Backup Girl No More: Adios to my V-card and My First Love (Brooklyn) novel Chapter 59

Chapter 5 

Chapter 5 

The air was thick with the heat of summer, heavy and stifling. But I–standing there, listening to her words–felt nothing but cold seeping into my bones. 

Nina’s voice was smooth, deliberate. Every syllable she spoke was like the careful edge of a knife, 

meant to cut clean and deep. 

“She knew all along, Pax. She knew exactly who you were. She was only with you for the money.” 

For a moment, Pax just stood there. 

Motionless. 

As if the accusation had stolen the breath from his lungs. 

His brows drew together, eyes searching mine, desperate for something–denial, maybe. 

Reassurance. 

“You… knew?” His voice was quiet, cautious, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear my answer. 

I met his gaze for a fleeting second before lowering my eyes. 

Yes. 

I knew. 

I had found out just yesterday. 

But the truth didn’t matter anymore. 

Because Pax didn’t believe me. 

A sharp, breathless laugh escaped him, bitter and hollow. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if trying to piece together something that no longer made sense. 

“Cecilia, I have to admit–you’re a damn good actress.” 

The irony nearly made me laugh. 

He was the one who had lied. 

18:02 

Backup Girl No More: Adios To My V–Card and My First Love 

45.3% 

Chapter 5 

The one who had spun an entire world of fiction, played a part so flawlessly that even I had believed 

1. it. 

And yet he was the one who was angry? 

“You were with me… for money?” His voice was hoarse, weighted with something thick and 

unreadable. 

“You really had me fooled.” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Two years. Two years, and you never slipped up. You must’ve been laughing at me this whole time.” 

I said nothing. 

Because what was there to say? 

Pax had already decided on the truth he wanted to believe. 

He thought he had me figured out. Thought he had pulled back the curtain and exposed the person I 

really was. 

And in a way, he wasn’t entirely wrong. 

Yes, I loved money. 

Loved it enough to work myself into exhaustion, to count every single dollar as if my life depended 

on it. 

That I had been saving, clawing my way toward an escape, so I can afford my studies abroad. To finish the education I had been forced to abandon. 

And through it all, these past two years, he had been playing his own role to perfection. 

The struggling man. The devoted lover. The boy who had nothing. 

Every meal he cooked, every dime he counted, every carefully constructed illusion–he had played the part so well. 

And I? 

I had never once asked for more than he gave.