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.

"So, all this stuff in your house is just fake junk to keep up appearances, huh?" Oliver scoffed, holding up the porcelain teacup like it personally offended him. "Gotta say, though, they're decent imitations. But that glaze? Way too fresh. Obvious knockoff."

I let out a quiet, amused laugh. "Good eye, Oliver."

Which was funny, because that teacup?

Ironically, it was the only fake thing in this entire place.

But Oliver didn't catch the irony. Of course not. He took my words as mockery, and his expression went ice-cold all over again.

"Therese, I don't have time for this." His tone turned sharp, clipped. "You've got two options today. Pay back the $500 grand and sign these agreements, or the engagement is officially over."

Oliver tossed a thick envelope onto my coffee table like it was some kind of final warning.

Then he pointed directly at me, with his finger stiff with accusation.

"And once that happens, kiss your dream of marrying into wealth goodbye. Don't come crawling back."

He paused briefly, then added with that same greasy sneer, "And your parents? They've got no pensions. Don't expect me to support them in retirement—"

Before he could finish that charming little threat, one of the bodyguards behind him leaned in close and whispered something in his ear.

"Mr. Jefferson… that vase by the window. Doesn't it look like the final lot from last month's Sotheby's auction?"

Oliver jerked his head around, following the guy's gaze.

The vase sat peacefully by the window, soaking in the late afternoon light. Its silhouette was clean and elegant, the porcelain glowing under the natural sun.

It was a 16th-century Renaissance piece—hand-fired, meticulously preserved, and worth a small fortune.

My dad had caught me admiring it during a collector's showcase and, just for the hell of it, made a sky lantern bid. He won, naturally. The man had flair.

Oliver squinted at it. I saw his face twitch. First came doubt. Then suspicion. Then, predictably, his signature smirk.

"Wow. You really went all in on this little illusion, didn't you? Even copied a fresh-off-the-market auction piece?"

I simply stood there, observing him—this man, five years older than me, who was supposed to be mature and successful. Yet, at that moment, I felt only relief.

Thank God I hadn't yet reached the legal age for marriage. If I had gone along with our families' childhood arrangement, I would already be his wife.

And honestly? That would've been the most humiliating decision of my life. Being married to him—full of surface charm but with a core of selfishness and vanity—was terrible.

With that, I exhaled a long, steady breath and pointed to the door.

"Oliver, I don't blame you for being blind. But if you're just gonna keep embarrassing yourself in my house, I suggest you leave. I'm not here to host your pity party."

Oliver's smile snapped into a scowl. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I need to marry you? Let me tell you something. Everything I've achieved, I earned. I built my business from the ground up. And the thing I can't stand most? Manipulative women like you—pretty on the outside, rotten on the inside—mooching off decent men like parasites."

He jabbed his finger in my direction.

"Your name's already in the gutter. Who else would even consider you? If it weren't for our families' old agreement, I wouldn't be wasting a single second more."

Still calm, I walked over to the Italian vase on the side shelf, picked it up gently, and turned it over in my hands so the bottom faced him.

"Take a good look," I said evenly. "That's Sotheby's official authentication code. One of a kind. Final sale price? $12 million."

I met his eyes without flinching as I continued, "You think I care about your lousy $500,000? I was willing to let this whole thing go, out of respect for our family. But honestly, I could've gifted you that money just to keep things quiet. But you know what I don't tolerate?"

I tilted my head, my tone becoming sharply pointed as I said, "Spineless, freeloading men who want to get something for nothing."

Then I took a step forward.

"Here's the deal. As long as you and your entourage walk out of my house right now and never come back, I won't press defamation charges or harassment. That's me being generous."

Oliver froze mid-scowl.

The bodyguard looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Sir, maybe there was a misunderstanding? And that vase… it might actually be real."

Oliver's hands were trembling now as he snatched the vase back, turning it over again and again. I watched the smug confidence drain from his face like someone pulled the plug.

Panic finally broke through.

He grabbed his phone and barked into it. "Kiara, doesn't your brother work at Sotheby's? Get him on the phone. I need him to check the winner of that final auction piece, the one with the highest bid!"

Oliver didn't even wait for her response before snapping again. "And get that damn lawyer I hired over here. We're settling this now. I want her to admit she used my card! If I let her into my life, she'd be riding my neck and shitting on my head!"

If he was that desperate to humiliate himself, I was more than happy to watch.

Ten minutes later, Kiara showed up with the news and a lawyer following behind.