From Doormat to Doomsday Billionaire!

Chapter 4: The Number

Rhys pushed the front door open.

The door cracked against the wall and left a dent.

Nothing had changed. 

Britt’s plastic flowers still sat on the entry table. The crooked stair runner Michael had nailed down himself and forbade anyone to fix was still standing as erect as before. And everywhere, Lexi’s perfume, thick as syrup, buried so deep in the walls that the smell of his parents’ home was just a ghost underneath it.

Michael stormed out of the living room wearing a scowl on his face. He was Lexi’s father. 

“Where have you been? Lexi called me, crying. You humiliated her in front of strangers!” He jabbed a finger at Rhys’s chest.

 “You’re going to call her and Henry tonight, crawl, and apologize. And tomorrow you’re going back to that bank to sign what you were told to sign.”

Rhys spared him a glance and walked past him toward the stairs. Michael scoffed at his audacity!

“Don’t you turn your back on me, boy!” Michael lunged into his path. 

“Fix this by tomorrow, or I’ll have my daughter divorce you. You’ll be alone with nothing and no one!”

In his last life, that threat had been a leash. One word, and Rhys would fold..

Now it sounded like a chicken clucking.

“Divorce? Yeah right.” Rhys scoffed.

Something surged inside Michael. At that moment , he mistook Rhys’s calm for cowardice.

His hand shot out, grabbed Rhys’s collar, and drew back to strike.

Rhys caught the wrist in midair. A twist after, Michael’s chest hit the edge of the dining table, and his cheek was pressed flat against the polished wood.

“Arrgh! Let go, you ungrateful dog! I fed you! I housed you!”

“You ate off my salary for years, old man.” Rhys leaned down to his ear. “You’re not a father-in-law. You’re a fucking parasite.”

Michael whimpered.

“Touch me again, and you’ll learn what I learned. Pain has a hundred levels, and I know every one.”

Just then, a scream tore through the house.

Britt stood in the hallway, clutching her grandson, Chris, glaring at the scene.

Rhys released Michael, who slumped against the table, and turned.

This was why he had come.

Chris. 

The boy he had once loved more than anything.

Dark hair. Pale skin. Sharp, watchful eyes that Rhys had once mistaken for brilliance. Not a single feature that was his. He’d told himself it was just Lexi’s genes. For eight years, he had worn the humiliation without ever knowing.

Rhys wiped dust from the boy’s cheek.

“Open your mouth for me, Chris.”

Britt jerked back. “What are you doing?”

“He’s been coughing.” Rhys’s eyes slid to her. “I’m checking his throat. The swabs. Where are they?”

She pointed at the kitchen cabinet, too shaken to argue.

Thirty seconds. Chris tolerated it and then turned back to his grandmother to whine about dinner.

Rhys sealed the swab, slid it into his pocket, and left without looking back.

***

The private clinic on Millfield Road offered same-day results for a premium package. 

Rhys paid without a blink. He gave his own sample, then sat in the waiting room with a paper cup of water and a lot of silence.

At seven o’clock sharp, his phone buzzed.

One email. One attachment.

He skipped to the last page.

Probability of paternity: 0.00%.

He read it again. 

There was no explosion. No rage. Just a cold, ringing clarity, spreading through him like frost across glass.

He closed his eyes.

That’s it. 

Then his phone rang. It was Lexi.

He picked up.

“What did you do to my father?” No greeting. “You attacked an old man! Have you lost your mind? Are you trying to make us hate you? Because it’s working!”

“I have the DNA results, Lexi” Rhys said.

She stopped.

“Chris isn’t mine. He’s Curry Barker’s. I know all of it.”

The silence stretched far.

Then, a small and cracked sound left her mouth: “Rhys…”

“I don’t care anymore. Tomorrow morning, eight o’clock at the county clerk’s office, you will sign divorce papers. No arguments.”

She scoffed.

“You can’t just…”

“Or,” Rhys went on, softly, “I send this report, and every detail I know about you and Curry, to everyone you’ve ever bragged to. Your mother’s friends. Your father’s golf buddies. Henry’s investors. Every cousin, every coworker, every neighbor.”

He let the silence stretch like a blade.

“I’ll make sure no one in this city ever looks at the Stowe name without being reminded who you are.”

Her breathing was ragged now. He listened to it. He took his time.

Then, something shifted in her voice.

“Fine. You want a divorce? You’ll get one.”

She hung up.

Rhys lowered the phone.