Driven Crazy by Regret After Getting Revenge

Debt collectors showed up at our doorstep when my mother's company went bankrupt. They said they would break one of my mom's legs if the money was not repaid within three days.

I swallowed my pride and went to my girlfriend Jasmine, who had a net worth of over a hundred million dollars. I begged her to lend me $500,000 to get my family through this crisis.

It was the first time I had ever asked her for money.

She frowned but still agreed, saying she would have her finance department transfer it to me that afternoon.

I waited by my phone, refreshing my bank balance over and over, from daylight until nightfall.

However, she suddenly went completely silent, ignoring my calls and messages.

Anxious and restless, I tried to comfort myself, telling myself she might just be busy with something urgent.

Still, saving my mom's leg could not wait. In the end, I had no choice but to take the watch my father left me before he died and bring it to an auction.

I did not expect to run into Jasmine at the auction house with her childhood sweetheart, Lionel.

She was spending money like it meant nothing, bidding on an expensive painting for him.

The final price of that painting was exactly $500,000.

She had not forgotten about me.

It was just that my desperate emergency meant less to her than the man she truly cared about.

"Congratulations, Miss Lowe! With a bid of $500,000, you've won the painting titled 'Distant Mountains' by the young artist, Elias Xane!"

Applause filled the room as camera flashes focused on the elegant, cool-tempered woman seated in the front row.

Jasmine Lowe rose to her feet and personally handed the painting to Lionel Shaw, who sat beside her.

Lionel's eyes lit up with a bright smile. "Jasmine, thank you. I can't believe you actually bought it for me just because I casually mentioned I liked it!"

Jasmine looked at him. There was a rare hint of indulgent affection in her eyes. "As long as you like it, I'm happy."

They looked perfect together, a match made in heaven.

People around them whispered among themselves, watching the pair with envy.

No one noticed me in the corner, wearing a pair of jeans faded almost to white from going through too many washes.

When I could not reach Jasmine earlier, I tried to comfort myself, telling myself that perhaps she was just too busy.

She was too busy to remember me and too busy to remember my mother's leg, which was hanging by a thread.

When I saw the tenderness in Jasmine's eyes, a bone-deep chill spread through me.

She was not busy, nor had she forgotten.

She simply believed that my mother's leg meant far less than the passing interest of the man she truly cared about.

My chest tightened until it hurt to breathe.

My eyes burned, but I stubbornly refused to let even a hint of weakness show.

Just then,