They Called Me a Gold Digger—Until They Learned the TrutChapter 1
Right after college graduation, my fiancée—who happened to be a CEO—threw me a lavish engagement party and even gave me a supplementary credit card, telling me to use it however I pleased.
I made up my mind not to touch the card, but she got upset.
“Gabriel, you’re going to be my husband. My money is your money. Just spend as much as you want! If you won’t even spend my money, does that mean you don’t love me? Or are you thinking of backing out of our engagement?”
Phoebe's eyes turned red as she begged me to use her money, claiming she couldn’t eat or sleep unless I did.
So, just to ease her mind, I used it twice—for two modest takeout meals.
But when I tried to treat her to a fancier lunch, the server told me the card had been maxed out.
I texted her to confirm the limit—and turned out it was a card with a five hundred thousand dollars limit.
Thinking maybe she just forgot she’d used it herself, I didn’t bring it up. I figured I’d wait until the next billing cycle reset, then buy her something nice as a sweet gesture.
However, I never expected her to storm into my workplace with a stack of receipts and tear into me.
“Gabriel! How can you be so materialistic? I said you could use the card freely, not that you should blow five hundred thousand dollars in three days!”
“So that’s why you were hesitating earlier—because you thought the credit limit was too low! God, you're such a money-leeching parasite. Thank goodness we’re not married yet. Otherwise, you would’ve drained my family’s wealth in a weekend!”
She demanded we break off the engagement—and insisted I pay her back.
I pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and handed it to her.
“Fine. Let’s break up. You can keep the change—use it to buy yourself a coffin.”
Thinking I was trying to dodge repayment, she even hired a top-tier lawyer to confront me.
But when the charges were tallied, her face turned green.
——
“Gabriel! What is this supposed to mean? Can’t admit what you did, so now you’re cursing me to die?”
Phoebe, fuming with rage, refused to take the one hundred dollar bill I held out. Her face was flushed with anger.
I just shrugged and pulled out another bill, and replied indifferently, “I only used your card twice—totaling 29.9 dollars. You’re demanding I pay you back five hundred thousand. Honestly, I should be calling the police for extortion.”