My husband, once a powerful CEO, had become bankrupt and sank into depression.

Overnight, I went from being the wife of a CEO to a lowly worker.

To help him pay off his debts and cover the costs of his depression treatment, I took a job as a hostess at an auction house.

However, I never expected to see my husband there, who should've been in the hospital undergoing therapy, sitting in the VIP section.

Without any hesitation, he bid on an exorbitantly priced necklace and gave it to the woman beside him.

That necklace—the one I had pawned to pay off his debts—was my grandmother's heirloom.

......

I stood at the entrance of the auction house, lifting my gaze to the grand, lavishly decorated hall.

A sigh escaped me, unbidden.

In the past, when life was good, I was a regular here. I was one of the top-tier guests, the kind they'd serve water and pastries to the moment I sat down.

But times have changed. Now, I'm the one serving tea and water.

I didn't want this job, but the daily pay at the auction house was too tempting, as if a pile of cash was beckoning to me.

Weighed against the mounting costs, I took it. My husband, Lance Ford's illness demanded weekly therapy sessions, each costing hundreds, not to mention the monthly assortment of medications.

All in all, his medication alone cost us five to six hundred a month, and that didn't even cover the crushing debt.

Once, this kind of money would have barely bought me a handbag or a necklace. But now, every penny we spent was carefully calculated. Even when I shopped for groceries, I waited for discount days.

Before leaving for work, I sent him a message: "How are you feeling? Any better?"

He replied quickly, his words filled with guilt: "Same as before… I'm sorry for dragging you down."

I hurried to reassure him, typing back: "It's okay. We'll take our time, one day at a time."

After I sent the message, there was no further reply.

I hadn't told Lance that I was about to work as a hostess at the auction. After all, events like this drew their share of spoiled rich kids.

I had once seen it with my own eyes—a sweet, innocent girl who had been serving drinks beside me, whisked away by one of those heirs in the blink of an eye.

Lance's pride is fierce. If he knew I was taking this kind of job to pay for his treatment, he would be furious.

His condition was already fragile. I didn't want to push him any further.

Once I had changed into the uniform, I stepped into the auction hall.

People had already begun to fill the seats.

I must have taken too long to change. By the time I stepped out, most of the guests had already seated themselves, and the manager was clearly displeased as he directed me inside the venue.

The auction hall was enormous, arranged in tiers. From where I stood at the very back, I could hardly make out the items displayed on the stage.

The auction hadn't officially begun yet. Technicians were still adjusting the lights and testing the sound system.

The manager, his chin held high and a sneer on his lips, spoke with a condescending tone that barely concealed his contempt.

"Lucy, times have changed. You're no longer the wife of a CEO sitting high above the rest of us. If you want to keep working part-time here, don't act like you're still better than everyone else."

He pointed to the table where a set of teapots sat. "Now go and serve tea to the VIP guests in the front row."

I nodded obediently, picking up the heavy tray and making my way to the front.

I placed the empty teapot on the supply table, ready to refill it, when I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of my eye.

My heart tightened, and I hurriedly set the pot down.

But when I looked again, the figure had vanished into the crowd.

I shook my head, feeling foolish.

How ridiculous. It couldn't be him. There was no way Lance could be here.

Today was his follow-up appointment, and even on a regular day, he would never set foot in a place like this.

*

Not long after I finished serving tea to the guests in the last row, the auction began.

I stood in the shadows at the back, watching the wealthy elites in the VIP section throw money around, bidding on one item after another.

The auctioneer's voice rang out from the stage, "And now, the final item of tonight's auction, the highlight of the evening."

He paused, and the large screen behind him lit up, displaying a full view of the item along with live photographs.

Standing at the back, I froze the moment I saw the rose gemstone necklace and its matching earrings on the screen.

In an instant, I recognized it. It was my grandmother's necklace.

The necklace was my grandmother's gift for my eighteenth birthday.

When Lance went bankrupt, I took the necklace and its matching earrings to the pawnshop, trading them for cash to ease the financial crisis that had come crashing down on us.

He saw the hesitation in my eyes as I handed it over, and he pulled me close, his arm around my shoulders. "Lucy, this is from your grandmother. Why don't you hold onto it?"

Tears streamed down my face as I shook my head, refusing his suggestion.

At that point, our phones were ringing non-stop with calls from creditors. Day and night, the relentless sound of debt collectors pushed me to the brink of collapse. And then there was Lance, already sinking into depression.

His hand trembled on my shoulder as he watched me cry, promising me through the tears that once he got back on his feet, he would buy the necklace back.

But a year had passed since. I'm twenty-nine now, and his promise remained unfulfilled.

The necklace, sealed away in the pawnshop for a year, had finally come back to light. But I still didn't have the means to buy it.

The auctioneer's voice rang out, full of energy, "The starting price for this item is 1.5 million. Each bid must be at least thirty percent higher than the last."

The room buzzed with excitement as people raised their paddles, eager to outbid one another. The air felt charged, as if everyone in the room had their sights set on this particular piece of jewelry.

In just a minute, the price had climbed to 13 million, driven by the crowd's feverish energy.

When the number was announced, a wave of disappointment spread through the room. Most people shook their heads, accepting that 13 million would be the final bid.

"13 million, going once."

Silence fell over the hall.

"13 million, going twice."

The silence persisted, thick and heavy.

Just as the auctioneer raised his microphone for the third call, a paddle lifted slowly in the air, accompanied by a voice I knew all too well.

"14 million."

