#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?”

“Well, I’ll give you this—it’s a pretty convincing replica. Shame about the glaze though, it's too new. A dead giveaway that it's fake.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Excellent eye, Miss Wright.”

Ironically, it was the only fake item in the house.

But Phoebe thought I was mocking her. Her expression turned even colder.

“Gabriel, I don’t have time to play games with you. Either you repay the five hundred thousand right now and sign these agreements, or the engagement is officially off.”

“If your dream of being a rich househusband shatters, don’t come crying.”

“Oh—and don’t expect me to take care of your parents either. With no retirement pension, I’m not funding their—”

She was abruptly cut off by one of the bodyguards, who leaned in and whispered, “Miss Wright, doesn’t that vase look like the centerpiece from the Sotheby’s auction last week?”

Phoebe froze and turned to where the man was pointing.

It was a Song Dynasty official kiln plum vase—an antique my father had bid on at a Sotheby’s charity auction just because I liked it. He bought it as a gift—for me to play with.

She stared at it for several seconds, her expression shifting from confused to incredulous before she scoffed.

“Really, Gabriel? A fake inspired by a Sotheby’s auction piece? You’ve got some nerve.”

Looking at this woman—three years older than me—I silently thanked the heavens I wasn’t yet legally of age to marry. If it weren’t for that loophole, by the terms of our family agreement, I’d already be her husband.

To be tied to someone like this—calculating, pretentious, cheap, and absolutely lacking in discernment—would’ve been the shame of my life.

I sighed and gestured toward the door.

“Phoebe, I don’t blame you for being blind, but if you’re going to come into my house and humiliate yourself, I won’t entertain it any longer.”

Her expression immediately darkened. “Oh, so now you think I need you?”

“Let me tell you—men like you, who rely on their bodies and sponge off others, are the worst! You’ve got a terrible reputation now. No decent woman would marry you! I was only tolerating you because of the elders’ arrangement!”

I didn’t bother arguing. Instead, I picked up the vase and slowly turned it over so she could see the base.

“Take a good look. It's Sotheby’s authentication serial number—one of a kind. The final bid is 120 million dollars.”

“You really think I’d stoop so low for your five hundred thousand?” I snickered.

“I could let it go out of respect for our families. But the funny thing is—I happen to despise gold-digging women who want something for nothing.”

“So here’s my offer: if you and your little goon squad leave my house immediately and never show your face to me again, I’ll forget the slander and online harassment.”

Phoebe froze.

The bodyguards all gasped, one of them whispering, “Miss Wright, he’s so confident. Maybe this is a misunderstanding. That vase looks real to me.”

Phoebe’s face turned an ugly shade of gray. She yanked the vase out of my hands and turned it over and over, her expression growing darker with each second.

Finally, she pulled out her phone and called Blake.

“Blake, your sister works at the Sotheby’s auction house, right? Ask her who won the final bid on that plum vase last time.”

“Oh, and bring the top-tier lawyer I hired over to Gabriel’s place.”

“He’s still denying he used my card. Today, I will make him admit it. I can’t let him think he can dominate me now and get even worse after marriage!”

Well, if she wanted to be humiliated, I didn’t mind waiting.

Ten minutes later, Blake arrived with the lawyer in tow, wearing a smug look on his face.

“Miss Wright, I checked. That plum vase was bought by the richest man in the city. He said it was a gift for his son to use as a flower vase.”

Upon hearing that, Phoebe’s face lit up with a certainty.

Blake picked up the plum vase and examined it with a mocking smile.

“Gabriel, you really went all out trying to play the rich guy, huh? Even had a high-end replica made this realistic?”

But the moment the top-tier lawyer—Phoebe’s so-called gold-medal legal consultant—got a proper look at the vase, her expression shifted. Adjusting her gold-rimmed glasses, she stepped forward for a closer inspection.

However, the next second, m a piercing shatter echoed through the living room.

Blake slammed the vase onto the floor.

The Song Dynasty plum vase—worth one hundred twenty million dollars—was now nothing but dust and shards.

I froze.

Even Phoebe looked stunned for a second before shooting him an annoyed glare.

“Blake, stop messing around! Even if it’s just a replica, that thing was worth a decent amount!”

Blake pouted, his eyes red with emotion. “Miss Wright, it’s obvious Gabriel is never going to pay you back. I smashed a fake on your behalf, to help you vent! And now you’re blaming me?”

Right in front of me, Phoebe’s expression softened. She gently comforted him, “I’m not blaming you. I just wanted him to cough up the five hundred thousand, so I could put a down payment on a small apartment for you.”

“My best employee deserves only the best.”

“Hopefully, someone around here will finally understand the gap between us and obediently sign those agreements. After all, the line of men who want to marry into my family could wrap around the entire city.”

She shot me a look full of smug implication.

I rolled my eyes like I was looking at a pair of idiots. “Phoebe, do yourself a favor and find out who actually spent that five hundred thousand before you start accusing people. Otherwise, yeah—you’re right, people trying to drain your bank account really do stretch around New York.”

Blake visibly flinched, and tears started streaming down his face, this time with less performance and more panic.

Phoebe rushed to console him, flustered.

I’d had enough of their public display of twisted affection. My voice cut in, as I spat coldly, “Since you care so much about your employees, Miss Wright, I assume you’ll be the one compensating for that one hundred twenty million vase?”

She raised her foot and aimed to stomp the broken pieces even further.

“A fake like that? You expect me to pay for it? What, feeling heartbroken now? Didn’t you claim it was authentic? Didn’t you say you were rich? Then go buy another one!”

Blake wiped his tears instantly and puffed up like a rooster, looking triumphant.

But before her foot landed, the gold-medal lawyer dropped to her knees with a thud, arms out to block her.

“Miss Wright—if I’m not mistaken... that vase was real.”

Her words shut both Phoebe and Blake up instantly.

I blinked. Well, well. So the “gold-medal” lawyer actually had some expertise beyond legal jargon.

But in the next second, Phoebe shoved her aside and crushed the remaining shards under her heel.

“Lawyer Nelson, you’re paid to handle contracts—not antiques. You heard what they said—the real vase was bought by the richest man in New York for his son to use as a flower vase. As if that would ever end up in this house.”

Blake immediately gasped dramatically. “Unless Gabriel stole it from the richest man’s house?”

“Or wait... did he actually seduce the richest man himself?!”

I couldn't help but laugh at their ridiculous assumptions.

“Well, since we’re putting cards on the table, I'll tell you. The richest man in New York? That’s my dad.”

Phoebe and Blake locked eyes for a moment—then burst out laughing like it was the funniest joke they had ever heard.

“Oh wow,” Phoebe wheezed. “Gabriel, I know your family’s situation like the back of my hand. Your dad? New York’s richest man? Oh please—maybe your sugar daddy.”

Narrowing her eyes, she added, “So that’s how you swing, huh? You go both ways now?”

“Well, considering you’ve got connections like that, I suppose I could reconsider the breakup. You don’t even have to pay five hundred thousand anymore.”

“All I ask is that you sign these agreements and make sure your ‘father’ supports my family’s business annually”

“In return, I’ll make sure you and your sugar... I mean, father, can keep everything discreet.”