From Disgraced Son-In-Law to Billionaire King

Chapter 8: Silent Departure

“Are you really going to leave like this, Cayden?” he whispered to himself, his own voice is just as low as if he's afraid someone might hear.

His hand brushed against the zipper of his old duffel bag. The room was dark, and the only sound was the faint scrape of the bag against the floor. He packed the last of his few clothes, folding them neatly even though he knew no one cared.

“I should have left earlier,” Cayden muttered, pressing his lips together tightly. “But I stayed… because of her.”

The silence in Mortaine's household weighed on him. Everyone was asleep. No one would notice his absence until morning, and maybe not even then.

He reached for the folded note on the small bedside table. His hand trembled slightly. “You won’t read this, Isabella. You’ll throw it away.” His voice was almost bitter, though his eyes carried sadness more than anger. “But I’ll leave it anyway.”

The note was short, his last words to her: I loved you, even when no one believed in me. Forgive me if I was never enough.

He placed it under the lamp, adjusted it once, and stepped back. “That’s all I can do,” he said softly, picking up his bag.

The wooden floor creaked as he walked toward the door. Each sound felt like it would wake the entire house, but no one stirred. He paused at the doorway, taking one last look at the place that had never been home to him.

“This is the end,” he whispered. “The end of Cayden, the useless son-in-law.”

Outside, the dawn air was cold. Mist clung to the streets, and the faint light of morning was visible. He pulled his thin jacket tighter around his shoulders and started walking.

Laughter rang out suddenly from across the street. A group of Isabella’s relatives, still gathered after their night of drinking, spotted him.

“Well, look who it is!” one of them shouted. “The errand boy finally running away!”

Another waved his glass mockingly. “Where are you going, Cayden? Off to beg for scraps?”

The group burst into laughter. Their voices carried down the quiet street, it's so cruel.

“Maybe he’ll end up sleeping under a bridge,” another jeered. “That’s where men like him belong.”

Cayden kept his head down, his grip tightening on the strap of his bag. His chest rose and fell heavily, but he did not stop. He didn't dare to protect himself from all all the humiliation, because he know, he'll comeback stronger..

“Don’t ignore us, son-in-law slave!” one relative called out louder. “You should thank us for feeding you all this time.” Their laughter grew, filling the street.

Cayden muttered under his breath, “Say whatever you want. This will be the last time.”

The mocking continued behind him, but he refused to turn back. His steps carried him farther down the road until the voices began to fade.

At the corner, headlights appeared. A sleek black luxury car rolled slowly into view, its surface polished to a mirror-like shine. The vehicle stopped directly in front of him. He's not even prepared for this.

The door opened. Two men in tailored black suits stepped out, their expressions serious. They moved with precision, their presence is really commanding attention.

They bowed deeply. “Young Master.” His eyes widened a little, everything seems like a joke.

Cayden froze, his breath catching in his throat.

One of the suited men stepped forward. “Young Master, we have been waiting. The car is ready to take you.”

Cayden’s eyes flickered with hesitation. “You… you must be mistaken," he said. He's even thinking that it might be a plan of someone from Mortaine's family, like a threat for him, just to ensure that he won't be be able to comeback on their lives.

“There is no mistake,” the second man replied firmly. “Your departure from this place marks the beginning of your rightful return. Please, allow us to escort you.”

The relatives exchanged glances, their earlier confidence replaced by confusion.

“What’s going on?” one muttered. “Why are they calling him that?”

Another shook his head in disbelief. “This has to be some kind of joke.” Some group of people from the village murmurs.

Cayden’s gaze drifted back to the Mortaine's house. For a brief moment, memories of Isabella’s cold eyes and the family’s cruel laughter filled his mind. He clenched his fists, then slowly relaxed them.

He turned back to the men and gave a single nod. “Alright. Take me.”

“Young Master,” the first man said, opening the rear door with respect.

Cayden stepped forward. His reflection stared back at him from the glossy black surface of the car. The weight of the duffel bag pulled on his shoulder, but he no longer felt small under it.

He placed one hand on the door, his grip steady. Behind him, the people whispered louder.

“Is this real?” one said.

“No… it can’t be,” another stammered. “He’s nothing. He’s always been nothing. Maybe, he steal something and those men will put him in hell."

Cayden didn’t turn back. He didn’t need to. For the first time, their words no longer reached him.

He slid into the car. The leather seats embraced him with a comfort he had never known. The men closed the door firmly, shutting out the stunned gasps of those who once mocked him.

The car engine started. The vehicle pulled away from the curb, leaving the Mortaine's street behind.

Cayden leaned back in the seat, the folded divorce papers still tucked inside his bag. His eyes stared forward.

“This is the last time I leave in silence,” he said quietly. “The next time I return… it won’t be as the man they called useless.”

The city blurred past the tinted windows, every passing light marks the path who'll bring him into a new version of the man they repeatedly call like a trash.

The car drove on, carrying him toward the future that had always been waiting.

"I'll vanish, but I'll surely come back for my sweetest revenge Mortaine's."