He Faked Bankruptcy to Test My Love

While working my fifth job to help my boyfriend pay off his debts, I saw my supposedly bankrupt boyfriend sitting elegantly in a sports car, dressed in an expensive suit.

Beside him was a young woman with a bright smile on her face.

Ethan, you're such a good actor. Three years, and Susan never suspected a thing. With acting skills like that, it's a shame you didn't go into film.

Ethan said casually: "I thought she'd give up and run within six months. Never expected she'd actually stick it out for three years, sell her house, and work five jobs to help me pay off debts. Honestly didn't see that coming."

"Well, we made a bet back thenbetting on whether she'd take the money and run when she found out you were bankrupt, whether this gold-digger would leave you. Looks like you won."

Ethan smiled without responding, his eyes showing not a trace of emotion, only the smugness of winning a wager.

He never once considered how much a woman must love someone to sell her own house and work five jobs a day, exhausting herself day and night, just to help him pay off debts that didn't even exist.

3 AM. I pushed open the door to my rental in the slums.

The cold wind stung my face. Handmade hair clips scattered across the floor.

This was my fifth job of the day.

5:30 AMdelivering milk.

Noonwashing dishes at a restaurant for three hours.

Afternoonhanding out flyers in the shopping district for four hours.

Eveningworking the night shift at a convenience store for eight hours.

After getting off work in the early morning, I still had to rush to make handmade hair clips to earn money for the next day's groceries.

I'd lived like this for three whole years.

Three years ago, Ethan knelt before me with red-rimmed eyes, saying his company had gone bankrupt. He owed eight million in debt, creditors were hounding him daily, and he was at his wit's end.

Ethan and I had been together for seven years.

From college campus to his entrepreneurial success, I'd accompanied him through days of having nothing and witnessed him standing at the peak.

That day, I held him, patting his back and saying: "It's okay. I'm here. We'll pay back the money slowly. As long as you're safe, nothing else matters."

I quit my stable nine-to-five job with a monthly salary over ten thousand and started working around the clock.

To help him pay off his debts, I sold the only property my parents had left memy last safety net in this city.

I moved from a well-furnished apartment with a river view to this slum rental that cost three hundred a month, had no air conditioning, and leaked when it rained in summer. I couldn't even afford the five-dollar subway fare and cycled halfway across the city every day.

Though exhausting, it was also happiness.

I crouched down to pick up the hair clips when suddenly my stomach churned violently.

I rushed into the bathroom, coughing violently.

It was blood.

I froze, then frantically turned on the faucet to wash it away, forcing a smile at myself in the mirror.

It's fine. Just been too tired lately. My old stomach problem acting up. It'll get better with rest.

I couldn't break down. Ethan was already struggling enough. I couldn't add to his troubles.

Walking out of the bathroom, I found Ethan awake, leaning against the headboard, his eyes red-rimmed.

He came over and hugged me, his chin resting on top of my head, his voice choked: "Susan, I'm sorry. It's all my fault, my uselessness, making you suffer like this with me."

I hugged him back, hiding my injured hands behind me, smiling as I comforted him: "Don't talk nonsense. We're a couplewe should share both joy and hardship. We'll pay back the money slowly. We'll clear it eventually. As long as we're together, there's no obstacle we can't overcome."

He held me tighter. I couldn't see his face, only heard his low sigh.

Back then, I was still immersed in the dream I'd woven of sharing hardships together.

I didn't notice at all that when he held me, his eyes showed not a trace of guilt, only a hint of amusement at a wager about to be won.

A knock came at the door.

It was his childhood friend, Vivian Taylor.

She wore a designer coat and high heels, standing at the doorway.

She glanced condescendingly at the shabby rental, her eyes full of disdain, and said to Ethan: "Ethan, I came to check on you. Also wanted to remind youthose people are pressing again. Don't lose the bet and embarrass yourself."

She turned to look at me, her lips curling into a mocking smile: "Susan, you really can take it. If it were me, I'd have run long ago."

Ethan frowned, pulling me behind him protectively, saying to Vivian: "Stop talking nonsense. Susan isn't like that."

I just assumed Vivian looked down on my poverty and smiled without responding.

Back then, I had no idea what their "bet" meant.

They were betting on my life.

Betting on three years of my wholehearted devotion.

Betting on this life of mine that had been worked to destruction.

