I Sponsored Him for Eight Years, Now He Wants My Penthouse

I sponsored a high school kid when I was in college.

Eight years later, I never expected him to show up at my doorstep with his girlfriend. "Chloe, you've supported me all these years.

In my heart, you’re just like a mother to me." "Now that I’m getting married, you have to give me some financial support!" I froze for three solid seconds.

Eight years ago, Ethan Carter was huddled in a cramped, rented room, writing me a letter: "Chloe, I got accepted into a top university, but I'm still $500 short for tuition." To sponsor him, I worked three jobs backtoback.

My monthly paycheck was only $1,000, but I immediately wired him $800.

For the next eight years, I paid for his textbooks, living expenses, grad school application fees, and even his apartment deposit. I raised him like my own son.

Whenever he asked, I gave.

The year he graduated, he voluntarily wrote a promissory note and promised me: "Chloe, once I start making money, I will pay you back every single cent." I just smiled and didn't take it to heart.

I tossed the note into a drawer and forgot about it. Now, he was making $80,000 a year. But his first words to me weren't about giving back. They were about demanding more.

He wanted $150,000.

And he wanted me to wire it to his card immediately, claiming his future motherinlaw needed to see "the groom's financial sincerity." "Chloe, you’ve always loved me the most.

You won't just stand by and watch me ruin my marriage, right?" I smiled. "If you need a show of sincerity, go ask your own mother." "I supported you for eight years, spending a total of $180,000.

Since you’re here today, let's settle the old debt first." The smile on Ethan’s face froze instantly. He stared at me blankly, as if he had just heard a ridiculous joke.

Sitting next to him, Tiffany Vance also frowned, her eyes filled with annoyance. "Chloe, are you kidding me?" Ethan let out a dry laugh, trying to ease the tension.

I wasn’t laughing. I looked at him expressionlessly. "I’m not kidding." I turned, walked into my study, and retrieved a thick folder from my safe. Thud.

I slammed the folder heavily onto the coffee table. Ethan flinched.

I untied the string and poured out a stack of bank statements, payment receipts, and that yellowed promissory note.

Black ink on white paper covered the entire table. "This is your tuition and dorm fees for three years of high school—totaling $18,000." "This is your living allowance for four years of college, $500 a month, including breaks—totaling $24,000." "This is the fee for your grad school prep courses—$15,000." "And these are your expenses during grad school, plus the $10,000 deposit for your apartment after graduation." Ethan’s face went from flushed to pale.

He jumped to his feet, his voice trembling with emotion. "Chloe! What is the meaning of this?" "I’ve called you my guardian angel for eight years!

Is our bond only worth these cold, hard numbers?" He pointed at the receipts on the table, looking utterly heartbroken. "I thought you genuinely cared about me!

I respected you like a mother!" "I can't believe you were secretly keeping track of every single dollar behind my back!" "Have you been guarding yourself against me this whole time?" Looking at his shameless, hypocritical face, I felt deeply disgusted.

Over the past eight years, I had scrimped and saved, never buying any clothes over fifty dollars.

And in return, all I got was him accusing me of "guarding myself." "Our bond?" I sneered. "When you demanded $150,000 from me, why didn’t you bring up our bond?" Tiffany rolled her eyes and spoke up in a sarcastic tone. "And here I thought Ethan's sponsor was some generous philanthropist.

Turns out you’re just a cheapskate." She disdainfully flicked the receipts on the table. "It’s just under $200,000.

Is it really worth being this petty?" "Since you decided to sponsor Ethan back then, it was charity.

Who asks for charity money back?" "Besides, you’re an old, unmarried woman with no kids.

What do you need so much money for anyway?" "You might as well give it to us for our wedding.

When we have kids in the future, they can call you Aunt Chloe." Looking at this heavily madeup, Botoxfilled woman, I laughed out of sheer anger. "I would rather throw my money into the ocean than give you a single dime." I pointed at the front door. "Get out.

Right now." "Don't talk to me again until you've gathered the $180,000 you owe me."

Instead of moving, Ethan plonked his butt back down onto the sofa.

