Late one night, I was scrolling through social media and stumbled upon a trending post.

"Does your husband ever say you're obsessed with your brother?"

One comment sat at the top with thousands of likes. The profile picture showed a cartoon girl covering her mouth, laughing.

"Oh, I can answer this one! My husband used to say that too, but here's the thing: he's actually the son I had when I was 19!"

Every word oozed with smug satisfaction.

Some commenters tore into her, calling her manipulative and her husband a total sucker. She only got bolder. She posted a screenshot of a bank transfer with the details blurred out, right next to a photo of limited-edition sneakers.

"All my son had to say was he liked them, and my husband caved! Then he gave him extra cash for a fancy dinner!”

"A guy like this? If I don't milk him, who will?"

I stared at the sneakers and the transfer amount. They matched exactly what I had bought for my "brother-in-law" that afternoon and the money I had just sent him. Down to the last cent.

Ice shot through my veins.

That sucker she was bragging about? That was me.

"He even feels sorry for me all the time, saying my parents favored sons over daughters and that I suffered because of it. He turns a blind eye to me supporting my 'brother.' What an idiot!”

"Why wouldn't I take advantage of a guy like this? His money is there for me and my son to spend!"

I stared at my phone screen, my fingers trembling uncontrollably.

Vivienne Carter was my wife. For five years, she constantly cried in front of me, saying she was neglected by her parents since childhood and forced to drop out of school to support her brother's education. Every single word oozed self-pity.

I pitied her hardships. I never refused when she asked me to help her brother. I even handed over my bank card for her to manage.

While I sat frozen, she posted again.

"His business is doing pretty well lately. I'm planning to have him buy my son a wedding house. After all, his assets will end up being my son's sooner or later anyway. What's wrong with planning ahead?"

A string of supportive comments followed. Someone asked her how she managed to deceive her husband so flawlessly.

She replied smugly. "How else? Just cry. I told him that not going to college was my biggest regret in life. I told him that my brother is all I have. Men fall for this every time. Once they feel sorry for you, they'll give you anything."

I thought back to how she normally acted.

She always came to me with red-rimmed eyes, telling me how excellent her grades were back then, but because her parents favored her brother, she was forced to give up college and work instead.

She said by the time Dylan was born, their parents were getting on in years, so as the older sister, she had to take extra care of him. She said I was her only pillar of support and that I was the only person who made her feel loved.

I believed every word. So for five years, I paid for Dylan's tuition, living expenses, tutoring fees, and even his gaming purchases. The sneakers he wanted, the gaming console, the latest phone model... Whenever Vivienne mentioned them to me, I never once refused.

I clicked on the poster's profile. Though she never showed her face, her daily posts featured decorations from our living room and the pearl necklace I bought for Vivienne.

Without a doubt, this was her.

I closed the app, my mind spinning. As soon as dawn broke, I immediately dialed my lawyer, Owen Fletcher.

"Owen, I need you to check all the assets under my name. Company shares, property, savings, and all transfer records from the past five years. The more detailed, the better."

Owen was a friend from my startup days and completely reliable. He did not ask questions and just responded quietly, "Got it, Nathan. I'll have the finance team and legal team coordinate immediately. I'll get you preliminary results by the end of the day."

I hung up and sat in the empty living room, staring at our wedding photo on the wall.

In the photo, Vivienne smiled radiantly, nestled beside me, her eyes full of happiness.

Back then, I was fresh off my successful startup. I thought I had married the love of my life. I thought we would have a peaceful life together.

Now, as I looked at this photo, I realized that it was nothing more than a snapshot of this entire scam. It was so glaring I wanted to rip it off the wall and smash it to pieces.

I stood up and walked into the study, turning on the computer to organize whatever financial documents I could find.

The more I reviewed the bank statements, transfer records, property purchase contracts, and equity certificates, the heavier my heart sank.

Vivienne's salary was not high. She basically relied on me to support her.

Under her name was a luxury car worth half a million dollars, along with several designer handbags. These were all things I bought for her because I felt sorry for her, telling her that "a woman should treat herself well."

However, I never imagined that she not only spent my money on herself, but also transferred large amounts to Dylan.

At noon, Owen's call came through. "Nathan, the preliminary investigation results are in.”

"Over the past five years, 15% of your company shares were transferred to Vivienne in three separate transactions, all under the 'gift' designation. The paperwork is complete and looks voluntary on your part, but I checked the dates. They were all processed while you were on business trips or swamped with work at the company.”

"As for your two properties downtown, one already has 50% ownership transferred to Dylan, claiming she was 'saving a wedding house for her brother'. The other is still under your name, but she has already used it as collateral for a loan. Two million dollars. I have no idea where that money went.”

"Then there are your savings. Over the past three years, your salary, bonuses, plus company dividends totaled around eight million. Of that, over six million flowed into Vivienne and Dylan's accounts through various transfers and purchases. Dylan's tuition and tutoring were all paid with your money."

Every sentence Owen spoke landed like a hammer blow to my chest.

Over eight million dollars. Six years of hard work. I scrimped and saved, focused only on building a good life and on giving Vivienne a stable home.

