At our engagement banquet, my fiancée—clearly drunk—sent a ninety-nine dollar pocket money in the group chat and tagged me with a "Happy Birthday."

Since my birthday was coming up in a few days, I accepted it without thinking much.

Everyone took it as a sweet display of affection—the atmosphere in the private room was lively, filled with teasing and laughter.

But then, a man suddenly showed up, looking aggrieved.

"Wayne," he said, "that birthday pocket money from Jordyn was meant for me. She promised she'd send me 9,999 dollars, but I think her fingers slipped and she only sent ninety nine. Could you send it back?"

The room fell dead silent.

Only then did I realize... maybe Jordyn mistook me for her childhood sweetheart because we had similar profile pictures.

Trying to be generous, I sent Garrett a hundred dollars—added an extra dollar for the trouble—and even ordered a cake to apologize and send my best wishes.

But when Jordyn sobered up and saw the cake, she smashed it on the spot and screamed at me, "Wayne! Are you that desperate for money? You had the nerve to steal a measly ninety nine dollars?!"

"Good thing I was drunk and only sent ninety nine—if it had been 9,999, you'd probably crawl through the internet like a rabid dog just to get it!”

I calmly explained it was a misunderstanding. I had even returned the pocket money—with a one-dollar bonus.

However, instead of calming down, Jordyn hurled a coin at my face, shouting that she wanted to break off the engagement. She even demanded I return every cent she had ever spent on me and give Garrett the full 99,999 dollars she originally intended as a birthday gift.

I sent her a meme of a “one billion dollars” check and said mockingly, "Fine! Let’s break off the engagement. Here’s a billion—wishing you two a lifetime of joy and children!"

She thought I was trying to weasel out of the situation, so she brought in her top-tier lawyer to settle the financial score.

When everything was calculated down to the last cent, her face turned green.

——

"Wayne, what’s the meaning of this? Sending a meme instead of real money? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

It was supposed to be a happy occasion, and now it has turned into a farce. I was burning with anger, but I still tried to keep things civil.

"You tagged the wrong person, I accepted by mistake. I figured you were just drunk and confused. I even bought a cake to apologize—if that’s not sincere enough, then what is? You're the one demanding I send one hundred thousand dollars to another man—honestly, I should be calling the police for attempted extortion."

"You've barely spent a thousand dollars on me altogether, but you and I both know how much I’ve spent on you. I’m not even asking for it back. Just do me a favor and take your beloved Garrett and get out of my sight!"

But Jordyn refused to believe she had only spent a thousand dollars on me.

She whipped out her phone, logged into her shopping app, and began scrolling through the orders one by one.

"Wayne, since you want to act shameless, don’t blame me for being harsh!"

"Setting aside all the help I gave you before, just look at these purchases. Ever since I gave you access to my account, you spent five hundred thousand dollars in just half a month!"

"You must be used to leeching off others—now you’re even eyeing Garrett’s birthday money! I thought you were thrifty and hardworking, but it was all a damn act! You’re so obsessed with money, you’ve thrown away every shred of dignity, haven’t you?"

Before I could even respond, she passed her phone around to her friends.

Gasps echoed through the room as everyone stared at me like I was some monster.

"Wayne," someone muttered, "with spending habits like this, you’re basically a gold-devouring beast!"

I grabbed the phone, skimmed through the list, and pointed straight at the two most recent orders.

"These two—29.9 dollars each—are the only ones I bought. And they were for Jordyn herself. Everything else has nothing to do with me."

But Jordyn just scoffed like I had told the joke of the year.

"Wayne, I didn’t expect you to be this shameless. I gave you my account, the purchases were all men’s items, and the shipping address was your apartment. If you didn’t buy them, who did—ghosts?"

"I pitied your hard life, so I didn’t care about the money before. But now you’re even trying to snatch Garrett’s ninety nine dollars birthday gift? Do you have no shame at all?"

I didn’t want to waste any more time arguing, so I pulled out my phone and showed her the list of luxury gifts I had bought for her, then asked coldly, "Then what about the things I bought for you? Shouldn’t you be the one paying me back?"

Jordyn took one glance at the screen—at the total order amount exceeding a million dollars—and actually laughed out loud in anger.

"Wayne, are you really this shameless? Do I need to broadcast to everyone here just how broke you used to be?"

"Let me be blunt. Those fake designer goods you bought? I didn’t even look at them. I tossed them in the storage room without a second glance. I didn’t throw them out because I couldn’t afford the embarrassment if someone found them."

"You think those knockoffs meant something? That money you used was charity—my charity! And now you have the audacity to send me a photoshopped screenshot and demand a refund?"

Hah. No wonder I’d never seen her wear the clothes or jewelry I’d given her. Turns out she dismissed them as fakes the moment they arrived.

All those carefully chosen gifts discarded without a thought. That hit a nerve.

I spread my hands, forcing a smile. "Since you clearly looked down on them, then returned them all to me. Every last one."

Honestly, I’d rather feed them to a dog than let her keep them.

But in this crowd, her words carried more weight. After all, the Ortiz family was a rising power in the industry, and I was just a scholarship kid she had “generously supported.”

The same people who had just been calling us a perfect couple now stared at me with open contempt.

"Miss Ortiz, thank goodness this was only an engagement. Imagine marrying him and then discovering he’s just a gold-digger!"

"If I were you, I’d fire him immediately. Who knows, he’s probably stealing your company’s toilet paper too."

"Seriously. Anyone who can burn five hundred thousand dollars online shopping in two weeks will bankrupt your company in no time. Stay far away from men like him."

