I Refuse this Late

I loved Stella for five years, and we were even engaged.

However, she never helped when my grandfather was dying, all because the adopted son of my family suggested that she should use the opportunity to put me through adversity—so that I would toughen up.

After my grandfather died helplessly, I toughened up just as she hoped for, no longer relying on her for everything.

Naturally, I no longer loved her anymore either.

As I limped back to town, I became a joke to the rich and the privileged.

They all said the heir apparent the Sullivans had brought back—the one who'd been lost and wandering since childhood—wasn't much in terms of ability, but had a nasty temper. He actually dared to butt heads with the adopted son who was already working in the company, even went so far as to threaten their parents. And what did he get for it? He ran away from home with nothing to his name, so broke he had to borrow even a few thousand dollars.

Some of the rich brats who used to humiliate me somehow caught wind of my situation. Bold as ever, they swaggered around me with a huge entourage and started snapping photos of me with their phones, not even pretending to be subtle.

I didn't bother raising my hand to cover my face and save my dignity, as the loan sharks already took it all.

Ever since I was forced to go down on my knees and slap myself, my heart had been dead calm.

John Sullivan—the boy who had a chip on his shoulder and raised hell everywhere to disguise the inferiority he felt, was dead.

And it was Stella Lewis as well as the rest of the Sullivans who killed him.

Several black MPVs came bounding down the road just then, not caring who was in their way.

And seeing the car plate, those rich brats scrambled to flee.

The leading MPV somehow had an air of modesty, just as I was well aware who was inside.

Stella Lewis herself—head of the Lewis family and my fiancee.

Though I paused for a moment when I saw the black MPV, I soon turned to take a detour.

As the door opened, her secretary alighted, dressed sharply in a suit as she walked up to me.

Still, she was taken aback when she saw my face and clothing.

I certainly know that I was a mess—I was still wearing black shirt I wore for Granpa's funeral, but it was now wrinkled and covered in footprints.

My cheeks were still swollen from yesterday's slaps, while my trembling fingers had dirt in every fingernail.

Even my one shoe was something I had to get from a trash chute, and the other foot was bare and red from the cold.

Still, the secretary quickly hid her surprise and gestured at the MPV. "Ms. Lewis is asking for you."

"No. I'm going home," I rasped hoarsely through my aching throat, keeping my head