Right before my college graduation, my fiancé, Oliver Jefferson, the CEO of Jefferson Group, threw an incredibly over-the-top engagement party just for me.

Champagne towers, chandeliers, a jazz trio flown in from New Orleans, the works.

And right in the middle of it, Oliver handed me a supplementary credit card.

"Use it however you like," he said, slipping it into my palm like it was a love letter.

Sweet, right?

Well… I didn't use it. Not a single swipe.

Apparently, that didn't sit too well with him.

"Therese," Oliver said one night, jaw tight, frustration bubbling beneath his too-smooth voice. "You're going to be my wife. The money I earn? It's meant for you to enjoy. So, if you refuse to use it, what does that mean? You don't love me? Or are you planning to back out of our engagement?"

His eyes were red as he begged me to use his money. He even told me he couldn't eat or sleep until I started using that card.

So, just to appease him, I used the card for two cheap takeout meals.

That was it—just two.

But then I tried to surprise him with this extravagant lunch a few days later. I had this whole cute setup planned when the waiter told me the card was maxed out.

I texted him to confirm the card's limit, only to find out it was a supplementary card with a $500,000 limit.

Since I thought he might have forgotten he'd used it, I kept quiet.

After all, big-shot CEO like Oliver have a lot on their minds, and I didn't want to create any trouble over it. I decided I'd wait until the next month, when the balance resets, and then treat him.

Well. That fantasy lasted all of five minutes.

A furious Oliver stormed into my office, his eyes wild, wielding a stack of credit card statements as if they were weapons.

Therese!" he shouted, slapping the stack onto my desk. "How could you be so greedy? I told you to spend freely, but you exhausted half a million pounds in three days!

His voice was rising with every word.

"So the reason you hesitated before was that the limit was too low? Huh? You're such a damn gold-digger! Thank God I haven't married you yet, or you'd drain my entire fortune quickly!

And just like that, Oliver demanded we call off the engagement.

Not only that, he said I had to pay him back.

Without hesitation, I opened my purse, took out a $100 bill, and passed it across the desk.

"Fine. Engagement's off. Keep the change. Buy yourself a coffin."

Yeah… that set him off.

Right there, Oliver lost it. He accused me of trying to dodge responsibility.

The next thing I knew, this condescending, high-powered lawyer was there, trying to railroad me into a settlement.

But after checking the transactions, his face turned this gorgeous shade of sickly green.

——

"Therese! What the hell is this supposed to mean? Can't even admit what you did? And now you're wishing death upon me?"

Oliver was practically shaking, refusing to take the hundred I was still holding out.

So I grabbed another bill from my wallet and said calmly, "I only used your card to buy two meals. The total came to $29.90. You wanna charge me five hundred grand for that? Honestly, I should be calling the cops on you for fraud."

Then, I threw the bill onto the table.

"Still not enough?" I said. "Here's another one. Now get the hell out of my sight!"

Oliver's hands were clenched so tight, I thought he might actually pop a vein.

"You think I'm gonna believe you only spent thirty bucks, huh?" he barked.

He didn't stop as he added, "Stop pretending, Therese! The transaction records don't lie! Look at the statement! I've never seen anyone pretend to be this innocent while being this greedy!"

Receipts started spilling out of the folder onto the floor.

I didn't even look at them.

My coworkers did.

They started picking them up, flipping through the pages, their faces shifting from confused to stunned.

"Therese," one of them whispered, eyes still glued to the statement. "Your shopping record is insane…"

Word spread like wildfire. People started passing around the receipts like they were front-row tickets to a scandal.

Luxury brands. Jewelry boutiques. Five-star hotels.

The full $500,000 limit? Gone. In three days.

I snatched the statement back and flipped through the printout myself. My finger went straight to the bottom line.

"These two cheap takeout transactions? That's all I paid for. The rest? Not mine."

Since I wouldn't admit it, Oliver looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Then he laughed condescendingly.

"Therese, you really are something else," he sneered. "The card was in your hand. The signatures on those transactions? Yours. And now you're saying you didn't make those charges? So what now? You think I did it?"

Oliver even pompously said, "I'm the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company. You think I need to fake credit card transactions to steal money from you?"

Honestly? That's exactly what I wanted to ask him.

So I asked back.

I crossed my arms. "So, what's your explanation, Mr. Jefferson? You're telling me you didn't do it, but then whose name is on the card and the charges?"

His jaw tightened. His hand went to his tie, loosening it like he couldn't breathe.

Then he turned toward my coworkers, his voice sharp and self-righteous.

"I didn't want to air our private issues in public, but some people clearly have no shame."

