Jubilantly casting aside his long-suffering wife to marry a corporate heiress, the newly appointed CEO is stunned to realize he has just signed on for trillions in bad debt—the final move in a perfect revenge scheme
Chapter I: The Contract of Selling One’s Soul to the Devil
That poor city never stopped breathing the roaring shrieks of smoke and dust, where asphalt roads stained with mud after every heavy rain always bore the weary footprints of tens of thousands of wandering souls. In that desolate corner of the street flickering with dim streetlights, a small family struggled through each day within a damp rented room, where sighs sometimes felt heavier than the burden of survival resting on their shoulders.
He did not belong there. At least, in his ambitious and selfish subconscious, he always told himself so.
He was an ordinary man by birth, yet he harbored grand delusions of power. For years, he cowered at the bottom of the ladder as a low-level sales employee in a financial corporation teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. He looked at those standing at the pinnacle with an eyeshot burning with greedy desire. And to climb those slippery rungs of fame, he did not hesitate to discard his final shred of conscience.
His target was none other than the only daughter of the corporation’s chairman—a pampered, arrogant, superficial heiress who held the master key to unlocking the family’s treasure vault. He had woven a sweet trap with honeyed words, clandestine dates behind his faithful wife’s back, and a fake love disguised behind a polished, pitiful facade.
The wife at home—the woman who had accompanied him through the harshest days, eating instant noodles meal after meal, staying up all night to sew patches onto his shirts so he could have a decent suit for interviews—had been completely written off by him as a worn-out object, a rustic stain that needed to be scrubbed clean before stepping into high society.
Whenever he saw his wife bustling about the small kitchen, not a single shred of pity stirred in him; instead, a supreme coldness swelled within his chest. To him, she was the embodiment of poverty, an iron chain dragging his eagle wings down into the mud.
And then, that fateful chess move finally bore fruit.
Chapter II: The Triumph of the Traitor
That late afternoon, brilliant twilight streamed through the gleaming tempered glass of the downtown skyscraper, illuminating the appointment decision bearing a blazing red seal.
He leaned back into the imported, ergonomic leather chair, so comfortable it felt as though he were floating on clouds. The position of Chief Executive Officer—the supreme seat of power second only to the founder—now rested neatly within his grasp. The chairman’s daughter, his little mistress leaning against his shoulder with a satisfied smile, whispered sweet praises of his exceptional talent.
— “From now on, you are truly the king here,” – she whispered, her slender fingers lightly tracing the lapel of his expensive suit.
He laughed loudly, the satisfied laugh of someone who had won completely in the game of life. In his mind at that moment, images of his wife in the shabby, poor rented room had long faded away like a tattered painting tossed aside. He thought of returning home, throwing the divorce papers in her face, tossing her a few pennies like a final scrap of charity before officially entering the prestigious gates of high society.
He stood up, donning his designer blazer, holding a bottle of expensive champagne awarded directly by the board of directors. Elated, he strode out of the building, his spirits soaring as if riding on the wings of arrogance. He wanted to rush home not to share his joy, but to savor the moment of crushing his impoverished past in the most ruthless manner possible.
The luxury car rented specifically for his inauguration day glided past the muddy roads of that poor city. Stepping into the familiar rented room, he didn’t even bother to knock, shoving the rotted wooden door wide open with a triumphant look.
Chapter III: The Room of Deadly Silence
The cramped rented room remained just as it was, grease and mildew odors mingling in the narrow space. But strangely enough, the air here held neither the usual busyness nor the familiar sighs.
His wife sat by the rustic wooden table placed in the middle of the room. Beneath the yellowish light, she wore simple clothes, her expression calm to the point of chilliness. Before her lay a neatly arranged stack of documents, beside which rested a gleaming black fountain pen.
He walked in, dropping the champagne bottle onto the table with a loud thud, the corners of his mouth curling into a mocking half-smile:
— “Did you see that? Finally, I’ve crawled my way up. Stop staring at me with that blank face of yours. Let’s get a divorce. Sign here, I don’t have an ounce of patience left to act out this pathetic poor family charade with you anymore.”
