My Billionaire Husband Faked His Downfall

My husband, once a powerful CEO, had become bankrupt and sank into depression.

Overnight, I went from being the wife of a CEO to a lowly worker.

To help him pay off his debts and cover the costs of his depression treatment, I took a job as a hostess at an auction house.

However, I never expected to see my husband there, who should've been in the hospital undergoing therapy, sitting in the VIP section.

Without any hesitation, he bid on an exorbitantly priced necklace and gave it to the woman beside him.

That necklace—the one I had pawned to pay off his debts—was my grandmother's heirloom.

......

I stood at the entrance of the auction house, lifting my gaze to the grand, lavishly decorated hall.

A sigh escaped me, unbidden.

In the past, when life was good, I was a regular here. I was one of the top-tier guests, the kind they'd serve water and pastries to the moment I sat down.

But times have changed. Now, I'm the one serving tea and water.

I didn't want this job, but the daily pay at the auction house was too tempting, as if a pile of cash was beckoning to me.

Weighed against the mounting costs, I took it. My husband, Lance Ford's illness demanded weekly therapy sessions, each costing hundreds, not to mention the monthly assortment of medications.

All in all, his medication alone cost us five to six hundred a month, and that didn't even cover the crushing debt.

Once, this kind of money would have barely bought me a handbag or a necklace. But now, every penny we spent was carefully calculated. Even when I shopped for groceries, I waited for discount days.

Before leaving for work, I sent him a message: "How are you feeling? Any better?"

He replied quickly, his words filled with guilt: "Same as before… I'm sorry for dragging you down."

I hurried to reassure him, typing back: "It's okay. We'll take our time, one day at a time."

After I sent the message, there was no further reply.

I hadn't told Lance that I was about to work as a hostess at the auction. After all, events like this drew their share of spoiled rich kids.

I had once seen it with my own eyes—a sweet, innocent girl who had been serving drinks beside me, whisked away by one of those heirs in the blink of an eye.

Lance's pride is fierce. If he knew I was taking this kind of job to pay for his treatment, he would be furious.

His condition was already fragile. I didn't want to push him any further.

Once I had changed into the uniform, I stepped into the auction hall.

People had already begun to fill the seats.

I must have taken too long to change. By the time I stepped out, most of the guests had already seated themselves, and the manager was clearly displeased as he directed me inside the venue.

The auction