Just a substitute.
Everyone in high society was waiting for the day I came to my senses: crying, making a scene, demanding a title, then getting thrown out.
I refused to play along.
He gave me a card, I used it. He gave me a house, I moved in. He gave me connections, I climbed higher.
Until one day, the lofty Mr. Fu asked me with red-rimmed eyes, “Do you even have a heart?”
I smiled. “Young Master Fu, I’m just a substitute. You didn’t actually fall for me, did you?”
Oh, right, I forgot to tell him: the trump card in my hand was powerful enough to bring down the entire Fu family.
