Wife's Revenge on Deceit

After working tirelessly for five years, I finally managed to pay off the million-dollar debt left by my husband, Malakai Sanders. But the very next day, I saw him featured on the financial news on TV.

The headline read:

"Sanders Empire Heiress Completes Five-Year Groundwork, Impresses Board with Outstanding Entrepreneurial Skills."

He was dressed in a sharp suit, billed as the "sole heir of a billion-dollar dynasty."

Our five-year-old son sat on the living room floor, playing with his newly unwrapped limited-edition robot toy. He looked up at me, his gaze cold and unnaturally mature.

“Dad already told me. You didn’t pass his test.”

Those words felt like an ice pick piercing my ear, exploding in my mind.

"Louie... what did you say?"

“Dad says a truly respectable woman doesn’t spend all her time scheming about money. That shows a lack of vision. Your love is cheap and suffocating.”

I crouched down, trying to take his hand, but he pushed me away with disdain.

“Don’t touch my robot. You can't afford it.”

Staggering back a few steps, my back hit the cold wall, my eyes falling on the coffee table. There lay a divorce agreement and a check.

Malakai’s name was already signed, his handwriting bold and arrogant, just like his demeanor in today’s financial news. Next to it was the check—my "severance pay," earned through five years of youth and countless sleepless nights.

Ironically, just yesterday we were celebrating Thanksgiving right here in this living room. He had said, “Camille, the hard times are over. From now on, I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world.”

In retrospect, that was just the final line in this “test script.”

The phone suddenly rang shrilly, the screen showing “Husband.” I answered mechanically.

Malakai's cold voice came through, “Camille, that ‘poverty simulation test’ of ours is over. Congratulations on completing this journey with me. Unfortunately, you didn’t meet the standard.”

“Test?”

“Yes, test,” he chuckled mockingly. “I needed to prove to the board that even when I have nothing, I can attract a loyal partner and rebuild from scratch. Thea is my investor and my true fiancée. You were just a randomly chosen experimental subject to play the role of ‘wife.’”

“So... the million-dollar debt was fake?”

“That was just the startup capital in disguise. Without making it sound dire, how could I observe someone’s behavior under extreme conditions?”

I clenched my teeth, my nails digging deep into my palms. “Malakai Sanders, you’re unbelievable!”

“Am I?” he replied indifferently. “But this ‘bastard’ is now the heir to a billion-dollar group. Camille Howell, take the check and leave quietly. Don’t make me lose even more respect for you.”

He paused, adding a more brutal line.

“By the way, Louie isn’t your child. He was conceived through IVF with Thea and me. The embryos you and I had were swapped long ago.”

“You were just a ‘temporary caregiver’ in his growth process. Now, his real mother is back. Please move out of this ‘Sanders’ house immediately.”

In an instant, I felt a chill run through my entire body, as if thrown into an ice cellar.

“Thea and the Sanders’ lawyer will arrive in half an hour to handle the transition. Remember, don’t make a scene, keep your dignity.”

He had no interest in hearing my rebuttal, hanging up the phone directly.

I clutched the phone, feeling like I was holding a burning piece of iron.

“Temporary caregiver”... It turns out, even my role as a mother was just a part handed to me during their act. Now that the play was over, the part was taken back, and both heart and soul were swept out the door.