Chapter1

I was a broke barista worrying about rent—until I inherited $120 million from my uncle, who “accidentally” died and left me everything.

My new boyfriend was passionate, my professor friend was gentle and reliable—I thought fate was finally paying me back.

Then came the influencer boyfriend’s jealous meltdowns, secretly installing a tracker on my phone. And the gentle professor, who kept urging me to play a gacha game he designed.

I spent $47,000 on that game, chasing a limited-edition card he called “rare and precious.”

A programmer friend checked the backend code. Long silence. “Drop rate is zero. You were never meant to get it.”

—And last night, he told me: “Persistence itself is a form of practice.”

Now I’ve decided to start by looking into exactly what kind of “practice” my mentor has been conducting.

……

My name is Mia. Yesterday, I was a barista worrying about rent.

Today, a lawyer told me I’d inherited one hundred and twenty million dollars.

I stared at my phone, frozen, while the lawyer on the other end calmly recited clause after clause.

He said my Uncle Thomas had passed away, and I was his sole heir.

I couldn’t even remember what he looked like.

One hundred and twenty million. I pinched my thigh hard. It hurt.

This wasn’t a dream. It was reality—a reality that hit me like a sledgehammer.

“Miss Mia, are you listening? Do you need me to repeat the amount?” the lawyer’s voice came through.

“No… no need.” I heard my own voice trembling. “I just… I need to sit down.”

A week later, I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of a luxury high-rise apartment in the city center, looking down at the matchbox-sized traffic below.

When I hung up the phone, I stood in the greasy kitchen of the café for a long time. One hundred and twenty million. My first thought was: I’ll never have to worry about next month’s rent again. Then the second thought came crashing over me like a wave: I could buy this café. I could buy the whole street. The thought was so scorching it made my heart race and my palms sweat. It wasn’t fear. It was something hotter, more dizzying. Good God, this joke had gone too far.

A week later, I stood at the windows of my new apartment. Everything below looked like toys.

My two old suitcases leaned against the wall, completely out of place in this gleaming space.

The realtor who’d shown me around handed me the keys, beaming.

“Congratulations, Miss Mia! A brand-new life starts today!”

I took the keys, the cold metal pressing into my palm.

A brand-new life.

I took a deep breath and forced a smile at my reflection in the glass.

Whatever else, being rich felt damn good!

That evening, I went to the bar downstairs. I needed some real human sounds. The moment I sat down, a man walked over with a drink.

“By yourself?” He had a bright smile and wore casual clothes that clearly cost a fortune. “I’m Daniel.”

“Mia.” I shook his outstretched hand.

“Travel blogger.” He waved his phone, showing me a photo of himself smiling at the edge of a cliff. “You look… different from everyone else here.”

“I just moved in.”

“Wow, welcome to the clouds.” He snapped his fingers and called over a server. “Get this lady the same as mine. Put it on my tab.”

I can’t remember what that drink tasted like. I only remember Daniel talking like the wind—fast and entertaining. He told stories about getting lost in the Sahara, about chasing off a coyote with his tripod. I listened, gradually relaxing. He asked what I used to do.

“Barista.”

“Impressive.” He nodded. “That’s an art. Way more real than fake-smiling at a camera.” His words hit something deep inside me. We talked until late, and he walked me to the elevator in the lobby.

“Free tomorrow?” He looked at me. “I’ll take you somewhere with a view a hundred times better than this.”

The next evening, he didn’t take me to any observation deck. A black sedan drove us to a private airstrip. The helicopter rotor’s noise was deafening. I gripped the edge of my seat.

“Don’t be scared!” Daniel shouted in my ear, buckling my seatbelt for me. “Hold on to me!”

When the helicopter lifted off and the whole city spread out below like a glowing painting, I covered my mouth and forgot to breathe. Daniel held my hand; his palm was warm. “Like it, Mia?” The wind was loud, but his voice came through crystal clear.

I nodded frantically, tears streaming down my face for no reason. He smiled and kissed my forehead.

The days that followed flew by like someone had hit fast-forward.

Daniel brought me into his world: VIP previews at fashion brands, small parties on yachts, private rooms at Michelin-starred restaurants.

He always had his arm around my waist, introducing me to everyone: “This is my girl, Mia.”

His fans flooded the livestream chat, saying we were perfect together.

I floated through it all in a daze, thinking maybe fate really was starting to make things up to me.

Until one time, after another successful livestream party, we went back to his place.

The champagne made my head a little fuzzy, but I was in a good mood.

Daniel wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on top of my head.

“You were amazing today, babe.” His voice had a husky, tipsy edge. “My fans said they absolutely love you.”

“Really?” I smiled, leaning back against him.

“Of course.” He paused, his arms tightening slightly. “But, Mia, there’s one thing… next time during the livestream, could you not smile so much with that photographer guy, Mark? The camera caught it a few times, and my DMs… some of the comments weren’t great.”

His tone was still gentle, even a little wounded. But my body stiffened almost imperceptibly. Outside the window, the city lights blazed bright, but I suddenly felt a chill creeping up my spine.