Part 1I’m Not Broke, I’m a Billionaire

At Victoria’s promotion banquet, in front of a room of corporate elites, she raised the limit on my linked credit card from $3,000 to $5,000.

“Consider the extra two grand your pocket money for staying home with our kid,” she said, her voice full of CEO condescension.

I declined, saying I had my own money, but her face darkened instantly.

“Don’t I work hard for you and our daughter? Spend it. Max it out—I’ll make more,” she snapped.

Her sycophants chimed in, praising her as a “true alpha” and joking about marrying her to be a kept man.

That phrase stung, but seeing her excited face, I stayed silent.

Days later, I accidentally charged $30 to the card.

She dragged me into her company, shoved me in front of her staff, and shouted, “I gave you $5,000 and you blew it in a day?”

“Get on your knees, kiss the floor five times, and swear you’ll never waste my money again—or I’ll divorce you.”

Amid the crowd’s contempt, I tore off my jacket.

“Fine. Let’s divorce. I’ll take full custody of our daughter.”

Victoria laughed mockingly. “Everything on you is bought with my money. You’re broke—you can’t fight me for custody.”

I met her eyes with a cold sneer.

She was wrong. I didn’t have $200.

I had $200 million.

That morning, I had been slow-cooking a beef stew at home when Victoria violently yanked me out of the kitchen and dragged me to her office.

Without warning, she kicked me squarely in the kneecap. Caught off guard, I crashed down onto one knee.

Her perfectly manicured acrylic nails dug viciously into my forehead, jabbing me with every word.

"Look at this materialistic, parasitic excuse for a man. I just opened that five-grand line of credit yesterday, and it's already drained."

"My parents were right about you. You are a gold digger. You only married me for my bank account."

A dark wave of anger churned in my gut. But remembering that she was the mother of my little girl, I swallowed the fire burning in my throat.

"What are you talking about, Victoria? I only spent thirty bucks today, and even that was an accident."

I patted my aching knee and tried to stand up.

Suddenly, a heavy blow slammed into the back of my leg. A sickening crunch echoed through the room. My knee buckled involuntarily as blinding, agonizing pain crushed the air out of my lungs.

I looked up. It was Blake, Victoria’s male secretary. He had sneaked up behind me and smashed a heavy wooden broom handle directly into my joint.

He stood over me, puffing out his chest with sheer arrogance.

"Did the boss give you permission to stand up? You don't move until she says so."

"A freeloader like you belongs on his knees. You're starting to forget your place in the food chain."

The dull, throbbing agony radiating from my shattered knee left me drenched in a cold sweat. But I was not a punching bag.

"Who the hell do you think you are, barking at me?" I spat out. "What happens between my wife and me is none of your damn business."

The moment the words left my mouth, a brutal slap tore across my right cheek. The skin felt like it was ripping apart.

"Who the hell do you think you are, talking to my employee like that?" Victoria screamed.

"Blake is a hundred times the man you are. At least every dollar he spends is earned through his own hard work."

"If you want to live off my dime, you better show some gratitude. You think a kept man gets to eat his meals standing up?"

"If you don't kiss the floor five times right now and say 'I am sorry my queen' five hundred times, you are not walking out of here."

The metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth. I pressed my tongue hard against my loose back teeth, swallowing the hot liquid pooling in my throat.

"I told you, I didn't spend that five grand. I only used thirty dollars."

Her fury exploded. She grabbed me by the collar, shaking me violently.

"The bank sent the notification directly to my phone. The limit is maxed out. If it wasn't you, who was it?"

"So now you're not just a leech, you're a liar too?"

"My mother and sister were absolutely right. Poverty breeds deceit. You are nothing but a con artist trying to drain my accounts."

A suffocating wave of humiliation washed over me. I stiffened my neck, refusing to bow my head to her madness.

"I said I didn't spend it. And frankly, I have my own money. Victoria, the truth is, while I've been at home..."

A chorus of roaring laughter erupted from the crowd, violently cutting off my confession.

"He says he has his own money. What kind of cash does a house-husband who never sees the sun actually make?"

"Did you hoard some loose quarters from the grocery change? If Victoria wasn't out here crushing it in the corporate world, you'd be starving on the streets."

"Look at that grease stain on his shirt. I don't know what the boss ever saw in him. Just looking at him makes me want to throw up."

"She just liked his face. He looks like a gentleman, but underneath, he's just pure trash."

Victoria frowned, listening to the mocking whispers. Her face twisted into a mask of total disgust.

"Are you done throwing this tantrum? Haven't you embarrassed yourself enough? Since you refuse to admit it, I will show you exactly what you did."

She threw her phone onto the marble floor.

"Look at it yourself. Look at the itemized bill."

A coworker standing nearby eagerly snatched up the phone and gasped.

"Oh my god. Three hotel room bookings in a single day. Five boxes of premium condoms. And three grand dropped on luxury lingerie."

"Just how thirsty are you? Hooking up three times a day?"

"What a degenerate. If Victoria divorces him, I'd gladly take his place. I eat less and spend less."

Victoria ignored the chatter, her eyes locked onto mine like twin glaciers.

"You are cheating on me behind my back, and I am only asking you to kneel and apologize. I'd say I am being incredibly generous."

"If you keep acting up, we are done."

There was no point in arguing anymore. I was completely utterly baffled by that bank statement.

Trembling from the agonizing pain in my knee, I forced myself up. I intended to wait until she came home to properly explain things.

But the second I got my footing, Blake lunged. He grabbed the back of my neck and slammed my face brutally into the freezing tile floor.

"Where do you think you're going? You piss off our boss and think you can just walk away? Fine, you don't want to kiss the floor. Crawl between her legs."

He said he wanted me to crawl under Victoria's legs, but Blake deliberately spread his own legs wide, standing right in front of my face.

I would rather die than be humiliated like this.

Ignoring the screaming pain radiating through my entire body, I thrashed wildly, managing to break his grip.

Before anyone could react, I threw a desperate, bone-crushing punch straight into Blake's jaw.

"Back the hell off. My family's business is not for you to decide."

Blake crashed to the floor, five red finger marks instantly swelling on his cheek.

Victoria shrieked. She threw herself onto the floor beside him, her hands gently and tenderly tracing the red marks on his face. The absolute heartbreak and pity overflowing in her eyes felt like a barrage of silver needles piercing my flesh.

I knew that look. I had seen that exact look before. Years ago, when I accidentally burned my hand cooking her dinner, she had wrapped me in that exact same gaze.

She had blamed herself, crying and promising, "I will work so hard. I'll make enough money to hire a private chef so you never have to burn yourself again."

But I hadn't seen that desperate, loving look directed at me in years.

Lately, even when she came home to a hot meal, her face was twisted in disgust. "Chicken stew again? It smells disgusting."

"Why can't you do anything right? You are completely useless."

My heart violently twisted in my chest. My breathing turned shallow and ragged.

Because in that moment, I knew the truth. My wife had already given her heart to someone else.