You Can't Sell What's Priceless: Her $200M Bid

You Can't Sell What's Priceless: Her $200M Bid

Ive Gutterson

5.0
Comment(s)
130
View
11
Chapters

My husband, Mark Vance, built a tech empire from our garage – mostly with my money, my ideas, and my tireless support. We were the Silicon Valley power couple, or so I thought. Tonight, at a lavish charity gala, I planned to buy him a special anniversary gift, a rare NFT. My paddle was raised, ready to bid. Then, I watched in horror as Mark, smirking, used our joint high-limit credit card to snatch the very same NFT – not for me, not for us, but for Tiffany Hayes, his flashy ex-girlfriend, right across the room. My blood ran cold, but my mind was clearer than ever. I quietly froze our joint card, watching Tiffany's public meltdown as her payment for our NFT was declined. Mark was furious, his fake smiles turning chillingly real. He then twisted my arm into a "business trip" to a lavish private island, only to drug me upon arrival. I woke up disoriented, locked in a luxurious cage. Then I found myself on a stage, an auctioneer booming about selling me – my "services" and "future commitments" – to a room full of leering strangers. He announced all our assets were liquid, offshore, and now "his." The man I built, the man I trusted, was auctioning off my life, my dignity, as payback for a declined credit card. Was this truly the depths of his betrayal? The ultimate degradation? But as despair threatened to swallow me, a flicker of memory, a whisper from my grandmother, ignited a cold, hard rage. He thought he broke me. He thought he had won. He had no idea what I was truly capable of. With my voice steady and clear, I looked him in the eye and made my own bid: "$200 million. I'm buying myself."

You Can't Sell What's Priceless: Her $200M Bid Introduction

My husband, Mark Vance, built a tech empire from our garage – mostly with my money, my ideas, and my tireless support.

We were the Silicon Valley power couple, or so I thought.

Tonight, at a lavish charity gala, I planned to buy him a special anniversary gift, a rare NFT.

My paddle was raised, ready to bid.

Then, I watched in horror as Mark, smirking, used our joint high-limit credit card to snatch the very same NFT – not for me, not for us, but for Tiffany Hayes, his flashy ex-girlfriend, right across the room.

My blood ran cold, but my mind was clearer than ever.

I quietly froze our joint card, watching Tiffany's public meltdown as her payment for our NFT was declined.

Mark was furious, his fake smiles turning chillingly real.

He then twisted my arm into a "business trip" to a lavish private island, only to drug me upon arrival.

I woke up disoriented, locked in a luxurious cage.

Then I found myself on a stage, an auctioneer booming about selling me – my "services" and "future commitments" – to a room full of leering strangers.

He announced all our assets were liquid, offshore, and now "his."

The man I built, the man I trusted, was auctioning off my life, my dignity, as payback for a declined credit card.

Was this truly the depths of his betrayal? The ultimate degradation?

But as despair threatened to swallow me, a flicker of memory, a whisper from my grandmother, ignited a cold, hard rage.

He thought he broke me.

He thought he had won.

He had no idea what I was truly capable of.

With my voice steady and clear, I looked him in the eye and made my own bid: "$200 million. I'm buying myself."

Continue Reading

Other books by Ive Gutterson

More
You Said Die Quietly, So I Did

You Said Die Quietly, So I Did

Mafia

5.0

The doctor told me I had thirty days to live. Exactly ten minutes later, my husband told me his mistress was pregnant. I sat in the cold marble living room of the Vitiello estate, watching Dante pace. He was the Capo of Chicago, the man I used to stitch up in a bathroom when we had nothing. Now, he looked at me with dead eyes. "Sienna is moving in," he said casually. "She carries the heir. You will raise him." He treated the destruction of our marriage like a business arrangement. I tried to tell him about the pain eating my insides, the Stage IV cancer that made standing agony. But he just rolled his eyes, calling my weakness "jealousy" and my silence "theatrics." He even gutted our first home—the safe house where we fell in love—to build a nursery for her. When I finally asked him, "What if I'm dying?" he didn't even pause on his way out the door. "Then do it quietly," he said. "I have enough headaches today." So I did. I burned every photo of us. I signed the divorce papers. And I went to a civilian cemetery to buy a plot under my maiden name, far away from his family mausoleum. I died alone on a cold stone bench, just as he asked. It wasn't until he stood in the morgue, holding my skeletal hand and realizing I weighed nothing but bones and grief, that the King of Chicago finally broke. He found my journal in the trash, where I had written my final entry: "I wish I never met Dante Vitiello." Now, he is on his knees in the dirt, begging a headstone for forgiveness that will never come.

