Chapter 1 My girlfriend is getting married. The groom is my wife’s lover. I didn't dare make a sound when I cried, terrified someone would find out I was heartbroken. My girlfriend invited me to the reception. My wife insisted I accompany her to congratulate the happy couple. Terrified of being exposed, I had no choice. I decided to fake my death and run. Before I skipped town, I made sure a friend called them both with the bad news: "I am so sorry to inform you that Mr. Julian Vance was involved in a severe car accident on his way to the event. Despite emergency efforts, he didn't make it." When I got the call from Chloe, I completely lost it. She was getting married. And the guy was my wife’s "white knight," her childhood crush. This world is disgusting. Why can't I ever be the protagonist in one of those "begging for forgiveness" romance novels? I was so angry I felt like I was mutating. "We've been together for two years, Chloe! Haven't I treated you well? Didn't I promise you the world? Is my wife's money not green enough for you?" The other end of the line went silent. I almost forgot. She’s never actually spent a dime of my wife’s money. For the two years I’ve been with Chloe, I’ve been feeding her nothing but false hope and empty promises. My marriage to Victoria Sterling was something I shamelessly hustled for. I thought marrying into old money meant I’d be living the good life. But reality hit me hard: The rich didn't get rich by being stupid. Victoria only opened her wallet when the utility bills came due, and even then, she made me split it 50/50. Not a penny more. She guarded her money like a dragon. She practically sewed her wallet into her dress lining. I sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of her downtown penthouse, wearing $10 polyester pajamas, eating a $5 cup of instant noodles I bought with a coupon. Before Victoria left, she told me to open the window after eating. Otherwise, she’d charge me a fifty-dollar "Air Quality Violation" fee. The only thing that changed after I climbed the social ladder was that I moved from a doghouse to a gilded cage. I wasn't resigned to this fate. Since I was living in a golden cage, I decided to monetize it. Behind Victoria's back, I started booking the penthouse for influencers who wanted "luxury lifestyle" photoshoots. I made a little cash on the side. But before the money even warmed my pocket, Victoria stormed back home. She rummaged around and claimed she lost a watch. She blamed me for being a terrible house sitter and demanded I pay for it. I was furious, but thinking about the unauthorized photoshoots, I felt guilty. Terrified she’d dig deeper and find out about my side hustle, I reluctantly agreed to pay up. "How much? I'll pay you." Victoria didn't even blink. "$3,792.16." Down to the cent. I went silent. I didn't know if the watch was actually worth that much. But I knew that the money I made from the influencers was exactly $3,792.16. I handed over my blood money with a grimace. I hid under the covers that night, cursing Victoria for hours. I didn't dare try any more shady hustles. Instead, I bought a secondhand cart and started selling gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches near the university campus. Five bucks a pop. Cheap, filling, greasy goodness. That’s how I met Chloe. She stood in front of my cart, shuffling her feet for ages before asking: "Excuse me, are you hiring?" Hiring? It was a one-man grilled cheese operation. But when I looked up and saw her face, I swallowed my rejection. "Yeah, I'm hiring. Free meals, no housing. I provide the cheese, you flip the bread." Leaning against my cart, I became a "boss." Chloe said her schedule was too erratic for a corporate job, so she needed gig work. She worked. I counted cash. She was pretty. People lined up just to see her flipping sandwiches. Her spatula hand was a blur. At night, when we closed up, my family’s driver would pick me up in the Maybach. Wearing my floral apron, holding a crate of leftover cheddar, I’d turn to Chloe, who was staring at the luxury car with stars in her eyes. "Selling grilled cheese," I’d say elegantly, "is just one of my family's many small ventures." Ideally, naive girls are easy to fool. I told her my wife was an eighty-year-old woman, bedridden, childless, and hovering at death’s door. I told her once the old lady kicked the bucket, I’d inherit millions and marry Chloe. I used the "last breath" of a fictional eighty-year-old woman to string Chloe along for two years. Life was exhilaratingly risky. When I was happy, I held Chloe’s hand. When I was mad, I’d call Victoria to "check in" just so I could pick a fight and vent. I thought this paradise would last until Chloe finally got wise. I didn't expect to hear she was getting married so soon. Chloe’s voice on the phone was filled with a strange pride. "Julian, I don't want to struggle anymore." You think you're struggling now?! I screamed internally. Chloe explained, "Don't worry, it's a fake marriage. I only love you." "His first love is Victoria Sterling. She's obsessed with him. She spends money on him constantly. But Victoria is a married woman. He’s afraid of gossip, so he’s hiring me to be his beard." "We made a deal. We can spend Victoria's money together." Chloe paused for dramatic effect, then whispered affectionately: "Julian, I’m going to embezzle Victoria's money to support us." Me: "..." The money I couldn't get from my wife... was coming to me through my girlfriend? My emotions were complicated. Before hanging up, Chloe added: "You have to come to the wedding. I reserved a VIP table just for you. Right in the front. I ordered double portions of the braised pork shank you love." Just then, my phone pinged. Victoria texted me. 