Chapter 5

The only part of that apartment I would actually miss was my writing corner.

A desk, a lamp, and my laptop. Yet, from this tiny corner, I had created countless stories.

I had loved writing since I was a kid, but Victoria always criticized it as a "waste of time," so I had put my dream on hold.

It wasn't until college, when I had more free time, that I picked up my pen again. Victoria was my very first reader.

Full of hope, I had asked her what she thought, hoping for a shred of praise.

But after reading it, she cold-heartedly said, "This is trash. Absolutely worthless."

"Ethan, you have zero talent for writing. Give up."

But because I truly loved writing, it was the first time I ignored her.

I kept going. And surprisingly, I started making a name for myself online.

When I received my very first royalty payment, I proudly showed Victoria: "Look! Someone paid for my writing. I made $50!"

I wanted to prove to her that people actually read my work, that they were willing to pay for it.

I wanted to prove I wasn't as pathetic as she claimed.

How did Victoria react?

She skimmed my story with lightning speed, then instantly declared: "Utter garbage."

She looked down at me, her eyes filled with thinly veiled contempt. "There are just too many gullible people online. They probably tipped you out of pity because you're a novice."

"Did you honestly think you wrote something good?"

Every single word was a blade, popping the fragile bubble of my hope and leaving a festering, painful wound.

Since then, no matter how much money I made from my writing, I never told her another word.

I took a deep breath, preparing to pack up my laptop, when I noticed it was already powered on.

I opened the screen. The draft on my desktop was completely gone!

That was a 100,000-word manuscript. Every single word had been carefully crafted, representing months of blood, sweat, and tears.

I checked the recycling bin, searched my Microsoft Word history.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Only one person would do this...

Suddenly, Victoria’s voice drifted from behind me. She was leaning against the doorframe, her eyes dark and unreadable:

"I deleted your trash novel. It seems this worthless hobby of yours has been giving you delusions of grandeur."

"You didn't honestly think you could leave me and survive on your own by writing this garbage, did you?"