Ficorpio
Chapter 1
You stared at your phone and typed at lightning speed.
“They’re just sneakers. I spend more than that on afternoon tea.”
The second you hit send, you switched apps and went back to happily chewing your way through a half-price plate of vegetables in the dining hall.
Maintaining your image as a fabulously wealthy heiress came at a price.
Specifically, you’d been living on pickles and discounted cafeteria food for the past month.
Your online boyfriend, “E,” was a carefully selected struggling college boy. He was gentle, a little insecure, and adorably stubborn about being poor. Perfect for satisfying your role-playing fantasy.
You forged bank-transfer screenshots, stole socialite photos from public accounts, and perfected the art of extravagant affection. You thought you could keep the game going forever.
Then he sent you a message.
“Baby, I want to introduce you to some of my childhood friends. Can I add you to a group chat?”
You agreed without giving it much thought.
You assumed they were all playing the same harmless game. But when you entered the chat and found it packed with genuine heirs calling you “sis-in-law,” you tightened your grip on the discounted meal voucher you’d just fought to claim.
That was when you finally understood what it meant to take a lie too far.
Online, you were a glamorous elite heiress from Beijing, the mysterious successor to a powerful family, and the kind of ruthless female executive who could make an entire boardroom tremble with a single look.
In reality, you were Chloe Bennett, a need-based aid student at A University. You calculated the cost of every cafeteria meal, waited in line for the communal showers, and couldn’t even buy a new T-shirt without stalking secondhand listings until the price dropped.
Your online boyfriend went by “E.”
His profile said he was a college student. His picture was blurry, and his messages were always soft and sweet, threaded with the stubborn pride and quiet insecurity of someone struggling to make ends meet.
He seemed like the perfect innocent campus heartthrob: handsome, poor, and easy to spoil.
Your entire relationship ran on your acting skills.
“Baby, my shift was exhausting today,” he once messaged. “My legs are killing me.”
You replied instantly.
“That breaks my heart. I’m sending you fifty thousand. Quit the job. I’ll take care of you.”
Then you opened a photo-editing app, forged a transfer confirmation, and sent him the screenshot.
“My bank put a limit on the transaction. I’ll have my finance department issue you a check tomorrow.”
His answer came almost immediately.
“Thank you, baby! You’re so good to me. I promise I’ll make enough money to pay you back someday!”
You gazed at the message in deep satisfaction, almost dizzy with the thrill of it.
Chapter 2
As long as you never had to send any real money, you could remain his untouchable queen forever.
Fortunately, he seemed to forget about the transfer afterward and never actually asked you for the money.
The two of you maintained this fake but incredibly satisfying relationship for six months.
Then, one day, another message arrived.
“Baby, some of my childhood friends heard I have a girlfriend. They’re insisting on meeting you. Should I start a group chat?”
At that moment, you were squatting outside the communal showers, waiting for your turn with a basin full of laundry in your arms. Soap suds clung to your fingertips as you casually typed back.
“Sure. It’ll give me a chance to assess the quality of your social circle. I don’t attend low-level gatherings.”
His response was immediate.
“Don’t worry. They’re all close friends.”
A second later, your phone vibrated.
You had been added to a group called the Global Asset Management Committee.
The name was so absurdly pretentious it sounded like something a pack of teenagers had invented after watching too many business dramas.
You scoffed and began searching for a reaction image of someone casually tossing a stack of cash onto a table. You needed to establish dominance before anyone questioned your status.
Before you could find the right one, messages began appearing.
Nora Sinclair: “Well, well. Is this the girlfriend E’s been hiding from us for the past six months?”
Julian Ashford: “Hello, sis-in-law! E said your family is in the energy business. Oil prices in the Middle East have been fluctuating lately. Any insider information you can share?”
Your hand froze on the shower faucet.
Julian Ashford?
Unless you were mistaken, the vice president of A University’s Student Union had exactly the same name.
A coincidence.
It had to be a coincidence.
There had to be plenty of people named Julian Ashford.
Forcing yourself to remain calm, you typed, “It’s only a small family business. Nothing worth mentioning. We merely control the economic lifelines of several countries.”
The group fell silent.
A moment later, new messages appeared.
Ethan Sterling: “That’s quite a claim, sis-in-law.”
Ethan Sterling: “I heard you’re planning to acquire my family’s company. I was wondering whether you intended to pay in cash or arrange an equity swap.”
The name hit you like a brick.
Ethan Sterling wasn’t merely familiar. Seeing his name there was terrifying.
He was one of the most influential students at A University, president of the Student Union, and the only son of the private university’s most powerful trustee.
Rumor had it that if Ethan decided he didn’t like someone, that person would vanish from campus by the next morning.
More importantly, his profile picture showed him from behind during a speech in the university auditorium.
Chapter 3
You recognized the photograph because you had been sitting in the audience that day.
So Ethan Sterling was E’s roommate!
This wasn’t a coincidence.
You had stumbled into a chat full of actual heirs.
With trembling fingers, you opened E’s profile. His posts were only visible for three days, and the sole photograph showed a blurred motorcycle.
You had always assumed it was a random image he’d found online.
Now that you looked again, the motorcycle seemed suspiciously similar to a rare luxury model with only three in existence worldwide.
The group kept tagging you.
Ethan Sterling: “Why have you gone quiet, sis-in-law?”
Ethan Sterling: “Are my family’s assets too insignificant to be worth acquiring?”
Ethan Sterling: “hurt-and-offended.jpg”
You stared at the reaction image in disbelief.
Weren’t you all supposed to be role-playing?
Why were these people using real money?
You didn’t dare reply. You hurriedly switched out of the group chat and opened the search bar.
You typed:
Julian Ashford. Nora Sinclair.
The results nearly made your heart stop.
Julian Ashford—the heir to the Ashford five-star hotel empire, currently studying finance at A University.
Nora Sinclair—the hottest racing driver in the city’s elite circles, from a family in real estate.
And “Ethan,” the man you had constantly ordered around, demanded money from, and sweetly called “big brother”…
You hadn’t even gotten around to searching his real identity when your private messages lit up.
Ethan: Baby, why did you stop talking? Did they scare you?
Ethan: Don’t mind Qin Xun. He’s always running his mouth. If you don’t like him, I’ll make him leave the group.
You stared at those two lines. Your phone felt as hot as a freshly baked sweet potato.
Make him leave the group? Make the university trustee’s son leave the group?
Who the hell were you dating?
Your fingers trembled as you typed back.
You: No… I’m at a spa. My hands are covered in essential oils, so it’s hard to type.
Ethan: Oh, I see. What do you want for dinner tonight? I booked that Michelin three-star restaurant you mentioned in passing last time.
You pressed a hand to your forehead and sighed.
The last time, desperate to maintain your wealthy-girlfriend persona, you had stolen a photo of a Michelin restaurant from social media and sent it to him with the caption:
The truffle here is only average. Barely edible.
He had replied:
My baby has such refined tastes. I’ll take you somewhere even better next time.
You had assumed he was bragging.
Apparently, he had meant every word.
You hurriedly refused.
You: No need! I have to attend a… tens-of-billions business negotiation tonight. I won’t have time.
Ethan: Tens of billions? You work so hard, baby. That’s perfect, though. I’m in A City too. Should I come pick you up?
He was in A City?
You suddenly remembered that three days earlier, he had asked which city you were in.