Bye Loser! Love, Daddy's Heiress - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Gasps ripped through the room again.
Lothario finally reacted, his eyes widening just a fraction. "Pearl—"
I didn't stab anyone. I didn't make a scene.
Instead, I dragged the blade across my palm, hissing as sharp pain seared through my skin. Then, slow and deliberate, I smeared my blood across the white tablecloth.
A stark red stain. A final mark. The last thing I'd ever give him.
"This is my last gift to you," I whispered. My voice was calm. Steady. Dead.
Then, I turned my back on him. And this time, when I walked away—I didn't look back.
I stormed into my apartment, my hands trembling with rage. The second the door slammed shut behind me, I moved.
I tore through my closet, grabbing every single one of his shirts, his jackets, the ties I'd carefully picked out for him when he was still mine. I yanked open drawers, shoving everything Lothario had left behind into a black trash bag—his cologne, his stupidly expensive watches, even the old, worn-out hoodie he used to let me borrow when I got cold.
I'd loved that hoodie once. Now, the sight of it made me sick.
His tailored suits? Trashed. The sappy love letters he'd written me? Burned.
I dragged the bag outside, dumped it into the trash bin, and without a second thought—I lit it up. Flames roared to life, devouring every last trace of him.
Good. Let it all burn.
I stood there, watching the fire, feeling the heat lick at my skin—wishing it could scorch away everything he'd put me through. Then, I pulled out my phone. Dialed the one number I'd sworn I'd never call again.
My father. Alexander Anderson. The most powerful man in Europe.
The phone barely rang twice before a deep, familiar voice filled my ear.
"Pearl?"
Just that. Just my name. And suddenly, I couldn't breathe.
I squeezed my eyes shut. My throat tightened. I'd spent years proving I didn't need him. That I could survive without his money, his influence—his name.
I'd disowned myself just to show him I could make it on my own. And I had.
But right now, in this moment, I had nothing.
I broke. Sobs wracked my body so hard I could barely choke out the words.
"Dad… can I come home?"
A pause. A slow exhale. And then—
"Of course, sweetheart. You never had to ask."
My knees gave out. Relief crashed into me so violently it hurt. For the first time in years, I let myself be his daughter again.
As I packed the rest of my things, memories hit me like a freight train.
Memories of him.
Of Lothario De Luca.
The man I'd fallen for long before he even knew my name.
Back then, I'd been working part-time at a dingy coffee shop, juggling shifts to scrape together rent and tuition.
And every morning—like clockwork—he walked in. Always ordered the same thing. Black coffee, no sugar.
At first, he was just another customer. But then, I started noticing him. The way he raked a hand through his hair when he was stressed. The way his brow furrowed over his laptop. The faint curve of his lips when I handed him his cup.
He was beautiful. A quiet enigma I couldn't look away from.
Then, one day… he spoke to me.
"You always look exhausted," he'd said, tilting his head. "Do you even sleep?"
I laughed. "I try."
"Try harder," he replied, sliding an extra five across the counter. "And maybe eat something, too."
My stupid heart fluttered. I was crushing hard.
But back then, that's all he was—a distant fantasy. A man I admired from afar.
Until the night I saw him break.
I still remember it. Him slumped on a park bench in the pouring rain, clutching a rejection letter. His hands shook. His eyes were hollow. For the first time, he looked… human. Shattered.
I don't know what possessed me, but I sat beside him, holding out my umbrella.
"You again?" he muttered, voice rough.
I shrugged. "Looked like you could use the company."
That night, he told me everything. How he had nothing left. How Alessia had walked out for her career. How he was drowning in debt and failure.
"Then let's start with nothing," I whispered. "Together."
And just like that, we became us.
I worked double shifts—day and night—just to keep us afloat. I paid rent. Bought groceries. Even funded the small investments that would later build his empire. He waited tables, but it wasn't enough. So I pushed harder. Slept less. Lived even less. But I never gave up on him.
And when his business finally took off—when he became the Lothario De Luca the world worshipped—he took my hands and swore,
"I'll never love anyone but you. You're my everything, Pearl."
Lies. All of it.
I gave him everything. And when he reached the top, he handed it all to her.
I was still shaking when my phone rang again.
Lothario.
I stared at the screen, pulse hammering. Then, I answered.
Before I could speak, his fury exploded through the speaker.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he snarled. "Crashing my engagement? Making a scene? Have you lost your damn mind?"
A bitter laugh tore from me. "You lost the right to care the second you betrayed me."
"You need to learn your place, Pearl," he snapped. "I need Alessia. Her father is Alexander Anderson—the richest man in Europe. She's the lost heiress. You should've accepted that and played your role!"
I nearly choked. Alexander Anderson.
"My role?" I repeated.
"Yes!" His voice dropped, almost pleading. "You should've waited. Stayed quiet. You should've understood—I need her for business, but it's you I love!"
Disgust coiled in my gut. He expected me to lurk in the shadows like some pathetic mistress while he flaunted her as his wife?
No. Never.
I exhaled sharply. "Go to hell, Lothario." Then, I hung up—and blocked him for good.
By midnight, I was at the airport. As I boarded the plane, I glanced back at the city one last time.
The place where I'd built my dreams. Where I'd built us. Where I'd lost everything.
I took a deep breath. And then, I let it all go.
Goodbye, Lothario. Goodbye, my past.
I was going home. But this wasn't the end.
I'd rise again—smarter, sharper. And when I did, Lothario would regret ever crossing me.
Because this time, I wouldn't just walk away.
I'd ruin him.