He crossed his legs, looking completely shameless. "Chloe, you really want to burn bridges today, don't you?" "I’ll tell you the truth. I don't have the money.

If you want my life, take it." "Sure, I make $80,000 a year now, but do you know how high the cost of living is in New York?" "I have to buy Tiffany designer bags, and I need to save up for a car.

How am I supposed to pay you back?" He spoke with such righteous conviction, as if I were the debtor and he was the victim. Tiffany chimed in. "Exactly.

We’re getting married soon, and we need money for everything." "Instead of helping, you’re here badgering us for a debt.

Do you even have a conscience?" My fingers went cold with anger at this bizarre couple. "So, you’re not going to pay?" I pulled out my phone and dialed the building's security. "Hi, security?

I have two trespassers in my apartment who refuse to leave. Please send someone up to remove them." Hearing that I was calling security, Ethan’s expression flickered.

But he quickly composed himself. "Go ahead!

Even if you call the cops, I'll say the same thing—I have no money!" "The local media covered your sponsorship of me back in the day." "If I post this online and tell everyone that you’re blackmailing and driving your sponsored student to suicide..." "Let’s see how you’ll face the public!" He was actually using my past kindness to threaten me.

Looking at this man in a designer suit and a luxury watch, who was spewing absolute trash, I felt like all my years of support had been fed to a venomous snake.

The security guards arrived quickly.

But after Ethan insisted it was a "family dispute" and Tiffany suddenly clutched her stomach, crying in pain, the guards didn't dare to use force. "Ms.

Bennett, this seems to be a family matter. Maybe you should try to talk it out," the guard said helplessly before retreating.

Ethan gave me a smug look. "Chloe, I suggest you stop wasting your energy." "Tiffany is pregnant.

If she miscarries because of the stress you're causing, can you afford the consequences?" Tiffany leaned into Ethan’s arms, whimpering about her stomach ache.

I watched their pathetic acting with cold eyes. Fine. If you don't want to leave, then don't. Let’s see what kind of game you can play.

Without another word, I walked back into my master bedroom and locked the door behind me. That night, the loud blare of the TV echoed from the living room.

Ethan and Tiffany not only stayed, but they also ordered an expensive gourmet seafood delivery.

The pungent smell of spices drifted in through the crack of my door. "Ethan, your sponsor's place is huge," Tiffany’s voice drifted in. "Of course.

It’s a luxury downtown penthouse, 1,800 square feet!" "Once we get married, this will be our wedding home." "We'll make her move out. I’ll redecorate the master bedroom.

I hate her current style." Ethan chuckled. "Don't worry, babe. She's just an old maid.

This apartment will be ours sooner or later." Sitting on my bed, listening to the conversation outside, I quietly opened the recording app on my phone.

The next morning, I was woken up by a deafening pounding on my door. "Open up! Chloe Bennett, open the door right now!" It was a loud, screeching voice of an older woman.

I rubbed my temples and walked out to the living room. Ethan had already opened the door.

Standing outside was a scrawny, rurallooking elderly woman, clutching two wornout duffel bags. It was Ethan’s mother, Martha Carter.

Years ago, she was the one who knelt in front of my rented room, crying and begging me to save her son because they couldn't afford his tuition.

Now, she had a completely different face. The moment Martha stepped inside, she sat flat on the floor and began throwing a hysterical tantrum. "Oh, Lord!

This is unjust!" "City people are bullying us poor country folks!" "Chloe Bennett, you heartless witch!

You are trying to drive my son to his grave!" She wailed, slapping the hardwood floor. Tiffany stood beside her, pretending to comfort her. "Save your energy, Mrs. Carter.

Don't ruin your health." Ethan stood by, looking at me with a condescending gaze. "Chloe, look what you've done to my mother." I pulled out my phone, opened the camera, and pointed it directly at Martha on the floor. "Keep crying," I said calmly.

Martha choked on her tears, momentarily stunned.

Looking at the black camera lens, she felt a bit intimidated. "What do you think you're filming?" "Collecting evidence," I replied coldly. "Didn't you say I'm driving your son to his grave?

