Come With Me Toward Spring

About this story

I dated the young heir of the Giang Group for three years. His family always mocked me openly or subtly: “You and he are too different in status and position.” “Let me give you some advice: you two don’t belong to the same world—if you really love him that much.” “When he gets married, you can be his mistress.” I couldn’t agree with the values of the rich, and I was completely exhausted by the endless entanglement. I texted the young heir to break up with him. As a result, the young heir—who had been in Melbourne the day before—booked a night flight back to the capital the next day to stop me: “Why?” I casually made up an excuse: “I have someone new.” The young heir’s eyes immediately reddened, and he gripped my wrist, trembling. “Then can I be your mistress?”