Framed as a Gold Digger, I Destroyed My Fiancé's Empire

[#Top University Graduate Unmasked as Shameless Gold Digger!]

[#Gold Digger Blows $500K in 3 Days! Who Would Dare Marry Her?]

[#Wealthy CEO Exploited Like an ATM by His Childhood Fiancée!]

Those headlines were everywhere I looked. No matter which platform I used, the constant scrolling felt like a barrage of information.

And the comment sections? Vicious didn't even come close to describing it.

Once my personal information was uncovered and exposed, the online abuse flooded into my phone nonstop:

[How could your parents raise someone like you? Shame on them. Do the world a favor and disappear!]

[See? Education doesn't mean anything anymore. Women like you are just trash with a degree. Even if you threw yourself at someone, no one would want you!]

It got worse.

Someone dug up my student ID and even tracked down my advisor. Then they turned their pitchforks toward my university, demanding a 'full cleanup.'

By the next morning, my phone rang.

I didn't even need to check the screen. I already knew that it was my counselor, Ms. Brooks.

"Therese," she said, her voice soft and careful. "The university leadership is taking this situation very seriously. I'm afraid your 'Outstanding Graduate' title might be revoked."

I felt my fingers tighten around the phone. My throat went dry like I'd swallowed sand.

"Ms. Brooks, I didn't make those purchases."

There was a pause. Then a long, drawn-out sigh.

"I know," Ms. Brooks said quietly. "But public opinion is spiraling, and the school's image is on the line. Plus, there's pressure coming from the board."

And just like that, it all clicked.

Oliver's company was finalizing a partnership with our university's research lab. They were planning to hire directly from our graduating class.

With job placements approaching and every dean scrambling to impress corporate sponsors, the school wasn't about to jeopardize that deal over me.

And so, I quietly accepted it.

Honestly, losing that 'Outstanding Graduate' title didn't bother me much. It was just a line on paper. At least they didn't go totally off the rails and try to revoke my degree.

But Oliver? Oh, he wasn't done with me.

He leveraged all his contacts to ensure I was blacklisted from every major company in Bayport.

All my résumés disappeared into nothingness—no callbacks, no interviews, not even a courteous rejection.

Meanwhile, he made sure everyone saw how smoothly he'd moved on.

He displayed Kiara at every business event, treating her as if she were his latest trophy girl.

Then one night, she posted a picture online. It was a limited-edition Hermès bag sitting pretty on her arm.

The caption?

[Thank you, Boss, for your love!]

The location tag? An invite-only private club.

Oliver didn't waste any time jumping in with a comment of his own:

[You deserve the best.]

And then, right on cue, I got a text from him.

The timing was laughable, really!

[Therese, if you still want to be a CEO's wife, pay back the $500,000, sign a prenup, and promise to give me three kids in five years after marriage. Play by the rules, and I'll give you a life of luxury and status. Refuse, and you can forget ever finding another job.]

I stared at my screen for a long second and was just stunned.

Was this real life?

Did he honestly think he was doing me a favor?

Then I laughed.

The truth is, Oliver had no idea that marrying me was already out of his league.

If we had truly married, he would have been the one advancing. Even without ever working, I would still live better than most. The influential and wealthy people would recognize me for who I am, and it wouldn't be him they admired.

So I didn't waste another second on his ridiculous "offer."

I typed: [Go away!]

Hit send.

For a moment, I thought that would be the end of it.

Of course, I was wrong.

To my astonishment, Oliver arrived at my home that evening with four bodyguards.

My doorbell kept ringing like an alarm repeatedly.

I slowly opened the door, only to find him standing there with a dark, furious face, surrounded by four men in black who all radiated hostility.

Oliver gave me this smug, entitled look.

"Therese," he sneered, "did you really think hiding out at home was going to save you?"

Without waiting for me to say a thing, he pushed past me and barged into the house like he owned it.

I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed, not even bothering to stop him.

He stalked through the living room, eyes scanning everything—the marble sculptures on the shelves, the antique porcelain, the calligraphy, the paintings.

With each glance, Oliver's expression grew more sour.

"Huh," he finally scoffed. "Now it makes sense. No wonder you had the nerve to max out my card. Guess you've had some top-tier sugar daddies coaching you all this time."

He pointed toward a shelf, a familiar mocking grin spreading across his face.

"How many men did you scam to fill this place up like a damn museum?"

I raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Then Oliver strutted over to the coffee table, picked up a blue-and-white porcelain teacup as if it were a dirty sock, and sneered.