I turned to heat up breakfast for Ethan, not hearing Vivian lean close to his ear and say with a smile: "Three more months until the bet expires. Ethan, you're about to win. You'd better compensate me well then."

Ethan looked at my back, his lips curling into a careless smile, and softly hummed in agreement.

The winter wind grew colder, and my health deteriorated further.

Frequent stomach pains, dizziness, coughing up bloodeach episode worse than the last.

Once, while washing dishes at the restaurant, everything suddenly went black and I collapsed straight to the floor. Bowls shattered everywhere, shards cutting my arm, blood flowing profusely.

The boss was terrified and wanted to send me to the hospital. I climbed up, waved him off, paid for the broken dishes, and gritted my teeth to continue washing.

Go to the hospital?

One examination would cost several hundred dollarsenough to buy Ethan breakfast for a week, enough to pay half a month's interest.

I couldn't bear to spend it.

During my lunch break, I went to the small clinic in the alley to get stomach medicine from Dr. Miller.

Dr. Miller looked at my pale face and frowned: "Susan, your condition isn't right. This isn't a simple stomach problem. You must go to a major hospital for a comprehensive examination. You can't keep putting it off. Look at yourselfyou've lost almost twenty pounds in the past six months, and you're coughing up blood every day. This isn't a small matter."

I clutched the medicine box, smiling: "Dr. Miller, it's fine. I've just been too tired lately. Once I get through this busy period, I'll go for a checkup."

I didn't dare go.

I was afraid they'd find something serious that would cost money, interfere with work, and make Ethan worry.

I kept thinking that once the debt was paid off, once Ethan recovered, everything would be fine.

Back at the rental, I hid the medicine in the deepest part under the bed, not wanting Ethan to see it.

He'd been sighing constantly lately, saying the creditors were pressing hard, saying he was useless. I couldn't let him worry about me too.

That evening during my night shift, Ethan messaged me saying Vivian had introduced him to a job that could make some money, and he'd be going out that night, telling me not to worry.

I replied "Okay, stay safe," then continued working the register, my heart aching for himthings were already so difficult, yet he still had to go around looking for work.

I had no idea that that night, he drove the Porsche parked outside the slums, took Vivian to the top floor of a five-star hotel, ate Western food that cost thousands per person, and opened a bottle of wine I could never afford in my lifetime.

He and Vivian sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking at the city lights below, smiling as they clinked glasses.

Vivian swirled her wine glass, raising an eyebrow: "Ethan, you're such a good actor. Three years, and Susan never suspected a thing. With acting skills like that, it's a shame you didn't go into film."

Ethan took a sip of wine and said casually: "I thought she'd give up and run within six months. Never expected she'd actually stick it out for three years, sell her house, and work five jobs to help me pay off debts. Honestly didn't see that coming."

"Well, of course," Vivian laughed. "We made a bet back thenbetting on whether she'd take the money and run when she found out you were bankrupt, whether this gold-digger would leave you. Looks like you won."

Ethan smiled without responding, his eyes showing not a trace of emotion, only the smugness of winning a wager.

He never once considered how much a woman must love someone to sell her own house, work five jobs a day, and exhaust herself day and night, just to help him pay off debts that didn't even exist.

He didn't return to the rental until early morning, carrying the faint scent of alcohol and perfume.

I'd just gotten off my night shift and was making him soup. Smelling it, my heart skipped a beat, but I still didn't think much of it, assuming he'd been drinking with clients and picked up the scent.

I handed him the hangover soup. He took it, hugged me with reddened eyes, and started apologizing again, saying he'd made me suffer.

I stroked his hair, smiling and saying it was fine, my heart still aching for himhaving to drink with people to make money, having to endure so much humiliation.

Thinking back now, I was pathetically foolish then.

After he fell asleep, I started coughing violently again. Afraid of waking him, I covered my mouth and ran to the bathroom. I coughed up more blood than last time.

Looking at my deathly pale, emaciated reflection in the mirror, I finally felt afraid.

I took out my phone and secretly made an appointment at the city hospital for the following Monday afternoon.

I thoughtjust get it checked. If it's nothing, that's best. If there really is something, treat it early so I don't become a burden to Ethan.

I still wanted a future with him. I still wanted to buy a small house with him once the debt was paid off, have a child, and live a stable life together.

Back then, I was still fantasizing about the future, completely unaware that the future I envisioned had been an elaborate scam from the very beginning.

My devotion, my sacrifices, my lifein his eyes, they were nothing more than bargaining chips in a wager.

