. I flip through the album, each image more painful than the last. And there, in more than half of them, is Jun and me—our naughtiest selves, always causing trouble. I don’t even know why my mom liked him so much. Why she always invited him over.

We were a family back then. Whole and happy, even with that annoying boy in the background of every picture, just there to annoy me. It feels like a lifetime ago. A dream I can barely remember but can’t forget.

As I turn another page, something slips out from between the sheets of old photographs. A document, sealed in red—a legal document. I flip it open, and the title makes my stomach twist: Last Will and Testament.

It’s the will my father made in the hospital, after the accident, when he knew he didn’t have much time left.

His final words stare back at me, cold and impersonal in the text. I hate that he did this to us. I know he had hopes for me and NING. He had plans for our future, things he wanted us to do. But this? This is unfair. Completely unfair to strip one sister of her rights if the other fails.

I wipe at the tears, but they keep falling, relentless. NING’s face flashes in my mind—her bright smile, her hopeful eyes, her hand resting on her growing belly. She deserves a better life than this. She deserves more than me screwing everything up.

I shove the will aside and reach into the box again, pulling out something smaller, thinner. A medical file. My hand shakes as I hold it. I don’t want to see it again. I’ve known what’s inside for years, and seeing it now would feel like being stabbed all over again.

The cold, clinical diagnosis. The prognosis that has haunted me every day since I first heard it. The truth—buried deep inside me, hidden not just from NING, but from everyone. It’s been eating at me for years, tearing me apart piece by piece.

The tears come harder now, unstoppable. I hug the box to my chest, feeling like it’s the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart. The weight of everything—my family, my failures, my fear—it’s all pressing down on me, suffocating me.

I curl up on the cold floor, clutching the box like a lifeline. The tears keep flowing, and I can’t stop them. I don’t want to stop them. It hurts too much, and there’s no one here to help. No one who can fix this.

Eventually, exhaustion takes over, pulling me under. My tears lull me into sleep, the memories swirling in my mind, the weight of everything still pressing down on me, even as the darkness pulls me away from it all.