My Wife Stole My Day as a Billionaire

"Mr. Brewer, are you alright?"

A gentle female voice sounded in my ear.

My head was pounding, and the world around me slowly came into focus.

I wasn't on my couch at home, but in a room decorated with minimalist luxury. A woman in a sharp business suit stood before me. Her nameplate read, "Janine Harmon, Client Director."

"W-Where am I? Where's Lara?"

I remembered clutching that billion-dollar black card as I rushed home, buzzing with excitement.

My wife, Lara Crawford, had lit up the moment she saw it. She threw her arms around me. Then, she poured me a glass of water and said softly, "Honey, you're amazing. Have some water, and let's plan this out."

And then, I didn't remember anything after that.

Ms. Harmon handed me a glass of warm water and gestured toward the large screen on the wall.

The screen was split in two. On the left, there were Lara and Adrian Schmitt, her best friend. They were beaming radiantly at their phone camera.

The title of the live stream was glaringly harsh—"Goodbye, Loser. Hello, Billionaire Life."

"Loser?" I muttered to myself, my heart clenching as if a hand had squeezed it tight.

We'd been married for three years, and I'd been killing myself with 72-hour work weeks as a programmer just to make the down payment for our apartment. Even so, the property deed had both of our names on it.

I felt that I'd never mistreated her, yet I was just a loser in her eyes.

On the screen, Lara held up the black card I'd brought home and screamed to an audience of hundreds of thousands.

"Guys, do you see this? One billion dollars! My life starts over from today!"

Adrian draped an arm over her shoulder, all slick smiles and satisfaction.

"Lara, you finally dumped that broke loser. From now on, we live the good life."

The right side of the screen showed a different live stream. It was the bank's official live stream channel, with the title "A Test of Human Nature—When a Gold Digger Finds a Billion Dollars."

The host, Sasha Bradshaw, was chatting casually with a psychologist, Desmond Wilcox.

At the bottom of the screen, rows of red transaction records scrolled rapidly.

"Hermes Boutique—Purchase of eight million dollars (Virtual Transaction)"

"Rolex Flagship Store—Purchase of 12.5 million dollars (Virtual Transaction)"

"Mr. Brewer, this was an internal stress test conducted by our bank," Ms. Harmon explained in a calm and measured voice. "You were chosen as a participant.

"However, after you drank the water laced with a heavy dose of sleeping pills, Ms. Crawford stole the temporary test card. Our team downstairs detected unusual activity on the card and came up immediately.

"Everything you're seeing right now is being watched simultaneously by tens of millions of viewers across the country."

My eyes were locked on the left screen.

Lara pulled something out of a luxury shopping bag.

It was the gift I'd given her for our third wedding anniversary, a wind chime made from 520 paper cranes. Each one was inscribed in tiny fluorescent writing with moments we'd shared.

I'd stayed up late every night for a month folding them.