I married my husband in the poorest year of his life.
To pay off the million-yuan loan he owed, I worked two jobs a day, then came home and earned extra money as a gaming companion.
But much later, at the upscale restaurant where I worked, I saw him, even though he was supposed to be hauling bricks at a construction site.
He wouldn’t even buy me a five-yuan-and-ninety-fen cake offcut, yet he drank wine costing hundreds of thousands a bottle and spent millions on a female celebrity.
Whenever he mentioned me, his face filled with contempt. “She’s just a dog I use to make Zhou Tao jealous. She threw herself at me, begging to marry me. She’s so cheap it makes me sick.”
I didn’t argue or make a scene. I quietly divorced him and chose a grave for myself.
Only later did he finally realize that the woman he’d been hung up on for ten years had always been me.
The female celebrity he’d held in the palm of his hand was nothing but an impostor.
He went mad trying to make it up to me.
But he didn’t know that I was already dead.
