Chapter 1Listed for Sale on Prime Day—My Wife Never Expected a Buyer

My wife said she was going to sell me, and I thought she was joking—until Prime Sales Day, when she actually put me up for sale online.

In the Household Helper Services section:

Name: Dexter Langston

Age: 32

Service: To be determined by the buyer.

Description: This is my husband—a good-for-nothing freeloader without any income. If you’re interested in a spineless bum, feel free to place an order.

Price: One order equals one day, priced at $200 per day. Assuming he’s got about 40 years left, you could buy out his entire future for $250,000.

Note: Whoever buys him for the rest of his life will have him exclusively, and I’ll divorce him on the spot. Wishing you both happiness.

She posted this to mock and humiliate me. But she never imagined that someone—a rich woman—would actually buy my future.

Content

“Dexter, I’m selling you.” My wife, Samantha Yates, smirked as she handed me her phone to show me the post.

My face darkened as I read it.

When we got married, I already had my own business. Afterward, she enjoyed the good life I provided. I even built her parents a house back home worth hundreds of thousands and gave her brother $200,000 to help him buy a house and get married.

In our third year of marriage, my tech platform company went under. Since then, I’ve been working from home, developing a video game. But in her eyes, that makes me a lazy bum who just plays games all day, never earning a dime.

“Samantha, isn’t this going a little too far? Mocking me like this?” I said, my voice cold.

When things were good, I never hesitated to give everything I could for you and your family. But now that I’m down, you throw this in my face?

“Too far? You’ve been holed up at home for two years, doing nothing but gaming. Am I wrong to call you a waste of space?” she scoffed. “And don’t flatter yourself—no one’s going to buy you anyway.”

“It doesn’t matter if anyone does. Just putting me up there shows how little you think of me. And I’ve told you a hundred times—I’m working on a game. When it takes off, everything will turn around.”

“Get a grip, Dexter. You’ll never turn things around.”

“Oh, and how can you be so sure of that?”

She sneered. “Go look in a mirror. You look like a bum; the only difference between you and a street beggar is your clothes. And you’re still talking about ‘turning things around’?”

“My time is going into developing the game.”

“Enough. I don’t have time for your excuses.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

“It’s past 8 p.m. Where are you going?” I asked.

“To work, obviously. How else do you think we’ll pay the rent?” She shot back icily.

After my company went under, the bank took back our house.

“I’ll pay the rent!” I shouted instinctively.

She just laughed, slamming the door behind her.