Monday morning, after delivering milk, I was preparing to go to the hospital for my examination when Ethan called, saying his stomach hurt badly and asking me to buy him medicine.

Without a second thought, I immediately turned my bicycle around, went to the pharmacy to buy medicine, and rushed back to the rental.

He lay in bed, frowning, looking very uncomfortable.

I poured him water, fed him medicine, rubbed his stomach, bustling about, completely forgetting about the hospital appointment.

By the time he fell asleep, it was already afternoon. I'd long missed my hospital appointment.

I sighed and canceled the appointment, thinkingforget it, I'll make another appointment next time. Taking care of him comes first.

That afternoon, I had to hand out flyers in the shopping district. The district was close to the city hospital. After finishing, I thought I'd stop by the hospital to get some cough medicine.

Just as I reached the hospital entrance, I saw a familiar Porsche. I remembered the license plateit was the first car Ethan bought when his startup succeeded. He'd said he sold it to pay debts when he went bankrupt.

I froze, thinking I'd seen wrong. I rubbed my eyes. It was definitely that careven the car sticker was exactly the same as before.

Just then, the car door opened. Ethan stepped out, wearing a bespoke suit I'd never seen before, his hair meticulously styled, looking spirited and successfulnothing like his usual down-and-out, haggard appearance.

He walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and helped out Vivian.

Vivian wore a designer dress with a diamond ring on her hand. She linked arms with Ethan, laughing brilliantly. The two of them walked intimately into the upscale Western restaurant next to the hospital.

I felt like I'd been struck by lightning, standing frozen in place, my limbs ice-cold, my blood seemingly congealed.

Bankruptcy? Selling the car? Debts?

All lies.

My mind went blank. As if possessed, I followed them into the restaurant and sat in the booth next to theirs, hiding behind a menu.

Their conversation reached my ears, every word crystal clear.

Vivian laughed: "Ethan, one more month until the bet expires. When are you planning to come clean with Susan? You can't keep pretending to be poor forever, right? I can't wait to move into your riverside mansion."

Ethan's voice came, carrying a careless laugh: "What's the rush? Once the bet expires, I'll come clean with her. I'll give her some money as compensation for these three years of hard work."

"Compensation?" Vivian sneered. "What, have you actually fallen for her? Don't forgetyou were the one who bet me that Susan definitely wasn't a gold-digger, that even if you were penniless, she'd stay with you. Now that you've won, don't go back on your word."

"Don't worry," Ethan's voice turned cold. "I only feel guilty toward her, not love. If you hadn't gone abroad back then, I never would have married her. Once I come clean, I'll divorce her and marry you."

"Oh right," Vivian added, "you've been secretly saving all that debt repayment money she gave you, right? The money from selling her house, the money from working five jobsshe gave it all to you. Don't actually give it to her in the end."

Ethan chuckled: "Of course I saved it all, didn't touch a cent. She's pretty stupid though, actually believing I owed eight million, giving her heart and soul to help me. Kind of amusing, actually."

I couldn't hear what came after.

My ears were ringing. My heart felt like it was being crushed by a hand, the pain making it impossible to breathe.

Three years.

Three whole years.

I sold the house my parents left me, worked five jobs a day, exhausted myself day and night, ruined my health, developed a body full of ailments, gave my heart and soul to help him through his "difficulties."

In the end, it was nothing but a wager between him and his childhood friend.

His supposed bankruptcy, his supposed debtsall fake.

My devotion, my sacrifices, my lifein his eyes, they were nothing but a joke, chips proving his charm in a bet.

I don't know how I walked out of that restaurant. I just felt the world spinning, my stomach and chest both aching. The pain made me crouch by the roadside, coughing violently. I coughed up blood right onto the ground, shockingly vivid.

Passersby all stared at me, but I felt nothing anymore.

I got up, rode my bicycle to the city hospital, and registered for emergency care.

After a series of examinations, the doctor held my report, looked at me, sighed, and said gravely: "Susan, why did you only come now? Late-stage gastric cancer, already metastasized. It's caused by long-term overwork, irregular eating, and severe malnutrition."

"At most, you have six months left."

Late-stage gastric cancer.

Six months.

I held the diagnosis report and sat in the hospital corridor. I didn't cry or make a scene. I just sat quietly from dawn until dark.

Three years of wholehearted devotion in exchange for a scam and a terminal illness.

