The Billionaire's Revenge She Tried to Steal My Fortune

"You have $3 million?"

She shook her head.

"$300,000?"

"I have $3,000."

"Honey, I know it's not much, but I'm giving you everything I have."

Nice try—using $3,000 to bait me into spending millions more. She really thinks I'm an idiot.

When I didn't respond, Summer started pushing me to tap my family for cash.

"Honey, think of something. Ask your parents, your siblings. A few extra million shouldn't be hard for you."

I smiled faintly and pointed at the standalone villa. "Why cram into a condo with all those people? If we're buying, we're buying that."

She stared at me, stunned. Then her expression soured—she thought I was mocking her. "If you don't want to chip in for a bigger condo, just say so. You don't have to be sarcastic."

I gripped her shoulders, looking sincere. "Honey, I'm not joking. I'm buying the villa. Look—I've already got the money."

I showed her my bank balance. Her eyes went wide, and she actually screamed.

But suspicion crept back almost instantly. "You didn't take out a loan, did you? Because I'm not paying that off with you."

"Relax. Not a single cent borrowed. My family scraped it together."

She threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me hard.

"Honey, you're amazing!"

Just like that, I paid $30 million in full for the villa.

On the way home, we passed an imported car dealership. Summer dragged me inside.

"Honey, your Audi's so old. How about a Porsche? Since your family's so generous, why not ask for a little more?"

This woman was relentless. Bleeding me for a house wasn't enough—now she wanted a car.

Fine by me. The more eagerly she swallows, the harder she'll choke when it comes back up.

I dropped another $6 million on a Porsche.

The moment the keys hit my palm, her lips curled into a grin. So did mine.

After the house and car, she pushed for designer bags, watches, jewelry.

I refused everything.

First, that stuff would be a hassle to reclaim later. Second, I didn't want to overload the trap. The mine I'd buried was heavy enough already—I was worried she wouldn't survive the blast.

I didn't want our divorce dragging on because of loose ends.

The moment I stopped spending, her attitude plummeted.

At night, she was suddenly never in the mood. Period cramps. Infection. Always something.

I didn't care. After months of nonstop action, the novelty had worn off anyway. Even the finest delicacy gets bland if you eat it every day.

Now I was just waiting for her to show her hand.

Sure enough, she started picking fights over nothing. Every argument ended with her looking heartbroken and wronged. If I hadn't already known her game, I'd have thought I was the problem.

It's true what they say: sometimes when a woman snaps at you, it's not because you've done anything wrong. It's because she's already done with you.

The fights escalated. Summer grew bolder, stopped pretending. Some nights, she didn't come home at all.