At that moment, Garrett took his cue. Eyes glinting behind a mask of sorrow, he grabbed Jordyn’s arm, tears welling in his eyes.

"Jordyn, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have had a birthday... If I hadn’t, maybe you and Wayne wouldn’t be fighting..."

He turned dramatically and bolted toward the door. Jordyn instantly pulled him back, wrapped her arms around his waist, and cooed, "How could this be your fault? I should be thanking you. If not for you, I never would’ve seen Wayne’s true colors!"

Then she turned to me, eyes full of disdain.

"Wayne, if you have even a shred of self-awareness, you’ll either get on your knees right now and apologize to Garrett—and send him a proper 99,999 birthday gift—or this engagement is off. And tomorrow, you can pack up and get the hell out of the company."

Everyone in the room turned to me, waiting for my reaction.

I met her gaze head-on, calm and cool.

"Calling off the engagement? Sure, let's do that. But get on my knees? Send a birthday pocket money? Keep dreaming!"

My indifference made everyone suck in a sharp breath.

Garrett's eyes lit up with excitement, clearly itching to fan the flames.

Seizing the opportunity, he piled on with righteous indignation. "My god! How could someone be so ungrateful? Jordyn paid for your college education, and this is how you repay her?"

"All this over ninety nine dollar pocket money, and now your true self is exposed!"

"Do you have any idea how much you owe her? Even if you spent your entire life working like a mule, you’d never be able to repay her kindness!"

He could say whatever he wanted—I owed Jordyn nothing.

If anything, she was the one in debt to me.

"Jordyn, if you want to end things peacefully, return every single thing I gave you. As for work, I’ll submit my resignation immediately. But I expect to be paid what I’m owed. Don’t even think about skimming it, or I’ll file for labor arbitration."

"And regarding the money you spent on me, I’ll round it up and transfer one thousand back to you. Just in case your company goes under next week and you can’t even afford to eat."

Then, I posted screenshots of all my gift orders to the group chat.

After that, I initiated a one thousand dollar transfer, labeled specifically for her.

Then I turned around—and walked out without looking back.

Jordyn’s face darkened when she saw the gifts I had sent—each worth tens or even hundreds of thousands.

She yanked my wrist and snapped, “I don’t believe any of this is real! Don’t you dare leave—wait until I’ve had everything verified. I won’t be labeled as someone who bullies others!”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I calmly pulled my arm free.

“Everything I gave you is authentic. And I expect the items you return to be just as real.”

With that, I walked away without looking back.

I figured once she opened those gift boxes and saw the labels for herself, she would realize just how ridiculously wrong she had been.

But instead, she blew up my phone with back-to-back calls in the middle of the night.

When I didn’t answer, she lost it completely—sending dozens of 60-second voice messages filled with rage.

“Wayne! What the hell did you do behind my back?! How else could you afford all this?!”

She demanded answers, obsessively chasing down the truth.

Obviously, she had already confirmed everything I gave her was genuine.

And now that she couldn’t deny it, she was trying to turn the tables.

I shut off my phone and went to sleep.

But the next morning, when I turned it back on, it was like the sky had fallen.

Jordyn had gone nuclear—she posted our story online, framing me as a gold-digging scammer.

With my photo in hand, she went on a public hunt, looking for the “wealthy sugar mommy” who was supposedly bankrolling me.

In no time, I became the number one trending topic online—the infamous “kept man” everyone wanted to spit on.

My name, ID, phone number, even my address were dug up and plastered all over the internet.

My phone nearly exploded from the flood of hate messages.

But it didn’t stop there.

Somehow, my photo and number ended up on shady adult sites. The comments were disgusting.

Even worse, someone photoshopped my face onto naked male models and listed the images for sale—9.9 per download, complete with the tagline: [Guaranteed satisfaction or your money back.]

I didn’t hesitate—I went straight to the police.

But despite their best efforts, they couldn’t track the original source.

And because the incident had gone so viral, shutting down one shady site only caused the photos to spread to others like wildfire.

Even though I knew the images were fake, the whole thing made me feel sick to my core.

There was no doubt in my mind—this was all Jordyn’s doing.

Disgusted, I forced myself to call her.

But she’d vanished.

Before disappearing, though, she made sure to finish what she started—pulling every string she had in the industry to blacklist me.

Every résumé I sent out disappeared into a black hole. Not a single interview. Not a single call back.

At the same time, Jordyn was flaunting Garrett all over the place, taking him to high-profile events, business banquets, and media appearances.

On social media, Garrett even posted a photo of his new limited-edition sports car with the caption.

[Forever touched by the kindness of my sweet childhood love~”]

The location tagged was an exclusive private members-only club.

Jordyn commented below.

[Baby, you deserve only the best.]

That same night, I got a text from her.

[Wayne, if you want to keep living comfortably, pay back the five hundred thousand first. Then sign a contract agreeing to be my kept man and loyal lapdog.]

[As long as you behave and don’t start drama with Garrett, I’ll take care of you for life. Otherwise, forget about ever finding a job again.”]

I stared at the screen—and suddenly laughed.

Did Jordyn really think she could buy me?

Did she really believe that, with my background and capabilities, she was doing me a favor by “keeping” me?

The arrogance was almost amusing.

I didn’t bother arguing. I replied with a single word.

[Scram.]

I thought that would be the end of it.

But that night, Jordyn showed up at my apartment—with four bodyguards.

I was in the study, admiring a newly acquired antique blue-and-white porcelain vase, when the doorbell started ringing like an air raid siren.

I checked the security monitor—and there she was.

Her expression stormy, her arms crossed.

Behind her stood four men in black suits, radiating aggression.