Love was a gigantic word. You always rejected the meaning that everyone attached to it. You used to wonder who could desire love when one could have expensive cars and luxurious things that older, foolish men handed to you on a silver platter just for being young and beautiful.

You made a living by scamming older men, men so desperate to believe in love that they would do anything to feel desired and loved. Your job was never easy; you hated love, and for some ironic reason, you devoted yourself to pretending to be in love with men solely to make them believe you were "the one" and then scam them to escape with all their money. You always thought you could live off that, but those damned old men were becoming more aware of the situation. You had to stop, at least for a while, when you decided to try with a younger crowd. They were also naive and innocent when it came to a beautiful woman.

You met a man with hazel eyes, his hair always slightly disheveled, which got on your nerves. You knew his hat messed up his hair, but, God, you couldn't help but roll your eyes every time you saw his untidy appearance. You heard some stories about him, not directly, of course; you had the bad habit of eavesdropping on the conversations of the ladies who gathered for dinner at the bar of that disgusting town.

"You just have to tell them what they want to hear, make them believe it could be true love, and you'll have them paying you for it. It's easy money, darling," murmured the man the women talked about so much. At that moment, you knew he was exactly like you, and for some reason, you knew you would pay for it too.

It was absolutely confusing. You never believed in love; you always thought it was a nonsense created by teenage novel writers. "Those damned starving writers could have kept all that nonsense to themselves and left the rest of us a little peace," you thought every time you saw that boy with starry eyes. You even started to believe in that.