A Seven-Year Obedience Test Chapter 01
After my boyfriend confessed he was the heir to an old Manhattan investment banking dynasty, I found a group chat on his phone.
It was called:
【Claire Observation Log】
Ethan, his younger brother Liam, his best friend Derek, and his childhood friend Vivian were all in it.
My fingers trembled as I opened the chat.
Liam: What was her reaction when you told her who you are?
Derek: Probably threw herself at you, right? Gold diggers like her—I’ve seen plenty. Wouldn’t surprise me if she already knew your identity and was just hanging on.
Vivian: Don’t worry. Ethan’s kept a record of every penny she’s spent over the years. She won’t get a thing.
Ethan: Vivian’s the smart one. She warned me from the start.
I scrolled up. The group chat was created seven years ago. The day before we got together.
Tens of thousands of messages. Thousands of photos. Every single one was about me.
Like a piece of merchandise, I was evaluated, scrutinized, and catalogued by these people, over and over.
Last week, I was sick and hospitalized, short by five thousand bucks. I asked him to lend it to me. He said he was tight on cash and didn’t give it to me.
But that little incident had them buzzing in the chat.
Derek: See? Vivian called it. She just found out your identity and she’s already asking for money.
Vivian: Yes! I win! I bet she’d ask for money within a week! @Ethan, remember to buy me that Birkin!
My eyes burned. I threw the phone down and covered my face.
Ethan happened to walk over, asking casually:
“What’s wrong?”
I looked up at the face I’d loved for seven years, and forced a bitter smile.
“Ethan, these seven years must have been exhausting for you, playing that part.”
A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by a cold glare.
“You went through my phone?”
I said nothing.
His tone relaxed, a lazy, dismissive brush-off.
“It’s just a joke chat Vivian and the others started. Don’t overthink it.”
I didn’t respond. I sidestepped him, bent down, and grabbed the suitcase by the corner of the room.
He froze, then his temper flared.
“Claire, is this really necessary? First you throw a fit over five thousand bucks, and now you’re staging a dramatic exit over a stupid joke?”
His words pricked at my heart like needles.
He was the one in the wrong, and yet he was judging me with such righteous indignation.
Right. Heirs are never wrong.
I refused to argue with him and headed for the bedroom.
My phone pinged. A transfer of five thousand dollars appeared on the screen.
“Alright, money’s sent. Stop making a scene. I think I have a fever. Go find me some ibuprofen.”
I stared at the transfer notification on the screen, my knuckles white.
He’d reduced every emotional reaction I had to money. Cold. Arrogant.
Seven years together, and this wasn’t the first time. Always condescending, always entitled. Framing requests as commands, framing concern as a summons—as if I were born to orbit around him.
But back when he was chasing me, he wasn’t like this at all.
Young love, bright and blinding.
Back then, he clumsily made a handmade ring to confess to me, grinning like an idiot as he promised:
“Claire, for now, you’ll have to settle for silver. But when I propose—I swear—I’ll give you a ten-carat diamond.”
After we got together, he truly did take care of me. He remembered every food I couldn’t eat, bought me medicine before the seasons changed, and would take the long way to pick me up even after late nights at work.
So even when he showed disdain for food trucks, or picked at my lifestyle habits, I brushed it off as a lover’s little quirks.
It wasn’t until he confessed his true identity that I understood—that was condescension, pure and simple.
And it wasn’t until I saw the group chat that I finally woke up.
Those commands he’d toss at me from time to time? They were pop quizzes. Tests of obedience, administered from behind a screen, over and over again.
I wasn’t just his free bed warmer. I was their casino prop—entertainment for the whole table.
Seeing me frozen in place, Ethan grew impatient.
“Just accept the money and stop standing there like a statue. Throwing a tantrum and moving out over five thousand bucks? Really? Now go find me a thermometer and some ibuprofen—my head’s killing me.”
The absurdity of it all hit me, and I nearly laughed out loud.
“Ethan, do you honestly think this is about five thousand dollars? Seven years together, and you spent seven years judging me in that group chat—”
He cut me off sharply. “Given who I am, is it wrong to run a few tests?”
The undisguised contempt on his face. The glaring transfer on the screen. The mockery in the chat log. All of it crashed together, piercing my heart.
I barely held back the urge to slap him. Hands shaking, I tapped Refund.
Ethan frowned, about to snap, when the smart lock on the front door clicked open.
Vivian burst in, looking frantic. She froze when she saw me, then her voice shot up in accusation.
“Claire, you’re home? Then why aren’t you taking Ethan to the hospital? Can’t you see he’s burning up with fever?”
I gave a cold, mocking smile. “If I took him, where would you get your chance to play the hero?”
Vivian immediately put on a wounded look. “What did I ever do to you? Why are you so hostile? Ethan’s sick and all you care about is jealousy. You’re heartless.”
Her blatant instigation made my stomach turn.
I couldn’t be bothered to entertain them. I took a deep breath.
“Ethan, we’re done.”