“Divorce?”The word slipped past Nelson’s lips as a raspy whisper. His jaw went slack, and he stared at Mrs. Park as if she had just grown a second head. He was completely blindsided.“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of his confusion.Mrs. Park sat regally at the dining table, her posture rigid, her gaze lethal. There was not an ounce of humor in the room.“Do I look like I’m stuttering, you fool?” she sneered, a cruel smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.Nelson stood rooted to the carpet, utterly speechless. The words hit him like a freight train. He felt the oxygen drain from the room as reality began to claw its way into his chest. After four years of sacrificing everything; his pride, his time, his own ambitions, to elevate this family from the dirt, this was his reward? Insults? Humiliation?He frantically scanned the room, hoping someone would laugh and tell him it was a sick, twisted joke. But the silence was deafening.His body went entire

"Sir, your food is ready."The maid moved gracefully across the room, balancing a silver tray. She was stunning —soft curves, radiant skin, and a quiet elegance that seemed to brighten the dim room.As she set the plates down, Nelson caught a glimpse of her profile. He froze. He couldn’t place the exact memory, but an overwhelming sense of familiarity washed over him. He knew her from somewhere. The feeling lingered, stubbornly refusing to fade.Standing near the door, John cleared his throat, trying to pull Nelson’s attention away from the girl."Uh-hmm. Sir, as I was saying, the Kingston family has planned a private gala. Since we recently finalized that massive deal with them, they are extremely eager to meet the man behind the success. They would be honored if you attended."Nelson didn't reply. His eyes remained locked on the maid as she meticulously arranged his silverware, acting as if John hadn't spoken at all.As she turned to leave, Nelson reached out instinctively, his hand

Nelson rubbed his arm where the guard had grabbed him, his expression unreadable. He looked at Franklin, his voice ringing out with a cold, sharp clarity that made Lisa flinch.“I’m disappointed, Franklin. I came here expecting a professional atmosphere, not to be harassed by people who don’t know their place. It’s a shame the Kingston family allows such… unrefined guests into these events.”Franklin’s head stayed bowed an extra second —a gesture of profound apology—before he turned toward the security guards. The warmth in his eyes had completely vanished.“You two are fired,” Franklin said flatly. “You are blacklisted from every Kingston property and affiliate. Pack your things and be off the premises in five minutes, or the police will be called for assault.”The two guards crumpled. One of them dropped to his knees, his face pale with terror. “Mr. Franklin, please! We were just following orders. We didn’t know who he was! We were told he was a trespasser!”The other guard looked a

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the lungs.Lisa stood frozen, her eyes wide as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the man who had lived in her house for four years. This wasn't the "house-husband" who quietly cleaned the floors and made her tea. This was a titan. The way he held himself, the cold sharpness in his eyes —he looked like a stranger wearing her husband's face.“So,” Nelson said. His voice was deep, smooth, and utterly devoid of the warmth he used to reserve for her. “What was so urgent that you had to hunt me down in my own office?”Lisa’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Her mind was a chaotic mess of memories and realization. Nelson was the heir. Nelson was the power behind Reeds. Every deal she’d ever closed, every "lucky break" her company had ever had... it hadn't been her talent. It had been him.The weight of her own arrogance hit her like a physical blow.Nelson didn't offer her a seat. He didn't move from behind

Ping. Ping. Ping. The relentless chime of incoming emails echoed through the sprawling, silent office, but Nelson didn’t move. He remained anchored in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass, watching the city below. To the world, he was the architect of the Reeds Furniture Kingdom—a man of iron will and untouchable wealth. But inside, the fortress was under siege. He stared at the reflection of his own face in the glass. He looked like the Master now, but his eyes told a different story. No matter how many contracts he tore up, no matter how many times he told her it was over, the ghost of Lisa Park refused to leave the room. He could still see her face as it was three years ago—smiling at him over a cheap dinner in their cramped apartment, before the hunger for status had turned her into a stranger. A single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek. He cursed himself silently. He should be celebrating. He should be feeling the triumph of justice. Instead, he felt the heavy, h