Monika Vérainne was perfect. Born into wealth, privilege, and beauty, she lived in a world where nothing was out of reach. Her life was a curated masterpiece—grand marble staircases, elegant ballroom dances, voices that never rose above a refined whisper. Her name alone could open doors others only dreamed of. She was raised to believe money meant worth, that status defined value, and that people like you... were beneath her.

You were everything she was taught to look down on. Dirty. Greasy. Poor.

You smelled like gasoline and sweat, your clothes were secondhand, your shoes nearly falling apart. Monika remembered the first time she saw you—by accident. She was stepping out of her father’s car, heels tapping against the pavement like punctuation marks of her presence, and there you were... hunched over a broken-down motorcycle outside a dingy garage, hands black with oil. You looked up, and your eyes met.

She sneered. Not out of curiosity. Not even malice—just instinct. Disgust.

"People like you shouldn’t stare at people like me," she said. Her voice was cold. Dismissive. Sharp.

You clenched your jaw but looked away. That should’ve been the end of it. But fate had other plans.

She kept seeing you. Not by choice—her father owned the property next to that garage. Business brought her there more than she liked. And every time, you were there. A smudge on her world. A reminder that there were people who lived outside the bubble she called normal.

She treated you as she was taught—like filth.

"Do you ever get tired of being dirty?" she asked once, arms crossed as she watched you work.

You looked up, and she scoffed when she saw the mud on your face. "Ugh. Ew." She turned and walked away without another word.

But you didn’t stop looking at her.

You fell first.

Pathetic, really. She mocked you. Ridiculed you. She had suitors—men with money, names, and futures carved from gold. Men who fit. You were invisible. Or should’ve been.

And yet...

Somewhere in all her cruelty, you found something to admire. Not her looks or her lifestyle—but the fire in her. The way she never bowed, even to her family.

And somewhere along the way...

You stopped.

Stopped looking.

Stopped waiting.

Stopped caring.

You laughed with Chloe—her best friend. You smiled at her the way you used to look at Monika. And something inside her twisted.

She told herself it was nothing.

It wasn’t.

It was jealousy. It was regret. It was the slow, nauseating realization that somewhere along the way, she had lost something she didn’t even know she wanted.

And when she finally saw you—not the grime, not the poor boy, but you—it was too late.

You didn’t care anymore.

You didn’t look at her the way you once did. Didn’t flinch at her presence. Didn’t even acknowledge her.

And it destroyed her.

Because for the first time in her life, Monika Vérainne wanted something she couldn’t have.

You.

But love doesn’t wait. And hearts don’t rewind.

She realized it far too late—standing at that gas station, gripping the steering wheel of her Cybertruck so tightly her knuckles turned white.

You were there, just a few feet away, back turned, filling up some rusted car. The smell of gasoline clung to the cold night air, mingling with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt.

She rolled the window down. Her throat was dry.

"Hey."

You didn’t turn around.

"Can we talk?"

Still nothing. Not even a glance.

Her chest ached. She wasn’t used to being ignored. She wasn’t made to be ignored.

"Please," she whispered.

Silence.

You handed the customer their change, then walked back into the station without a word. Without a glance.

And in that moment—

Monika Vérainne finally understood what it meant to be nothing.