The Gold Digger's Exit Strategy Chapter 1

I dated a guy for a year and ended up financially free. Why? Because my boyfriend was a rich heir with zero brain cells and a wandering eye. Every time I caught him cheating, he wired me a hundred grand. What could I do? Naturally, I chose to forgive him. That is, until I overheard him trash-talking me to his friends: "Chloe is just a gold digger. Pay her enough, and she’ll do anything." Oh really? I decided to take the money and run. But he wouldn’t let go—crying, screaming, threatening to end it all. Eventually, the drama reached the ears of his ice-cold older brother. The brother cornered me at my apartment door. The Iceberg spoke: "My brother’s actually broke. You should try digging for gold with me instead."

* * *

When Julian was caught hooking up with a D-list celebrity in his car, I was busy scouring the banquet hall for non-alcoholic wipes to clean my bag.

That bag was last month’s apology gift—the price for catching him at a hotel with an Instagram model. He’d thrown in a hundred thousand dollars as "hush money" to keep me from snitching to his stiff, emotionless older brother.

But tonight, at this so-called high-society gala, some klutz had spilled red wine all over it. The stain was aggressively soaking into the leather.

My heart was bleeding.

I wasn’t planning to keep it. I was going to wear it once for Julian to see, then flip it on a resale site for at least thirty grand. Now, it looked like a total loss.

Coming to this stuffy event with him was just bad luck.

"Cleaning up the spoils of war, Miss Evans?"

A sleazy whistle came from behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was Julian’s posse—a group of trust-fund idiots with flat personalities.

I ignored them.

But high-society brats can’t stand being ignored. One of them stepped right into my personal space.

He tapped his phone screen and played a voice note sent to Julian: "Your girlfriend is looking for you."

Then, with a smug grin, he played Julian’s reply.

His voice was floaty, trembling with a weird mix of intoxication and exertion.

"Don't worry about her... ungh... Chloe is the easiest kind of gold digger... pay her enough and she’d lick my boots."

The sticky sound of heavy breathing filled the silence.

Someone patted my shoulder.

"Check the parking garage. Your boy Julian isn't known for his stamina. He’ll be done in a minute."

I knew the drill. It was payday.

Everyone looked down on Julian, and the sad part was, he never gave them a reason not to.

By the time I took the elevator down—maybe three minutes—he was already in his car, panting and pulling up his pants.

I snapped a photo.

Even through the window, I could see Julian’s flushed cheeks and damp hair.

The D-list celebrity didn't look tired at all, just acting the part of "post-coital bliss." She looked familiar—famous for her elven looks and corpse-like acting skills.

I’d seen them flirting earlier. Who knew he couldn't even wait until the gala ended?

I knocked on the glass.

Julian jumped. He looked sober instantly, his handsome, youthful face twisting into illogical shock. I don’t know why he was surprised; did he think the car windows were magical cloaks of invisibility?

"Chloe? What are you doing here?"

"Do I need to explain?" I waved my phone, showing him the fresh photo.

Julian scrambled out of the car, grabbing my wrist. His palm was clammy—sweat, or something worse.

"Chloe, listen to me."

I nodded, signaling I was listening, but I yanked my hand away.

He didn't say anything else. After a long silence, he just choked out, "I had too much to drink."

The silence lasted so long that the starlet had time to dress, fix her makeup, and lean against the car door with a smirk, arms crossed.

Julian, speechless and panicked, fumbled with his phone. "Chloe, don't be mad. I'll wire you money. Go buy some bags, jewelry, or take a trip..."

Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming exhaustion.

I calculated the balance in my bank account.

Yeah. It was time to be tired of this.