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.

"Wayne, I know you're home!"

"If you don’t open this door, I’ll have them break the lock!"

True to her word, Jordyn did what she said.

But I was already planning to confront her about the filthy rumors she had spread, so I switched on the monitor, got up, and walked to the door.

As soon as I cracked it open, Jordyn shoved her way inside with so much force that I stumbled backward and hit the ground.

I pushed myself up, ignoring the pain in my palm, and stared at her coldly as she barged in like some kind of thug.

“Finally done hiding?” she sneered, her gaze sweeping over the jade ornaments and authentic paintings adorning my living room. The more she saw, the darker her expression became.

“No wonder you never let me upstairs. You were hiding all this filth the whole time.”

I crossed my arms, silent.

She strode over to the desk, picked up the blue-and-white porcelain vase I hadn’t yet had time to put away, and scoffed.

"Looks like a decent replica—but a fake’s still a fake."

Then she pointed at the ink-wash landscape on the wall.

"And that? Probably five dollars at a street market."

I clapped slowly, amused.

“Excellent eye, Miss Ortiz.”

That painting was, in fact, the only fake in the house—a copy I had done in middle school of a master’s work. My mother insisted on treating it like a treasure and hung it right between two genuine pieces.

Jordyn clearly thought I was mocking her. Her expression turned venomous as she snatched a document from her assistant and slapped it onto the coffee table.

“Sign this. I’ll pay you one hundred thousand dollars a month.”

I raised an eyebrow and glanced at the contract. It was packed with clauses.

One of them clearly stated I would “willingly serve her and her future husband,” with no right to personal freedom.

What was this?

A slave contract?

Without hesitation, I tore it in half.

But she was unfazed, almost as if she’d expected it. Calmly, she handed over another copy.

“Rip all you want. I’ve got plenty more.” She shrugged. “But I hope you understand one thing—your going rate online is 99.9 dollars a night. Not even a full hundred.”

"I can’t imagine how many clients you’d need to serve just to make ten grand a month."

"Right now, your reputation is in the gutter. If it weren’t for our past, do you really think anyone else would’ve bothered with you?"

When I didn’t immediately rip the second contract, she stepped closer, pinched my chin between her fingers, and said with a smirk, “You love money, don’t you? If you sign this, I’ll buy you the real versions of all these little counterfeits.”

She gestured around the room, clearly confident in her delusion.

I burst out laughing.

I might not know everything about the Ortiz family’s assets, but I knew enough. Even one piece in my house could spark a bidding war.

And she had the audacity to claim she could “buy me the real ones.”

Just as I was about to speak, one of her bodyguards suddenly murmured behind her.

“Miss Ortiz, this porcelain vase looks familiar... isn’t it the centerpiece from that recent Sotheby’s auction?”

Jordyn froze, then picked the blue-and-white porcelain back up, inspecting it more closely.

That vase was a birthday gift from my mother just half a month ago—acquired at Sotheby’s for one hundred twenty million.

I watched as beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Clearly, she was beginning to suspect the truth.

“No way... It can’t be. It has to be a high-end knockoff!”

But then, as if remembering the fact that everything I’d ever gifted her was authentic, her expression faltered. She forced a laugh and said awkwardly,

“Where did you steal this from, Wayne? Or did you sweet-talk some naive rich woman into giving it to you?”

She narrowed her eyes and added sharply, “If I remember correctly, the person who bought this piece was old enough to be your mother...”

I met her scornful gaze with indifference and said flatly, “You guessed right. She is my mother. She gave it to me to use as a vase.”