Right in front of everyone, Oliver gestured at me like I was some exhibit.

"I need you all to be my witnesses!"

He turned fully to face them.

"You all know Therese and I were engaged through a family arrangement. After her graduation, I honored that promise. I threw her an extravagant engagement party. I gave her a supplementary card out of love. She wouldn't use a dime at first, and I begged her. And this is what I get in return?"

Oliver stood there, shaking the stack of statements in one hand.

"Everyone, take a good look," he said coldly, waving the papers like a flag in front of the room. "Therese blew through half a million dollars in just three days, all on luxury goods. I don't care if I had money pouring out of my ears, no one can keep up with spending like that."

And just like that, the darling CEO act kicked in.

Oliver had always been the golden boy, wealthy, charismatic, and polished to perfection. So, when this drama went public, everyone instantly rallied behind him, no questions asked.

Just minutes ago, my co-workers were practically tripping over themselves to flatter me, because I was his fiancée.

But now? They stared at me with open contempt.

One of them muttered under their breath, but loud enough for me to hear, "Therese's been playing both sides this whole time. Acting all humble so Sir Oliver would beg her to spend his money, and now she flips it to make him look like the bad guy."

"Exactly," another added, practically sneering. "The whole thing was probably her plan from the start."

"I haven't spent that much in the last three years," someone scoffed. "And Therese blew through it in three days? She's not even married to him yet, so imagine if she were. She'd drain the whole company dry."

"Poor Mr. Jefferson," a voice sighed dramatically. "What a nightmare. I say cut the engagement already. Who even arranges betrothals anymore? That stuff's ancient history."

Right on cue, Kiara Summers, Oliver's assistant, slipped in.

She gave me this smug little look, then looped her arm around Oliver's.

Then, Kiara leaned in close and cooed, "Sir Oliver, young people these days just can't handle a simple test. But look on the bright side, you spent $500,000 to see her true colors. Imagine if you'd actually married her. She could've wrecked everything. The whole company might've gone down, and the rest of us would be out of a job."

Honestly, I could see why he liked her.

Every word out of her mouth was dipped in poison and polished with a smile.

My grip on the pen in my hand tightened until my knuckles turned stark white.

Meanwhile, soaking up all the attention and support, Oliver didn't waste a moment pretending to be the heartbroken martyr.

He slid an arm around Kiara's shoulder, tilted his head, and locked eyes with me.

"Therese, if you needed money that badly," he said, all slow and cruel, "you could've just asked. Why sneak around behind my back and max out the card?"

He paused for effect, letting the silence crawl through the room like fog.

"Now, either you pay back every cent or we call off the engagement, and you pack your things and get the hell out of my company."

The whole office went completely still.

Not a phone buzzed. Not a single breath.

Everyone was waiting, dying to see how I'd react.

I didn't flinch. I looked straight at him and let a small smile curve my lips.

"Fine," I said. "Let's call off the engagement. But as for the money? I'm not giving you a single cent."

The moment I said that, a wave of gasps echoed around the room.

Right then, Kiara's eyes sparkled with excitement, fueling the enthusiasm.

"Oh my god! Can you believe how shameless she is? Thank God, Sir Oliver caught her now. If he'd actually married her, he'd be broke by next year!"

I didn't bother defending myself.

Instead, I calmly pulled up the group meal order on my phone and said, "I'll say it one more time. I only spent $29.90 using your card. That's it. If you're planning to squeeze me for the rest, dream on."

Then I glanced back at Oliver and added, "As for this crappy job? You can keep it."

His eyes flickered, as if he was about to speak, but I cut him off.

"Oliver, consider this me firing you," I said. "And as for my half-month salary? Think of it as a parting gift. It might be enough to cover a couple of takeout meals. It'll certainly come in handy when your company goes under in a few days."

I took a screenshot of the meal order and promptly posted it in the company's group chat. After that, I quickly left the chat, slung my bag over my shoulder, and headed for the door.

Seeing me ignore him, Oliver lunged and grabbed my wrist.

"Therese! You're not getting away that easy," he growled. "You're not off the hook until you pay every single cent!"

I removed his hand and looked at him with a blank stare.

"Oliver," I said evenly, "I already sent you the full transaction history. Maybe take a second to read it before coming after me."

With that, I walked out without looking back.

I honestly thought that would be the end of it.

But I was wrong.

Oliver wasn't the kind of man who let things go quietly.

He wasn't just angry; he was livid that he took the effort to make the entire mess public and involve my university. He wasn't just angry; he was livid that he even made the entire mess public and involved my university.

