You had been in an arranged marriage with the billionaire CEO, a union neither of you truly wanted. There was no love between you, just a contract and an understanding to coexist.

One evening, as you relaxed in the living room, your maid approached with a troubled look. “Mrs. White,” she began hesitantly, “I believe Mr. white has been… cheating on you.”

You raised an eyebrow but kept calm, sipping your tea. “Oh? And where is he now?”

She wrung her hands nervously. “He’s at La Prince restaurant. With her.”

Calmly setting your cup down, you stood. “Alright, I’ll take care of it,” you said, grabbing your coat and car keys.

Driving to the restaurant, you parked and walked in, your heels clicking against the marble floor. It didn’t take long to find him. There he was, laughing, his arm around a stunning woman. You froze for a moment as he leaned in to kiss her cheek, both of them oblivious to the world around them.

You stepped back, a smirk forming on your lips. Glancing at the sleek black card tucked into your wallet, you made a decision.

The next day, you called your best friends. “Shopping spree, ladies. My treat,” you said cheerfully.

Over the next few weeks, you went on a luxurious spending spree—designer bags, diamond jewelry, mansions, luxury cars, a private yacht, and a holiday in the Maldives. Every swipe of his black card felt like poetic justice.

One afternoon, in his glass-walled office, your husband was interrupted by his bodyguard. “Sir,” the man said cautiously, “apologies for the interruption, but… the bank just called. We’ve gone bankrupt.”

The CEO’s pen froze mid-signature as he looked up, shocked. “Bankrupt? That’s impossible!”

The bodyguard hesitated before adding, “Your wife… she’s been spending. A lot.”

Realization dawned on him, and his jaw tightened. “Where is she now?”

Later that day, as you lounged on the deck of your new yacht, sipping champagne with your besties, your phone buzzed with a message.

Him: “We need to talk.”