He pulled a pre-drafted divorce paper from his jacket pocket, slamming it onto the table right in front of his wife. He waited for aggrieved tears, heartbreaking cries, or bitter curses typically seen in abandoned women.
Yet his world seemed to derail off its orbit in the very next instant.
His wife did not tremble at all. She slowly raised her head, looking at him without a shred of resentment, nor even the slightest hint of surprise. It was the gaze of a hunter watching prey willingly walk into a trap.
She leisurely picked up the fountain pen, flipped to the final page of the divorce papers he had brought, and decisively signed her name. Her handwriting was sharply and astonishingly resolute.
He froze, blinking repeatedly, astonished by this unusual compliance. Before he could speak, his wife gently pushed the remaining thick stack of documents on the table toward him.
— “You sign really fast,” – her voice rang out, gentle yet cold as a midwinter glacier. – “Don’t you need to re-read the clauses? Anyway, congratulations on officially stepping into the CEO’s chair.”
He frowned, a flash of unease flickering in his chest but quickly overridden by arrogance. He picked up the stack of documents on the table and opened them.
Chapter IV: The Face-Up Game at the Bottom of the Abyss
The stack of documents wasn’t a petty asset-splitting agreement as he had imagined. Striking his eyes were financial statements, share transfer records, and a series of asset mortgage contracts bound by tight legal ties.
He flipped page after page, his complexion shifting from triumphant to pale, then thoroughly drained of blood. His breath suddenly choked in his chest, cold sweat pouring profusely down his spine.
— “What… what is this?! Where did these contracts come from?!” – he yelled, his voice trembling and cracking.
His wife leisurely stood up, walked to the small window, looked out at the gloomy night, then turned back to look at him with an insipid smile:
— “Did you think the CEO position you just sat in was brought about by your extraordinary talent? You’re so naive, or has ambition completely blinded your already limited brain?”
He stepped back a pace, his legs nearly buckling onto the floor. He stammered: “You… what are you talking about? The chairman… the chairman signed my appointment decision…”
— “That’s right, the arrogant and seasoned chairman you were planning to latch onto in order to step into high society signed that decision,” – his wife interrupted, every word sharp as a razor blade. – “But do you know why his corporation has faced hidden bankruptcy risks for the past six months? Because of me. I systematically swallowed up his bad debts, buying up every floating bond on the market with secret capital whose existence you never even knew about.”
His eyes widened, his ears ringing. The terrifying truth began to clear up in his head.
— “The pampered, wealthy heiress you’re sharing a bed with?” – she continued, stepping closer to him, her gaze piercing straight through his soul. – “The chairman’s ideal prospective son-in-law was actually just a perfect pawn to sign away on all legal documents bearing the burden of bad debt. All the assets of that family were long ago mortgaged back to an investment fund under my name. Today, when you sat in the CEO’s chair, it meant you officially became the legal representative burdened with thousands of billions of dong in massive debt for that collapsing corporation.”
Chapter V: Laughter Upon the Ruins
— “No… Impossible! You tricked me! You’re just a poor, worthless housewife…” – he roared frantically, lunging forward to grab the debt document on the table.
In the bottom right corner of the debt transfer document, the final guarantee signature bore the red seal of the Chief Executive Officer—the exact signature he had joyfully penned just this afternoon at the corporate office. He had signed away to accept debts on behalf of his prospective father-in-law without carefully reading the supplementary clauses cleverly nested behind.
— “Thank you for helping me completely take over her family’s assets,” – his wife uttered her final words, her voice terrifyingly calm. – “You wanted fame, I granted you fame. You wanted glory at the peak, I let you stand at the highest position to bear the entire collapse.”
Outside the rented room, the sirens of economic police suddenly wailed piercingly, shattering the silence of that poor street. Red and blue flashing lights poured through the window, casting directly onto the pale, dazed face of the man who had stepped onto the pinnacle of glory not even an hour ago.
The throne of pure gold had collapsed, burying him deep down into the ultimate abyss of total ruin and guilt.
