“Pour more wine,” Don Ricardo said. The table was long, and it was full of food. The family was sitting together. Cayden was standing with a wine bottle in his hand. His task was clear. He was the one pouring the drinks. He moved slowly from one side of the table to the other. His head was slightly bowed. His body was stiff. He was careful not to spill a single drop because that would definitely result in a big embarrassment. The room was quiet except for the sound of glasses came by the number of richest business men. And for him, the silence was not peace, because it was full of judgment. Don Ricardo, his father-in-law, was watching him. His eyes were narrowed and their voice was loud, seems like it's an intention for him to hear everything clearly. “Yes, Father,” Cayden answered softly. He moved to the next glass. The others at the table were not looking at him with kindness. Their eyes were heavy with mockery. Their faces were showing disdain. Isabella, his wife, was at

“Cayden!” The sharp voice of Mrs. Mortaine, Isabella's mother, cut through the small living room. She was sitting on the couch, while her arms crossed, her eyes glaring at him. “Yes, Mother?” Cayden asked, standing up quickly from the chair where he had been sitting quietly. “Go line up at the grocery! We need rice, vegetables, meat, and some condiments. I already wrote them down. Here.” She shoved a piece of paper toward him. He stepped forward and took the list. “I’ll go now.” “Make sure you don’t waste money. Buy the cheaper brands. And if you forget even one thing, don’t bother coming back early.” “I understand.” She looked him up and down with irritation. “You should be grateful I’m letting you do something useful. At least this way, you can contribute a little.” Cayden lowered his head. “Yes.” From the dining area, Isabella’s cousin snickered. “Our errand boy son-in-law. Perfect role for him.” Mrs. Montaine didn’t scold her nephew. Instead, she gave Cayden another anno

“Isabella, sign the papers already. Everyone’s waiting.” Her mother’s voice sliced through the room, making the murmurs of gathered relatives die down. Isabella kept her gaze fixed on the documents spread across the polished table, her fingers curled into her lap. “I… I need a moment,” she whispered. “A moment? Haven’t you wasted enough years on him?” one of her uncles scoffed. “This boy has given you nothing but embarrassment. Do what’s right for yourself. Come on!" Cayden stepped forward from the corner, his throat is tight. “Isabella, please. Listen to me, not them. I know I’ve failed in many ways, but I’ve never stopped loving you. Just give me a chance to make things right." A cousin chuckled. “Chance? You’ve had years, and all you’ve shown is that you’re fit to carry groceries and wash dishes. That’s not a husband, that’s a servant.” “I don’t care what you think,” Cayden shot back, his eyes never leaving Isabella. “This is between me and my wife. Isabella, look at me.

“Mr. Ramirez, welcome. Please, come in.” Cayden stepped through the door, his clothes still damp from the rain. His hair clung to his forehead, and dark circles sat under his eyes. He sat down slowly, gripping the edge of the chair as though to steady himself. The lawyer even look at him with pity, yet shocked, maybe because his grandfather is so rich that he didn't expect Cayden to look like this. “You said yesterday that my grandfather passed away,” Cayden said in a hoarse voice. “And that he… left everything to me. I need to hear it again, face-to-face.” Attorney Lopez folded his hands on the desk. “Yes, Mr. Ramirez. Your grandfather, Mr. Zayn Ramirez, passed away early yesterday morning. His will was read, and you are the designated heir. This is not speculation, it is a fact.” Cayden’s hands clenched on his lap. “I don’t understand. He never told me. Why keep something like this hidden?” “Your grandfather had his reasons,” Lopez explained. “He believed that if you knew t

“Again!" Cayden’s knuckles slammed into the wooden post. His skin tore, blood streaking across the surface. “Harder,” the instructor demanded. “You hesitate.” “I don’t hesitate,” Cayden said through clenched teeth. He drew his arm back and punched again, the sharp crack heard in the training hall. The violent rise and fall of his chest showed the strain of his breathing. “You will learn to endure,” the man said flatly. “Weakness is not an option for you.” “I know,” Cayden replied. He lifted his fists once more, pain shooting through his arms, but he did not stop. His arms screamed in protest with every movement, but he ignored them. “Numbers first,” the finance mentor instructed. He tapped the ledger in front of Cayden. “Without numbers, power collapses.” Cayden leaned closer, scanning each line. “The outflow exceeds inflow here. This division is bleeding money.” The mentor glanced up, surprised. “You caught it already?” “Yes,” Cayden said. “It’s obvious. They spend