【 Nate Blackwood is getting married. You will attend with me. 】 I stared at the message for a long time. I couldn't imagine this wedding. I didn't know how to explain to Chloe why the "eighty-year-old woman" had suddenly de-aged into a supermodel CEO. And I couldn't explain to Victoria why the groom's wife had set up a shrine of pork shanks for me. I replied to Victoria with grave seriousness. 【 Victoria, let's get a divorce. 】 Victoria didn't reply. That was her style. Every time I had a manic episode or demanded to know where she was, she’d just listen and hang up. I assumed this time would be the same. But that night, Victoria came home. She leaned against the doorframe, looking at me with a half-smile. "What are we throwing a tantrum about this time? Is it because I hired a top designer for Nate's suit?" The smell of tobacco and expensive perfume clung to her, chilled by the night air. I only smelled it when I got close. She’d clearly rushed back from some gala. I have a nose like a bloodhound. Usually, I’d use the scent to accuse her of being loose, shameless, or forgetting she was a married woman. But today, my head was full of the wedding. I didn't have the energy to fight. I whispered, "I haven't been feeling well lately. I don't want to go to Nate's wedding." Victoria laughed, a cold sound. "You don't want to go? Or are you too guilty to go? You know you owe him." Victoria was forced to marry me. If not for me—the accident of fate—her husband should have been Nate Blackwood. They grew up together. Old money. Childhood sweethearts. Their families had planned the union for decades. Victoria played the field, sure, but no one dared dream of being her husband. Everyone knew that spot belonged to Nate. Except me. I was the clueless idiot. These damn rich people always play games with honest men like me. Victoria lost a game of Truth or Dare. Her friends dared her to confess her love to me. The heiress lowering herself to hit on the broke guy. Hilarious, right? But they underestimated me. I was so out of the loop I didn't know who Victoria Sterling was. I just saw a gorgeous woman saying she liked me. When she smiled, she looked like a fox spirit. I was bewitched. My heart pounded. I nodded like a bobblehead. "You're safe with me, girl. I'll make you happy." Victoria’s smile vanished instantly. I went home and told everyone—my mom, my aunts, the mailman—that I had found a stunning girlfriend. Victoria thought I was insane and ignored me for months. But I kept treating her as my girlfriend. Six months later, she couldn't take it anymore and told me the truth. I was furious. "What do you mean? You were playing with an honest man's heart?" Instead of apologizing, she mocked me. "Count yourself lucky. Me confessing to you is a story you can brag about for years." I couldn't sleep for days. Fine. You want me to brag? I’ll brag. I created twenty social media accounts. I wrote insane, cringy captions every day. 【 The day Victoria confessed, she said my charisma was blinding. She said my posture was regal. She said one look at me was forever. 】 【 My darling Victoria gets so shy. When her friends pushed her to talk to me, she just stared with wet, puppy-dog eyes. She was so nervous she hiccuped. Then she cried because she was embarrassed. So cute. 】 【 Victoria is versatile. A gentle wife at home, a wild queen in public. But once a queen is protected by a real man, she’ll never look at stray cats again. 】 I wrote the captions. Victoria took the humiliation. After spamming dozens of these posts daily, people couldn't tell if it was satire or real. People started giving her nicknames. "The Hiccuping Wife." "The Shy Queen." She showed up to class with dark circles under her eyes. People even started nicknaming Nate Blackwood: "The Man Who Missed Out on the Queen." Nate started avoiding her. He stayed twenty feet away at all times. Victoria’s friends vanished. They were afraid of being "part of the Queen's layout." She went from socialite queen to social pariah in a month. Her fiancé ran. Her friends bailed. Victoria snapped. She got drunk, stormed over to my place, and screamed: "Nate is gone! My friends are gone! You got what you wanted! You wanted to be with me? Fine! I’ll satisfy you! But don't expect a single happy day!" She dragged me to the courthouse in a drunken rage. I thought I was walking into luxury. Worst case scenario? At least I wouldn't be poor. Turns out, post-marriage life was still poor. The marriage license was basically a roommate agreement. Goddammit. She scammed me! Since then, we’ve tortured each other. But we never mentioned divorce. Until today. Victoria frowned, silence stretching between us. "I don't want to hear the word 'divorce' again. You used dirty tricks to get this marriage. You think you can just leave when you want?"
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