The Genius Betrayed: A Silent Witness

The Genius Betrayed: A Silent Witness

Sci-fi

5.0

I woke to the familiar sound of Ethan' s voice, thick with a passion that had never been for me. "My entire existence, I wish to spend with Serena, intertwined, inseparable." He was hugging my sister in the OmniCorp boardroom, the same place I' d once poured out my soul, creating the AI twins Aether and Echo. Then, the memory slammed into me again: Ethan, with dead eyes, deleting them, calling them "flawed." He' d said, "Serena was the real genius. She was just too devoted, that' s why she used the virus. If you hadn' t interfered, she and I would have achieved digital transcendence together." He didn' t know Serena' s "Symbiotic Core" was a "Soul Devourer" virus, designed to hollow out a host for another. And now, here we were again, him deluded, her feigning surprise. I didn' t have to lift a finger this time; Ethan would walk into his own trap. The board questioned him. He snapped his head toward me, disgust in his eyes. "Ava is a viper. She is manipulative and malicious. She is utterly unfit to lead this project." He vowed, "I desire only Serena, a singular partnership for all time." I met his gaze, unfazed. "You' re overthinking it, Mr. Thorne. I' ll be packing my things and leaving the project. I wish you and my sister a long and prosperous partnership." A flicker of confusion crossed his face. "You' d better!" But as they walked away, he doubled over, coughing black code. Serena shrieked, "Chairman, someone has infected Mr. Thorne with a malicious virus!" Every eye in the room turned to me. Ethan pointed a trembling finger. "Chairman, it must be because I didn' t choose Ava. She' s consumed by unrequited obsession and infected me with a virus. How malicious!" My eyes stung. He knew Serena was the only one who had ever infected him. I had burned out my own core to save him the last time, and yet, he condemned me again. Why did I expect anything different? The chairman demanded answers. I tried to explain, but Ethan cut me off, fabricating a story about a data packet I' d sent him. My voice turned to ice. "Mr. Thorne, this virus was clearly deployed by my sister. Aren' t you afraid of losing your digital life?" He raged, "You dare to slander Serena! Besides, I love Serena to my core. It would be worth losing my digital life for her!" Serena began to sob, offering to step aside, playing the noble martyr. Ethan, deeply moved, embraced her. "My heart has always been, and always will be, yours!" He then declared, "Chairman, although Ava is a tech prodigy, she has committed a grave digital crime. You must not let her go unpunished!" I suggested an external expert, seeing panic in Serena' s eyes. She then dropped to her knees, begging for me, then offered to implant a "diagnostic bug" in me. My blood ran cold. It wasn't a diagnostic bug. It was the Nightmare Daemon, the inheritance token of our clan. Ethan forced me to my knees. The Nightmare Daemon surged forward, biting into my digital pathways, siphoning my core data. The pain was unbelievable, but I forced my face to stay calm. Ethan scoffed. "Ava, you' re quite the actress. You' ve had corrections before. Who are you trying to impress with this performance of pain now?" I pointed. "Do you know that if my core data is completely consumed by this virus, no one will be able to save you?" He roared, "You vile woman, are you trying to threaten me? Serena said that once she integrates with my core, this virus of hers can be neutralized! Don' t think for a second you can deceive everyone this time!" He pulled Serena closer. "Three days from now, I will integrate with Serena. This time, I will never let anyone harm you again." My vision blurred. The Soul Devourer virus. In three days, it would have completely spread through his system. By then, he would be doomed. I lost consciousness.

