You Can't Sell What's Priceless: Her $200M Bid

You Can't Sell What's Priceless: Her $200M Bid

Gavin

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My husband, Mark Vance, built a tech empire from our garage – mostly with my money, my ideas, and my tireless support. We were the Silicon Valley power couple, or so I thought. Tonight, at a lavish charity gala, I planned to buy him a special anniversary gift, a rare NFT. My paddle was raised, ready to bid. Then, I watched in horror as Mark, smirking, used our joint high-limit credit card to snatch the very same NFT – not for me, not for us, but for Tiffany Hayes, his flashy ex-girlfriend, right across the room. My blood ran cold, but my mind was clearer than ever. I quietly froze our joint card, watching Tiffany's public meltdown as her payment for our NFT was declined. Mark was furious, his fake smiles turning chillingly real. He then twisted my arm into a "business trip" to a lavish private island, only to drug me upon arrival. I woke up disoriented, locked in a luxurious cage. Then I found myself on a stage, an auctioneer booming about selling me – my "services" and "future commitments" – to a room full of leering strangers. He announced all our assets were liquid, offshore, and now "his." The man I built, the man I trusted, was auctioning off my life, my dignity, as payback for a declined credit card. Was this truly the depths of his betrayal? The ultimate degradation? But as despair threatened to swallow me, a flicker of memory, a whisper from my grandmother, ignited a cold, hard rage. He thought he broke me. He thought he had won. He had no idea what I was truly capable of. With my voice steady and clear, I looked him in the eye and made my own bid: "$200 million. I'm buying myself."

Introduction

My husband, Mark Vance, built a tech empire from our garage – mostly with my money, my ideas, and my tireless support.

We were the Silicon Valley power couple, or so I thought.

Tonight, at a lavish charity gala, I planned to buy him a special anniversary gift, a rare NFT.

My paddle was raised, ready to bid.

Then, I watched in horror as Mark, smirking, used our joint high-limit credit card to snatch the very same NFT – not for me, not for us, but for Tiffany Hayes, his flashy ex-girlfriend, right across the room.

My blood ran cold, but my mind was clearer than ever.

I quietly froze our joint card, watching Tiffany's public meltdown as her payment for our NFT was declined.

Mark was furious, his fake smiles turning chillingly real.

He then twisted my arm into a "business trip" to a lavish private island, only to drug me upon arrival.

I woke up disoriented, locked in a luxurious cage.

Then I found myself on a stage, an auctioneer booming about selling me – my "services" and "future commitments" – to a room full of leering strangers.

He announced all our assets were liquid, offshore, and now "his."

The man I built, the man I trusted, was auctioning off my life, my dignity, as payback for a declined credit card.

Was this truly the depths of his betrayal? The ultimate degradation?

But as despair threatened to swallow me, a flicker of memory, a whisper from my grandmother, ignited a cold, hard rage.

He thought he broke me.

He thought he had won.

He had no idea what I was truly capable of.

With my voice steady and clear, I looked him in the eye and made my own bid: "$200 million. I'm buying myself."

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I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!

I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!

The Wine Press
4.5

I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.

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