#Gold-Digging Scumbag Who Blew Five Hundred Thousand in Three Days—Who Would Dare Marry Him?
#Tragic CEO Beauty Turns Out to Be an ATM for Her Childhood Fiancé!
The comment section exploded with hate.
As soon as my personal information was exposed, my phone was flooded with insults and threats.
[How could your parents raise someone like you? Disgraceful! Do us all a favor and die—don’t tarnish the school’s reputation!]
[So it’s true—education doesn’t equal character. No woman would marry a guy like you, even if you paid her!]
Some even dug up my student ID and advisor’s name, demanding the university to “clean up.”
The next day, I got a call from my academic advisor.
“Gabriel, the school leadership is taking this incident seriously. I’m afraid your ‘Outstanding Graduate’ title might be revoked.”
I gripped my phone tightly, throat dry. “But, Sir, I didn’t spend that money.”
He sighed heavily. “I believe you, but the public doesn’t. The school’s image has already taken a hit, and there’s pressure from above.”
At that moment, I understood.
Phoebe’s company was on the verge of partnering with our university’s research lab. Once the deal went through, it would open job pipelines for graduates. This was peak recruitment season—one scandal couldn’t be allowed to ruin the future of hundreds.
I accepted the decision calmly.
Losing the “Outstanding Graduate” title didn’t affect me much. At least the school wouldn’t go so far as to cancel my diploma or degree.
But Phoebe still wasn't satisfied.
She activated her network in the industry and spread the word to blacklist me.
All the resumes I casually sent out went unanswered, and I didn't even get a chance to interview.
Meanwhile, she began flaunting her relationship with Blake, showing up at the business galas in high profile manner.
On social media, Blake posted a photo of himself wearing a brand-new luxury watch with the caption, [Thanks for the gift, boss~]
The background was an elite private members’ club.
Phoebe liked his post and commented.[You deserve the best.]
That same night, she sent me a text.
[Gabriel, if you still want to be a CEO’s husband, first repay the five hundred thousand, then sign a prenuptial agreement. After marriage, you’ll be a stay-at-home husband, taking care of the kids and living in luxury.]
[Obey me, and I’ll guarantee you a life of comfort and status.]
[If you refuse, you’ll never work in this industry again.]
I stared at the screen—and laughed.
She probably didn’t realize. For someone like me, she was the one marrying up.
Even if I never worked a day in my life, I’d still live well, better than most. I didn’t need her crumbs.
So I replied with a single word. [Get lost.]
But I didn’t expect her to go completely unhinged.
That very night, Phoebe showed up at my apartment with four bodyguards.
The doorbell rang like a siren. I opened the door slowly—and there she was, standing at my doorstep, her expression was gloomy.
Behind her, four men in black exuded quiet menace.
“Gabriel,” she sneered, “did you think hiding at home would protect you?”
Without waiting for an answer, she shoved past me and barged inside like a storm.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching as she prowled through my living room like a thief looking for loot.
Her eyes swept over the elegant jade sculptures, antique porcelain, and calligraphy hanging on the walls. Her face darkened with every glance.
“Heh,” she scoffed. “So this is why you had the guts to blow through my card. You must have gotten real good at leeching off your sugar mamas.”
She jabbed a finger at the valuable items.
“How many people did you scam to fill this place up?”
I raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
She stalked over to the coffee table, picked up a blue-and-white porcelain teacup, and scoffed.
“So it’s all for show, huh? A bunch of cheap knockoffs to make yourself look rich?”