The hammer struck down with a resounding thud. "Congratulations to Mr. Ford for acquiring tonight's star item!"

As the auctioneer's enthusiastic voice echoed through the hall, a wave of applause followed.

For a moment, I thought I had misheard.

The man who raised his paddle stood up from the VIP section, and the woman clinging to his arm rose with him.

Even then, I was still trying to explain it away. Maybe the voice just sounded like his. Maybe it was only a similar silhouette. Maybe it was all a coincidence.

Besides, wasn't he supposed to be in his therapy session? He couldn't be sitting here in the VIP section and casually bidding 14 million.

But when the camera zoomed in on the pair, I couldn't deny the truth any longer.

The man on the screen, larger than life, was Lance.

I hadn't been wrong. That fleeting figure I'd glimpsed earlier, disappearing into the crowd—it had been him.

The auctioneer, with a professional smile, addressed him. "Mr. Ford, would you mind sharing why you decided to raise your bid and secure this set of jewelry?"

The microphone was passed to Lance, and his voice, warm and indulgent, filled the room as he glanced at the woman beside him. "My beloved wanted it, so I bought it. It's not that much money."

The woman at his side smiled sweetly for the camera, her cheeks slowly turning pink. "It's because I like it that Lance made the purchase," she said softly. "He's my first love, and I'm his."

The crowd stirred, a wave of astonishment rippling through the room. Many wore expressions of shock.

The auctioneer maintained his smile. "Really? If I'm not mistaken…" He paused for dramatic effect, letting the moment hang in the air.

He didn't need to say more. Anyone who had followed the news even a little would know that Lance was a married man. His wedding had been a spectacle of such grandeur that it was still hailed as the "wedding of the century," known by all.

And here this woman was, blushing and shyly declaring to everyone that this married man had spent a fortune casually to make her happy.

Wasn't this, in every sense, a public admission of his infidelity?

The wealthy crowd didn't seem shocked by his presence here, as if they had long known something I hadn't.

So was the bankruptcy a lie? A deception spun by the world to me?

At that moment, my mind was foggy, as though I had lost the ability to think.

Numb, I sprinted toward the lounge outside the auction hall, my legs screaming with prickling pain, but I didn't stop.

My hands trembling, I fumbled for my phone in the pocket of my discarded work clothes and quickly sent a message to Dr. Phie.

His reply hit me like a ton of bricks. He told me he'd left the country for a month-long training program last week and wasn't even in the country right now. He also revealed that Lance hadn't seen him for therapy since last year.

The words on the screen blurred as I collapsed to the floor, my body sinking, my breath shallow and erratic. My mind went blank.

Lance had been lying to me all along!

But why?

If he had a lover on the side, we could've just divorced. Why lie to me? Why pretend he had depression? Why go through the elaborate act of staging a financial downfall?

I used to live a life of luxury—untouched by hard labor, never worrying about anything. But since the day he started acting poor and pretending to have depression, I've been working myself to the bone, taking up odd jobs and part-time gigs just to support our household.

My once fair, rosy skin had been tanned, and my well-maintained hands were now rough and calloused—all of it because I believed I was caring for a man battling a made-up illness.

I had endured this grueling life for a year. In the past year, not a single person told me that it was all a farce.

I vividly recalled the humiliation I suffered while looking for jobs to help him "heal." And all the while, he stood on high, watching me panic and struggle for the sake of a sickness he had fabricated.

I couldn't understand it. I couldn't comprehend why he would do something so cruel.

My fingers moved on their own as I scrolled through my contacts and dialed Lance's number. It rang twice before the call was abruptly cut off.

A second later, his messages popped up on Telegram.

I opened the chat and read through, finally witnessing the extent of his deception firsthand.

"Sorry, honey. Dr. Phie's therapy sessions are too expensive. I don't want to waste any consultation time, so I hung up on you. I'll call you right after it's over.

"Oh, and by the way, you mentioned wanting some beef the other day. I'll pick some up from the supermarket after I'm done here. When I passed by earlier, I heard they were offering a 12% discount."

The phone kept vibrating, one message after another, all laced with lie after lie.

Lance, what game are you playing?

*

As I stepped outside, I was immediately confronted by the manager.

He stormed toward me, launching into a tirade. "Are you trying to slack off here? If you don't want to work, then just don't! No one's begging you to stay!"

His sudden outburst shocked me into silence, leaving me frozen in place.

In my daze, he shoved me a couple of times.

Wearing towering heels, I struggled to maintain my balance. Just when I felt I was about to fall, I collided against a broad chest.

Before I could react, a low, amused voice echoed above me. "Miss, how long do you plan to lean on me?"

Snapping back to reality, I sprang away like a spring, my face flushing hotter than fire. "I—I'm so sorry."

The manager, who had initially been impatient, shifted to a fawning demeanor upon seeing the newcomer. He pulled me aside and quickly addressed the man standing next to him with a forced humility. "Mr. Mendez, when did you return to the country? This server didn't hurt you, did she?"

Michael Mendez smiled warmly, shaking his head as his gaze settled on the manager's face.

"Isn't it because you pushed her that she bumped into me?"

Though his smile remained, there was an edge to it that made it clear he wasn't as friendly as before.

The manager, sensing he'd overstepped with this influential figure, forced a couple of awkward chuckles before deflecting the blame back to me. "My staff wasn't diligent enough, so I just had to give her a little reprimand."

He then turned to me, his tone now commanding. "What are you standing there for? Get back to work!"