Let's let the internet see your wonderful performance." Martha scrambled up from the floor and pointed her finger right at my nose, screaming. "You little brat!

Sponsoring my son was your own choice!" "My Ethan is so smart.

You should be honored he accepted your money!" "Now, not only are you refusing to give us wedding money, but you're also demanding he pay you back?

You're a monster!" As she screamed, she looked around my living room. Her eyes lit up when they landed on my newly purchased 85inch smart TV. "Oh, look at how big this TV is!

Ethan, this is great. When you guys get married, this will look perfect in your new living room." She then stroked my leather sofa. "This leather is so soft.

Chloe, since you’re giving this apartment to my son as a wedding gift anyway, you might as well leave all the furniture behind." I almost laughed out loud at her shameless logic. "Who said I was giving him this apartment?" Martha put her hands on her hips, acting completely entitled. "Not only do you have to give them the apartment, but you also have to hand over that $150,000 cash!" "Let me tell you, Tiffany is carrying a Carter family heir!" "If anything happens to my grandbaby because of you, I will make your life a living hell!"

Over the next few days, this bizarre trio completely treated my apartment as their own. Martha ate snacks all day, leaving trash and crumbs all over the floor.

Tiffany directed Ethan to criticize my home decor daily. "This vase is so tacky, throw it out." "These curtains are too dark.

Hire someone to replace them tomorrow." They even started inviting their relatives over to tour my place. On Thursday afternoon, I came home early from work.

The moment I opened the door, the air was thick with smoke. Seven or eight strangers were lounging in my living room, smoking and eating.

Tiffany was sitting right in the center of the sofa, casually tossing my Porsche key fob in her hand. "See this?

Porsche Panamera." "Once I get my driver's license in a few days, this baby is mine." A young girl with bleached hair looked at her with pure envy. "You’re so lucky!

Marrying Ethan means you get everything!" "Of course!" Tiffany said proudly. "Ethan promised me.

This apartment, the car, and the $150,000 cash—not a single thing will be missing." I marched over and snatched my car keys right out of her hand. "Who gave you permission to rummage through my bedroom?" Tiffany gasped in shock, her face instantly darkening. "Chloe, what's your problem?

I just touched your key fob. Why are you being so petty?" Ethan immediately rushed over, shielding Tiffany behind his back. "Chloe, don’t cross the line!

Tiffany is pregnant!" "You barely drive this car anyway. What’s wrong with letting Tiffany practice with it?" Martha chimed in too. "Exactly! We’re family now.

What’s yours is ours!" "My grandbaby will be riding in this car to preschool in the future!" I looked at this room full of shameless parasites. "Get out," I said, pointing at the door. "This is my home.

Take your relatives and get out right now." Feeling humiliated in front of his relatives, Ethan lost his temper. "Chloe Bennett!

Don't be ungrateful!" "I've already promised Tiffany’s parents they can check out the place.

They’re coming tomorrow!" "If you ruin this for me, I won’t let you off easy!" Just as he finished speaking, the doorbell rang. Tiffany’s face lit up. "That must be my parents!

They’re early!" She pushed past me and ran to open the door. Standing outside was indeed a welldressed, middleaged couple. Tiffany’s parents.

They walked in, surveying the place like they were inspectors examining their territory. Mr. Vance nodded in satisfaction. "The apartment is nice, and the location is great.

But the decor is way too outdated. We’ll have to gut the place and remodel it." Mrs.

Vance walked straight up to me, looking down her nose. "So, you’re the woman who sponsored Ethan?" "We like this place.

Make sure you pack up and move out by next week." "Also, that $150,000 must be in my account by tomorrow morning.

If we're short a single dollar, the wedding is off." Ethan bowed and scraped beside them. "Don't worry, Mr. and Mrs. Vance. She has plenty of money.

It’ll be ready tomorrow." Looking at their ridiculous faces, I didn't lose my temper. I simply pulled out my phone and dialed a number. "Mr.

Davis, are the lawsuit papers and the assetfreezing petition ready?" "Excellent." "Submit them to the court first thing tomorrow morning."