How ridiculous.

After dark, I finally rode my bicycle back to that shabby rental.

Ethan had already made dinnerall my favorite dishes. Seeing me return, he smiled and came over: "Susan, where were you? Why are you just getting back? I made you dinner. Eat it while it's hot."

He still wore that deeply devoted, guilty expression, completely different from the spirited, coldly mocking man in the restaurant earlierlike two different people.

I looked at him. My heart felt no ripples, only endless coldness and desolation.

I didn't expose him. I just smiled, sat down, and picked up my fork.

This wagerhe thought he'd won.

But he didn't know he'd lost the version of me who loved him desperately, the genuine heart he could never get back.

And I no longer had time to keep playing along with him.

Over the next few days, I continued as usualwaking early to deliver milk, washing dishes at noon, handing out flyers in the afternoon, working night shifts, and making handicrafts in the early morning hours.

But I no longer smiled at him like before, no longer held him to comfort him, no longer put him first in everything.

When he spoke to me, I only responded flatly. When he hugged me, I no longer hugged back. The love and tenderness in my eyes were gone, replaced only by calm desolation.

Ethan seemed to sense something was wrong. He kept frowning and asking: "Susan, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell? Are you too tired?"

I just shook my head, smiling: "It's fine. Just a bit tired lately. I'll be better after some rest."

He didn't ask further, assuming I was exhausted from work. He turned around and messaged Vivian, complaining that I'd been increasingly cold lately, saying once the bet expired, he'd come clean immediately.

He didn't know that when he sent those messages, I was standing right outside the bedroom door, hearing every word clearly.

He didn't know I'd already recorded his and Vivian's conversation in the restaurant, saved all the records of him secretly transferring the "debt repayment money" I'd given him over the past three years.

And that late-stage gastric cancer diagnosis reportI kept it in my bag.

I had no plans to make a scene or cry. I just wanted to quietly live out these last six months.

This scam, this wagerit was time for it to end.

That afternoon, I left the convenience store early, wanting to go back to the rental to pack my things and leave.

Just as I reached the door, I heard Ethan's voice inside. He was on the phone with Vivian, his tone full of satisfaction.

"Vivian, don't worry. Half a month more and the bet expires. Then I'll come clean with Susan and divorce her to marry you."

"Her? She's still in the dark, working five jobs every day to make me money. Pathetically stupid. Honestly, if it weren't for this bet, I never would have known she actually loved me this much."

"What good is love? I never loved her. The person I've always loved is you. Once we're divorced, I'll take you abroad for our honeymoon and make up for everything I owed you these past three years."

I stood at the door, my hand on the doorknob, not pushing it open or rushing in to confront him. I just listened quietly, my heart completely calm.

After he hung up, I pushed the door open and walked in.

Ethan saw me and froze for a moment, then quickly resumed his usual down-and-out, guilty appearance, smiling as he came over: "Susan, why are you back early? Are you too tired? Come sit and rest."

I ignored him and walked straight to the bed, picked up my bag, and started packing.

He sensed something wrong and grabbed my hand, frowning: "Susan, what are you doing? Where are you going?"

I shook off his hand, my tone flat and emotionless: "Ethan, stop acting. I know everything."

His face instantly paled, panic flashing in his eyes: "Susan... what are you talking about? I don't understand."

"Don't understand?"

I smiled slightly, took out my phone, and played the recordinghis conversation with Vivian in the restaurant, and the phone call just now, all playing clearly.

When the recording finished, the rental fell deathly silent.

Ethan's face was deathly pale, his whole body trembling. He grabbed my hand, stammering explanations: "Susan, it's not what you think. Let me explain, I..."

"No need to explain."

I cut him off, withdrew my hand, took out the late-stage gastric cancer diagnosis report from my bag, and threw it in front of him. "Ethan, you won this bet. I'm truly not a gold-digger. Even when you were penniless, I stayed with you for three years."

"But you lost. I don't love you anymore."

"Also, your bet cost me half my life. I only have six months left."

Ethan's gaze fell on the diagnosis report. When he saw "late-stage gastric cancer" and "six-month survival period," his pupils contracted sharply. His entire body froze in place, as if struck by lightning.

He picked up the diagnosis report, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely hold the paper. He read the words over and over, his face changing from deathly pale to ashen gray to the color of death.

"No... impossible... Susan, this isn't real, right? You're lying to me, aren't you?"