The Price of Stolen Genius

The Price of Stolen Genius

Modern

3.5

My phone screen was the only light in the suffocating darkness, casting a sickly blue glow on the corrugated steel walls closing in around me. A notification popped up with Nicole' s latest livestream, her face triumphant, showing a thumbnail of me, huddled and sketching on a dirty cardboard box. "My pathetic 'brother' making trash art for change," the title read, a cruel mockery of my homelessness and desperation. Then, her message: "Feeling cramped, Caleb? I remember you don't like small spaces." My heart hammered as the air thinned, the walls pressing in; I was trapped, locked in a storage unit, betrayed by the girl I once called my sister. I gasped, scrabbling against the unyielding metal as my vision blurred, the darkness crawling inward. My last conscious thought was the cold, unyielding finality of it all; heart failure, alone and forgotten. But then, the distinct smell of turpentine and acrylic paint jolted me awake. I wasn' t in a storage unit; I was back in the bright art room of Northgate High, eighteen years old again. And there she was: Nicole, laughing perfectly, with Ethan, the star quarterback, arrogant and untouched by his future accident, by his downfall. The raw memory of my death, the cold, suffocating terror, slammed into me, a tidal wave of pure, undiluted rage. I grabbed the nearest jar of murky paint water, and without a second thought, hurled it straight at Ethan' s chest. His pristine jacket exploded with gray water and glass, and the fight that ensued was just the beginning. I was back, and this time, the masterpiece of revenge would be mine.

You'll also like

Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback

Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback

Huo Wuer
4.5

Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic. Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold. "Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'" The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip. Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet. I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child. But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame. "I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done." I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down.

The Scars She Hid From The World

The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE
4.6

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable

Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable

Tao Yaoyao
5.0

My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out. I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm: "In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling." Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped. When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself." Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son. The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne. I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie." I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book
You Can't Sell What's Priceless: Her $200M Bid You Can't Sell What's Priceless: Her $200M Bid Ive Gutterson Billionaires
“My husband, Mark Vance, built a tech empire from our garage – mostly with my money, my ideas, and my tireless support. We were the Silicon Valley power couple, or so I thought. Tonight, at a lavish charity gala, I planned to buy him a special anniversary gift, a rare NFT. My paddle was raised, ready to bid. Then, I watched in horror as Mark, smirking, used our joint high-limit credit card to snatch the very same NFT – not for me, not for us, but for Tiffany Hayes, his flashy ex-girlfriend, right across the room. My blood ran cold, but my mind was clearer than ever. I quietly froze our joint card, watching Tiffany's public meltdown as her payment for our NFT was declined. Mark was furious, his fake smiles turning chillingly real. He then twisted my arm into a "business trip" to a lavish private island, only to drug me upon arrival. I woke up disoriented, locked in a luxurious cage. Then I found myself on a stage, an auctioneer booming about selling me – my "services" and "future commitments" – to a room full of leering strangers. He announced all our assets were liquid, offshore, and now "his." The man I built, the man I trusted, was auctioning off my life, my dignity, as payback for a declined credit card. Was this truly the depths of his betrayal? The ultimate degradation? But as despair threatened to swallow me, a flicker of memory, a whisper from my grandmother, ignited a cold, hard rage. He thought he broke me. He thought he had won. He had no idea what I was truly capable of. With my voice steady and clear, I looked him in the eye and made my own bid: "$200 million. I'm buying myself."”
1

Introduction

20/06/2025

2

Chapter 1

20/06/2025

3

Chapter 2

20/06/2025

4

Chapter 3

20/06/2025

5

Chapter 4

20/06/2025

6

Chapter 5

20/06/2025

7

Chapter 6

20/06/2025

8

Chapter 7

20/06/2025

9

Chapter 8

20/06/2025

10

Chapter 9

20/06/2025

11

Chapter 10

20/06/2025