Chapter 1
Everyone in the city knew that I, Ryan Lucas, was living off my wife.
My wife was worth over three billion dollars, and I spent my days using her card for groceries, walking the dog, and playing video games.
Was I happy? Absolutely.
Was I embarrassed? Not at all.
Until one day, Nicole Summers went bankrupt.
Over three hundred million dollars in debt, her fortune wiped out overnight.
Everyone was waiting for me to sign the divorce papers.
But I had a question.
Do you have any idea how many years it would take to build up another wife worth over three billion dollars?
*****
My name is Ryan, and I'm twenty-eight years old.
In our circle, I was known far and wide as the "King of Freeloaders."
It wasn't a title I gave myself; everyone else made sure it stuck.
Three years ago, I married Nicole Summers.
Nicole was the CEO of Visionary Holdings, worth four billion dollars, and ranked in the top ten of Forbes' female entrepreneurs.
And me?
Before I got married, my greatest accomplishment was bouncing between three jobs in a single month. The longest I stuck around was eleven days, on the twelfth, my alarm didn't go off, so I just skipped work.
So you can imagine the chaos that erupted in our circle when word got out that I'd married Nicole.
"How did Ryan get so damn lucky?"
"It's not luck. The guy's got no shame."
"He's just in it for the money."
I'd heard those comments a million times.
Honestly?
Every word was true.
I was a total gold-digger, no shame about it. I loved money. Ever since I was a kid, my biggest dream was to never have to work a single day in my life.
And now? Living the dream.
My daily routine was pretty much set in stone:
I'd wake up whenever I felt like it, usually around nine.
By 9:30, I'd be cruising to the market in Nicole's Maybach. Yeah, a Maybach. A million-dollar ride, just to buy some veggies.
By 10:30, I'd be back home, cooking up lunch and catching up on some short clips.
By two, I'd be at the community center, playing chess with the old-timers.
At four, I'd hit the gym for a swim.
By seven, Nicole would be home, and we'd have dinner together.
At ten, I'd play a couple of rounds of games before calling it a night.
Tell me, wouldn't even the gods be jealous of a life like this?
"Ryan, don't you ever feel embarrassed?" Blake asked.
That was Blake Johnson, my childhood buddy, asking me.
I was swiping Nicole's black card for a pair of limited-edition Air Jordans, not even looking up. "Embarrassed? Whose face am I losing here, yours or mine?"
Blake's face turned bright red. "You're a grown man, mooching off your wife..."
"So what?" I shoved the shoe box into his arms. "Hold this for me. Blake, you seriously don't get what happiness is. You work overtime till eleven every night, barely making ends meet, and still have to worry about your mortgage every month. Me?"
Blake sputtered, "You..."
"Oh, quit it," I said, giving his shoulder a pat. "When you finally see the light, come find me. I'll teach you how to be a top-tier stay-at-home husband."
Blake looked at me like I was crazy.
Let him think whatever he wants.
As long as I'm happy, that's all that matters.
Was my wife happy?
Honestly, I wasn't sure.
Nicole was your typical ice-cold CEO, she could roast a dozen executives so hard they'd rethink their life choices.
But at home, she was actually pretty decent to me.
At least, she never once told me to get a job.
If that wasn't love, I didn't know what was.
"You're just my kept dog," Nicole said.
Well, that's Nicole's definition of us.
But I didn't care, as long as she kept me fed.
That night, I'd just finished cooking up a whole spread, waiting for Nicole to come home.
There was lemon butter fish, garlic shrimp, cucumber salad, and her favorite cheesecake.
I might not be good at much else, but when it comes to cooking, I've got some serious skills.
By eight, Nicole still hadn't come home.
By nine, she was still nowhere to be seen.
I sent her a message: [Working late? Want me to bring you something to eat?]
She left me on read, no reply.
By 10:30, I was about to hit the hay when my phone suddenly rang.
It was Nicole.
Nicole's voice came through the line, "Ryan."
Something was wrong with her voice.
After three years, I knew her inside out.
Nicole was the type who'd keep a poker face even if the sky was falling. Last quarter, when the company lost nearly seventy million dollars, she came home like nothing had happened and just asked what I was cooking for dinner tomorrow.
But right now, her voice had a tremor I'd never heard before.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Nicole went quiet for three seconds on the other end.
"Something's happened to the company," she said.