Stinking of Pigs, Rich in Revenge

When I was eighteen, I caught a cash-strapped college kid named Lucas stealing pigs from our family farm.

To keep Lucas in school, I was up before dawn daily feeding the hogs and shoveling manure. I even sold the gold bracelet my mom left me.

He knelt by the pigpen and vowed: “Aria, when I make it big, I’ll make you the most cherished wife.”

Seven years later, Lucas was a tech tycoon with a publicly traded company, worth hundreds of millions.

But the day before our wedding, a girl who bore a 70% resemblance to me showed up at my door.

She wore the exact same wedding dress as mine, pinching her nose in disgust:

“Lucas always said you smell like pig slop. He’s put up with that stench for seven years and can barely stand it anymore.”

“Watching you wallow in the mud with those sows all these years—it’s just pathetic and ridiculous.”

“Here’s a $100,000 check. Take it and go back to your filthy pig farm. Don’t ruin my wedding to Lucas.”

Staring at that check, I didn’t cry or cause a scene. I just quietly pulled out my phone, and called my uncle.

“Brain, cut off all funding to Lucas’s company. And tell him…”

“That core patent he’s so proud of? That’s not his. It clearly has my name written on it.”