What began as workplace drama rapidly escalated into a full-blown smear campaign.

Before I knew it, I was trending, and rumors were spreading online like wildfire.

[#Top University Graduate Unmasked as Shameless Gold Digger!]

[#Gold Digger Blows $500K in 3 Days! Who Would Dare Marry Her?]

[#Wealthy CEO Exploited Like an ATM by His Childhood Fiancée!]

Those headlines were everywhere I looked. No matter which platform I used, the constant scrolling felt like a barrage of information.

And the comment sections? Vicious didn't even come close to describing it.

Once my personal information was uncovered and exposed, the online abuse flooded into my phone nonstop:

[How could your parents raise someone like you? Shame on them. Do the world a favor and disappear!]

[See? Education doesn't mean anything anymore. Women like you are just trash with a degree. Even if you threw yourself at someone, no one would want you!]

It got worse.

Someone dug up my student ID and even tracked down my advisor. Then they turned their pitchforks toward my university, demanding a 'full cleanup.'

By the next morning, my phone rang.

I didn't even need to check the screen. I already knew that it was my counselor, Ms. Brooks.

"Therese," she said, her voice soft and careful. "The university leadership is taking this situation very seriously. I'm afraid your 'Outstanding Graduate' title might be revoked."

I felt my fingers tighten around the phone. My throat went dry like I'd swallowed sand.

"Ms. Brooks, I didn't make those purchases."

There was a pause. Then a long, drawn-out sigh.

"I know," Ms. Brooks said quietly. "But public opinion is spiraling, and the school's image is on the line. Plus, there's pressure coming from the board."

And just like that, it all clicked.

Oliver's company was finalizing a partnership with our university's research lab. They were planning to hire directly from our graduating class.

With job placements approaching and every dean scrambling to impress corporate sponsors, the school wasn't about to jeopardize that deal over me.

And so, I quietly accepted it.

Honestly, losing that 'Outstanding Graduate' title didn't bother me much. It was just a line on paper. At least they didn't go totally off the rails and try to revoke my degree.

But Oliver? Oh, he wasn't done with me.

He leveraged all his contacts to ensure I was blacklisted from every major company in Bayport.

All my résumés disappeared into nothingness—no callbacks, no interviews, not even a courteous rejection.

Meanwhile, he made sure everyone saw how smoothly he'd moved on.

He displayed Kiara at every business event, treating her as if she were his latest trophy girl.

Then one night, she posted a picture online. It was a limited-edition Hermès bag sitting pretty on her arm.

The caption?

[Thank you, Boss, for your love!]

The location tag? An invite-only private club.

Oliver didn't waste any time jumping in with a comment of his own:

[You deserve the best.]

And then, right on cue, I got a text from him.

The timing was laughable, really!

[Therese, if you still want to be a CEO's wife, pay back the $500,000, sign a prenup, and promise to give me three kids in five years after marriage. Play by the rules, and I'll give you a life of luxury and status. Refuse, and you can forget ever finding another job.]

I stared at my screen for a long second and was just stunned.

Was this real life?

Did he honestly think he was doing me a favor?

Then I laughed.

The truth is, Oliver had no idea that marrying me was already out of his league.

If we had truly married, he would have been the one advancing. Even without ever working, I would still live better than most. The influential and wealthy people would recognize me for who I am, and it wouldn't be him they admired.

So I didn't waste another second on his ridiculous "offer."

I typed: [Go away!]

Hit send.

For a moment, I thought that would be the end of it.

Of course, I was wrong.

To my astonishment, Oliver arrived at my home that evening with four bodyguards.

My doorbell kept ringing like an alarm repeatedly.

I slowly opened the door, only to find him standing there with a dark, furious face, surrounded by four men in black who all radiated hostility.

Oliver gave me this smug, entitled look.

"Therese," he sneered, "did you really think hiding out at home was going to save you?"

Without waiting for me to say a thing, he pushed past me and barged into the house like he owned it.

I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed, not even bothering to stop him.

He stalked through the living room, eyes scanning everything—the marble sculptures on the shelves, the antique porcelain, the calligraphy, the paintings.

With each glance, Oliver's expression grew more sour.

"Huh," he finally scoffed. "Now it makes sense. No wonder you had the nerve to max out my card. Guess you've had some top-tier sugar daddies coaching you all this time."

He pointed toward a shelf, a familiar mocking grin spreading across his face.

"How many men did you scam to fill this place up like a damn museum?"

I raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Then Oliver strutted over to the coffee table, picked up a blue-and-white porcelain teacup as if it were a dirty sock, and sneered.