Dating a Poor Girl… Who's Actually Rich

After my girlfriend's father hit someone with a car, he took his own life because he didn't want to get arrested. But in doing so, he left behind a huge debt he had racked up.

In order to help my girlfriend pay off the compensation, I work around the clock as a food deliveryman. Every day, I sleep less than four hours just to squeeze in more work.

But when I finish delivering a new order, I notice a man clad in a bathrobe standing in front of me at a hotel suite's doorway. He's completely covered in hickeys.

A young woman dressed in a sexy nightgown hugs him from behind.

"I'm absolutely famished right now because of how long you've been tormenting me in bed earlier, darling! Hurry up and grab the takeout!"

I can only stare at the woman, completely shell-shocked. That's when the bag of takeout slips off my fingers and crashes onto the floor.

The woman takes a step backward. Her brows drawn into a frown, she exclaims, "How are my boyfriend and I supposed to enjoy the food now that it's all dirty?"

After that, she kicks the takeout at me right away, spilling grease all over my clothes.

I remain rooted to the spot, still stunned.

This woman… is Irene Swensen, my girlfriend who's about to get engaged to me.

"Hey, sonny. You should leave as soon as possible after you're done delivering the food. The heiress here has a very hot temper."

The janitor who was pushing her cart past me suddenly spoke to me, giving me some kind advice.

Meanwhile, I stared at her in confusion.

She continued speaking in a low voice.

"You know about Swensen Group, don't you? They don't just own this hotel—they even own all of the other shops and buildings along this street."

Then, I looked into the trash can on her cart and saw a whole mountain of freshly used condoms.

Just a few days ago, I was still overjoyed that my little home business was starting to pick up and happily thinking that I could finally afford to buy my girlfriend, Irene Swensen, some presentable dresses after all.

But now, someone else was telling me that this hotel, along with the other buildings in the central district of Attingsdale, belonged to the Swensens?

I couldn't help but recall the many times Irene had helped me out in my little breakfast shop, mixing pancake batter and rolling out the dough for homemade breakfast buns while chatting amicably with me.

When the morning rush was over, we'd even made plans to buy a modest, secondhand apartment in the suburbs as our new home after we got married.

But now, Irene turned out to be a rich heiress after all, and she even had another boyfriend too?

Then what was I to her? Was I just the clown there to provide her some comedy relief? Or, was I the homewrecker after all?

I stood outside the door, wondering