Jeremy Waltz: A Billionaire Incognito

A 37 years old young gentleman, Jeremy walked into his friend's early 2000's convertible car and slammed the door.

"Did everything work out as planned?" His friend popped a question as soon as he got in.

"Yes. She didn't even ask about it. She must have thought I had forgotten today is her birthday," he chuckled with a sense of contentment for himself. "What kind of man forgets his own wife's birthday!"

He's 25 years old friend, Nick scoffed and started the car, driving away from Jeremy's bungalow shade and entering the streets of their suburban neighborhood.

Nick's expression has suddenly shifted as if his suspicions have come to shape his face.

"What's wrong?" Jeremy noticed.

"Man... I don't think it's a good idea."

Confusion swirled around Jeremy's grimace, "What're you talking about?"

"Where did you get the money to afford a Rolls Royce Ghost?"

"I took a loan from the bank," Jeremy answered with agitation in his tone. "I told you before!" He stated with a yell.

"Exactly," Nick banged the steering wheel. "At the expense of your house and everything in it. You know they won't sympathize with you if you don't meet up the loan right? They'd just take everything."

"I'd pay up. I'd get more jobs. I'd work harder. I'd pay up. She needs this, man. That woman abandoned her wealthy family to run away from home with me. After 19 years of marriage, she deserves it. She deserves every good thing I can give."

"Alright. Alright. I'm stripping. Let's go and get the car," Nick gave up.

...

In the latter morning Jeremy returned home with a mariachi band dressed in cooperate red and white. He walked ahead of them with excitement brimming up in him.

Behind them a baby-pink Roll Royce Ghost drove to a stop. Subsequently, they all stationed themselves in front of it with drums, trumpets, and violins all ready to go off.

The suburban streets were quickly filled with bystanders filling their eyes with the splendor.

Jeremy rushed on the stairs with a huge smile stretching from the West side of his lips to the East.

He rubbed his palms together and blew air into them, relieving himself of the nervousness that weighed on him. Then he opened his door wide, with the band playing simultaneously. However he soon behold the most unholy sight...

His wife's stepbrother screwing her on the couch.

Jeremy's joy immediately morphed into sadness, his hands fell to his sides with goosebumps covering the facade of his skin. He froze at the door.

They both turned around at the same time and caught sight of him standing at the door with his jaw dropped.

Ethan, her stepbrother quickly pulled out of her butthole and pulled up his pants, zipping it up concurrently. "Look Jeremy, it's not what it is."

"How could you?" Jeremy finally mouthed words with lips shivering as the words came out of his suddenly shattered being in form of a whisper.

"How could you!" With the uproar of a lion he charged towards Ethan and speared him to the ground with his shoulders. He started pounding his face with a series of mounted punches, unleashing the rage that burnt inside him on the 43 years old man.

In a twist of events his wife carried a large vase at the corner of the house and crashed it into the back of his head.

Jeremy rolled of off Ethan and laid amongst the shattered pieces of glass on the ground, grabbing the back of his head in agony, with his teethes locked against each other holding back a scream from escaping.

His blood dripping out on the tiles.