I broke up with my boyfriend who pretended to be poor

My boyfriend, Ethan, was broke, so I'd been supporting him. In two years together, he’d only gifted me a two-dollar scrunchie. Then I saw him casually give a Ferrari to some Instagram influencer. Turns out, he wasn't a penniless nobody, but a billionaire heir.

I worked nights at a bar to save up for a fancy watch he wanted. One night, I froze outside a VIP room, tray in hand. Inside was Ethan. For a second, I thought I was wrong. He wore a tailored suit, radiating an unfamiliar aura of wealth. This wasn't the Ethan I knew. He had his arm around a woman, a gorgeous influencer with millions of followers.

My breath hitched. I remembered the night before, Ethan holding me close, whispering, "Babe, I'm so lucky to have you. I love you so much."

The influencer dangled a car key, cooing, "Thank you so much, Ethan, for the Ferrari! I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

The room erupted in cheers. "Marry him!" someone yelled. "Kiss! Kiss!"

They kissed. I went numb, like I'd been struck by lightning. I handed my tray to a coworker and fled. In the bathroom, I sobbed, biting my hand. We’d been together for two years, and all he’d ever given me was that cheap scrunchie. He claimed his family was poor, his mom was gone, his dad had a stroke, and he had younger siblings to support. I felt for him, I understood his pressure. So I took care of him.

We lived in a tiny apartment. I paid the rent, utilities, and groceries. His paycheck supposedly went to his family. He’d even get insecure about his situation. "Babe, do you think I'm a loser for being broke?" he’d ask. "You'll stay with me, right? You won’t leave?"

I'd always reassure him. "It's okay. We'll work hard, and things will get better." He’d promise, "Babe, I'll make enough money to marry you, buy you a huge diamond ring, a big house, and you won't have to work anymore."

Thinking about his promises, my heart twisted. I left the bar, telling the manager I was sick. Back home, I cried myself to sleep. Ethan came home after midnight, crawled into bed, and hugged me. "Sorry, babe, the boss made us work late." He knew I had a second job but not where. I smelled perfume on him, my nails digging into my palms.

When I didn't respond, he kissed my cheek. "Babe, what's wrong? Are you mad I'm late?" I choked back tears, afraid he'd hear. "No, just not feeling well," I finally managed. Until I knew why he was lying, I had to pretend. He touched my forehead. "No fever. Go to sleep, babe. You'll feel better tomorrow." I clenched my jaw, tears silently streaming.

The next day, I left early for work, my eyes puffy. Ethan texted, Babe, why didn't you call in sick? I stared at his message, my vision blurring. I'm fine now, I replied. Eat breakfast, babe. Love you. I bit my lip, my heart bleeding. Ethan, if you loved me, you wouldn't be kissing other women. A Ferrari? I couldn't even dream of that.

That night, I went back to the bar. I knew he'd be there, claiming he was working late. He showed up, ordering bottl...