I never imagined that the money I worked so hard to earn all went to support her and someone else's child.

"There's more," Owen added. "We found a bank card under Dylan's name. Over the past year, there were several large deposits totaling over a million dollars. The sources are all unfamiliar accounts. It looks like Vivienne funneled money through third-party accounts to avoid detection."

I leaned back in my chair, feeling completely drained.

Five years of devotion. Five years of trust. All in exchange for such thorough, calculated fraud.

I was a clown, thinking myself a prince rescuing a damsel in distress, yet unknowingly becoming nothing more than her cash cow.

Late in the evening, Vivienne finally came home. She carried several shopping bags, just like always, her face wearing a gentle smile as she walked into the study.

"Honey, why didn't you go to the office today? I bought you those strawberries you love, and a new dress shirt. Try it on and see if it fits."

Her tone was natural, playfully affectionate as always.

I raised my head, suppressing the rage churning inside me. My voice came out calmer than I expected.

"It’s nothing much. I’m just tired so I’m resting at home for a bit."

Vivienne sensed the coldness in my tone. The smile on her face faltered slightly. She walked over, trying to take my arm.

"Honey, what's wrong? Is work not going well? Or did I do something to make you angry?"

The moment her hand touched my arm, I instinctively pulled away.

Vivienne's hand froze mid-air. Her eyes instantly welled up as she started her usual routine.

"Honey, are you disgusted with me now? Do you think I'm too obsessed with my brother because I keep asking you to spend money on Dylan? But I have no choice. Dylan is still young. He's my only brother. If I don't take care of him, who will?”

"My parents never loved me growing up. Only Dylan is close to me. I really can't abandon him..."

As she spoke, she wiped away tears, sobbing dramatically.

In the past, seeing her like this, I would have already pulled her into my arms, comforted her, and promised to take good care of her and her brother. However, now, watching her fake performance, I only felt nauseous.

I said nothing and just stared at her, waiting to see how she would continue this act.

Seeing that I remained unmoved, Vivienne cried for a while longer before her voice dropped.

"Honey, I know you're under a lot of pressure and that earning money isn't easy. From now on, I'll make sure Dylan spends less. Please don't be mad at me, okay?"

I stood up, avoiding her gaze. "I'm a bit tired. I’m going to rest in the bedroom."

With that, I walked straight out of the study, leaving Vivienne standing there alone, tear stains still drying on her face.

Back in the bedroom, I lay on the bed, my mind filled with Vivienne's lies and all those transferred assets.

Over the next few days, I acted completely out of character, ignoring her entirely. Vivienne noticed something was off but assumed I was sulking over the whole Dylan situation and tried every trick to please me.

She woke up early every morning to make me breakfast, though the taste remained mediocre as always. She took the initiative to organize my study, arranging the files neatly.

She even swallowed her pride and massaged my shoulders like how she had seen in online videos, massaging my shoulders and back while murmuring, "Honey, you work so hard. From now on, I'll listen to you. I won't ask you for money for Dylan anymore."

Watching her careful, fawning behavior, I felt nothing. Only deep disgust. Every attempt she made to win me over only reminded me of how foolish I once was.

Friday night, we ate dinner together. Vivienne prepared a table full of my favorite dishes and even opened a bottle of wine, trying to ease the tension.

Halfway through the meal, she started her sobbing act again, her eyes reddening as she spoke.

"Honey, I know you're still angry, but Dylan is starting middle school next year. The enrollment fees are going to be expensive, plus tutoring costs. I really have no choice but to keep asking you for money…”

"My parents are completely useless. They're getting old too.”

"Honey, this is so hard for me. You're the only one who can help. If even you won't help me, I really don't know what I'll do..." As she spoke, she poked at her food with her fork, looking pitiful.

I put down my fork and watched her masterful performance, cold laughter echoing in my mind.

Enrollment fees? Tutoring? This money would probably just end up funding Dylan's spending spree again.

Still, I did not call her out. I simply said flatly, "I see. I'll think about it."

My dismissive tone left Vivienne somewhat dissatisfied, but she did not dare say more. She just ate in silence.

After dinner, Vivienne returned to the bedroom. Probably figuring I was still angry, she did not dare disturb me.

I sat on the living room couch and opened my phone, registering a new social media account.

I used a generic female profile picture and changed the username to "Fellow Victim."

I found Vivienne's posting account and, after a moment of hesitation, sent her a private message.

"Girl, you're amazing! My husband always complains I spoil my family too much and calls me obsessed with my brother. But I have my own struggles I can't share. The person I'm actually supporting is my own child, but I can't let him know. How do you keep your husband willing to spend money without suspicion? Need advice. I also want to transfer assets to my kid."

Within minutes, my phone buzzed. Vivienne replied.

"Girl, I feel you! Men are all the same. Soft-hearted and easy to fool. Just cry in front of him more often. Tell him how much you suffered as a child and how biased your parents were. He'll feel sorry for you and agree to whatever you ask.”

"I've been married to my husband for five years. He's never suspected a thing. He always thinks I have it rough and treats my son better than he treats himself. Remember, never confront him directly. Act helpless. Tears are your best weapon."