Chapter 3: Canary with a Plan

That afternoon, I scheduled an abortion and bought a plane ticket for a week later.

The same day as the wedding.

These next few days, the sugar daddy would send living expenses. I could still get a bit more cash.

Since they wanted to expose everything and humiliate me at the wedding—

Why shouldn’t I run away first and turn their script into a joke?

After all, being a full-time canary these years, I’ve saved up quite a bit.

Especially lately, my savings doubled.

I used to wonder why Ethan kept forgetting to transfer money, always doing it twice.

Now the mystery was solved: Ethan sent it once, and his brother Ryan sent it again.

I gently touched my little savings account.

The cold glow of my phone screen reflected on my face as I scrolled through the transaction history. My fingers brushed the bank card in my wallet, a tangible symbol of every humiliating gift, every night spent playing their perfect pet. That account meant freedom—first month’s rent, a bus ticket, maybe even a crappy used car if I stretched it.

I got involved with Ethan in college.

Natalie Prescott was my college roommate.

She loved pulling pranks that ruined people’s lives.

Back in high school, she had a rich friend chase after an ordinary girl.

Every day, showering her with roses, luxury stuff, and designer bags, nonstop.

The girl had never seen anything like it and fell for him fast.

On the eve of the SATs, Natalie had her friend dump the girl.

Because of the breakup, the girl, who used to have great grades, bombed her exams.

Afterwards, she jumped off a building and ended up in a coma.

I remember hearing about that girl. She was a year ahead of me—after the breakup, she never came back to school. My stomach twisted with horror even then, but Natalie just laughed it off like it was nothing.

Natalie happily went to college and became my roommate.

She set her sights on me, the girl juggling three part-time jobs just to get by.

I worked three jobs a day because I was a broke campus beauty with a gambling dad, a dead mom, and a sick grandma.

This time, I became her new game.

Ethan was the leading man she carefully picked for me.

Flagstaff State’s math genius, the campus heartthrob whose candid photos could get hundreds of thousands of likes on Instagram.

He was also the eldest son of the Grant family, with a future set in stone.

She had Ethan chase after me, making me his girlfriend.

According to Natalie’s script, Ethan would spoil me with money.

Once I got used to all the luxury, he’d dump me, leaving me to crash and burn.

Ethan really was good to me.

He gave me endless gifts, pitied my background, wouldn’t let me work, and surprised me every day.

But I’m a hoarder mouse.

No matter how much money Ethan gave me, I saved every cent.

The jewelry he gifted me—I never wore it, just sold it on eBay for a good price. The Tiffany bracelet Ethan gave me? Gone for rent money.

I’m terrified of being broke, and my self-worth is low.

Money—the more I hoard, the safer I feel.

Besides, I’m not stupid. I could sense Ethan was just playing along.

Every time we held hands, I never missed the fleeting mockery in his eyes.

I didn’t know why he confessed to me if he didn’t like me.

But he really was dumb and rich.

I had to save more—opportunities like this don’t come twice.

We dated like ordinary couples: hugged, kissed.

In winter, I crashed in the library just to save on heating. My hands always smelled like burnt coffee and lemon cleaner from the diner. Still, I knitted him a scarf as a gift.

The day my grandma got seriously ill, I asked Ethan for an expensive birthday present for the first time.

I remember Ethan was stunned at first, then smiled.

I didn’t miss the wild joy and playfulness that flashed in his eyes—like a snake finally showing its fangs.

They thought I must have been spoiled rotten and would fall apart.

Everything was going according to their plan.

The next day, Ethan brought up breaking up.

Natalie waited eagerly to see me fall apart after the breakup, making a scene, pestering Ethan, acting pathetic.

But she found I was still the same—working when I should, going to class when I should, going back to my simple life.

Just a bit more relaxed, cutting down from three jobs to two a day.

Sometimes, I could add sausage and an egg to my ramen.

And have a bottle of chocolate milk after meals.

I even gained three pounds.

I didn’t beg him to get back together, nor was I heartbroken over Ethan.

I even deleted all of Ethan’s contacts after the breakup.

Nothing went as she expected, so she threw a tantrum, thinking the game was boring.

After that, she targeted me in the dorm.

Putting thumbtacks in my shoes.

Or pouring cold water on my comforter in winter.

Later, my dad gambled and owed the Grant family a huge debt.

To pay it back, he gave me to them as collateral.

That’s how I accidentally became Ethan’s canary.

Actually, I’d been planning to live well with him lately.

Ethan was always cold and distant, never touched me.

But starting this year, he suddenly began to kiss me.

That night, he came home drunk.

I helped him to the couch and made him some coffee.

He suddenly wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me into his lap, and gently kissed my lips.

I’d barely kissed before, and almost ran out of breath.

He chuckled softly. "So this is what it tastes like—sweet."

"Next time you kiss, remember to breathe."

That night, he let me taste the forbidden fruit for the first time.

After that, he liked to try all sorts of wild things with me.

He didn’t like using protection.

He liked to mess with me when the housekeeper and maids were around.

I could only bite my lip and try not to make a sound.

The more I held back, the more fun he had.

He had a habit: when we were together at night, he liked to make me say his name again and again.

"What’s my name?"

"Ethan, you’re Ethan."

"Wrong, say it again."

"What’s wrong with you, Ethan, mm..."

He suppressed the wildness in his eyes.

The more I called his name, the rougher he got.

He was a bit unhinged when he was like that—like a mad dog that needed to be handled just right.

But he liked to act spoiled, liked to kiss me, knew my stomach was weak, and made chicken soup to settle it.

On my birthday, he set off fireworks by the river all night.

As the fireworks painted the river in gold, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. For a second, I let myself believe it was real.

When I had nightmares, he would wake me up, gently hold me in his arms, and say, "Good girl, don’t be scared."

I gradually found myself liking him a little.

A few months ago, again, he pressed me onto the bed, refusing to use protection.

I asked, "What if I get pregnant?"

He kissed me. "Then have the baby, I’ll take care of it."

He was the one who proposed marriage.

That night, after everything ended, he leaned over me and said:

"Baby, don’t just be my girl anymore—be my wife."

Now that I think about it, from the very first time we slept together, it was no longer Ethan, but Ryan, wasn’t it?

And the proposal was just another cruel prank.

I really did want to have this child.

Now, it seems, there’s no point.

I stared at the ceiling that night, the hush of the air conditioner barely covering the sound of my ragged breathing. I'd spent so long on the outside looking in, wishing for a place in someone’s world, and when I finally got one, it was all smoke and mirrors. A twisted game I never agreed to play. My hands cradled my belly for just a moment, the tiniest hope flickering before I snuffed it out myself.