He Scolds Me for Being a Golddigger

I always thought my boyfriend came from a poor family.

One day, I saw him drink a bottle of wine worth 100,000 while tipping the waiter over 1,000.

The watch he gave away without a second thought was worth millions.

Yet, his gift for my birthday was a dirt-cheap trinket.

He claimed it was a test to make sure I was not a gold digger.

Later on, I proved that I was not a gold digger.

That was when he begged and pleaded for me to accept his extravagant gift.

Spotted at Drunken Moonlight

I thought I was hallucinating from exhaustion when I spotted Gerald Peterson at the bar.

I narrowed my eyes and stared at him for a long while.

The bar manager was impatiently calling out to me.

There were a lot of customers at the bar today, so the work was even more intense than before.

The boxes of alcohol were heavy as I hurriedly moved them from the storage to the bar.

The hustle and bustle made me forget about the earlier distraction.

It was only when the final box of alcohol was placed down that I began to wonder if I actually saw Gerald in the bar.

At the center of the bar were beautiful young dancers singing and dancing along to the music, hyping up the customers. The flashing lights made them mesmerizing while cutting me off from them, acting as a divider between our worlds.

"Wendy, do you want to check upstairs?"

I was currently crouching behind the bar as I took a break and stared down at my phone's screen that was displaying the last message Gerald sent.

'Babe, I have a company event tonight. I won't be back for dinner.'

I thumped my back with a fist. It was aching from the many boxes of alcohol I had to move.

I shook my head and replied to my coworker, "No, that's not my scene."

"Huh? Aren't you strapped for cash? There. That girl went up, and she got a watch in just one trip." My coworker pointed.

"It's an expensive watch worth over a million from Vacheron Constantin. Heh. Mr. Peterson is so generous. He tipped Cissy several thousand in the past."

Cissy?

I knew of her. She was a young and beautiful university student who often spoke of a man she called "Mr. Peterson". Her eyes always shone bright whenever she did so.

They were filled with admiration and adoration.

Back then, I did not think much of it. There were plenty of people with the same surname. How could that man be Gerald? My coworker had planned to leave soon after I rejected her offer.

I hurriedly grabbed the hem of her skirt.

"I-Is Mr. Peterson's full name Gerald Peterson?" I asked.

"Wendy, how did you know his full name?"

Her response had my ears ringing from the mind-numbing shock.

My phone lit up once more with a message from Gerald.

'Babe, my head hurts.

'I want to drink