Reincarnated To Divorce My Wife Before The Apocalypse

Chapter 5: All In on Spain

Silvia was truly furious.

To her, Felix had always been nothing more than a free servant with a salary. The man worked under Davidson and earned ten thousand dollars a month, and every single month he handed eighty percent of it to her, no complaints, no questions.

For what?

For the honor of taking care of her and her family, of course. The remaining two thousand was barely enough for his need, which was exactly how much a man like him needed.

On top of that, he handled all the house chores. The cooking, the washing, the cleaning, all of it. And now, with her pregnant, she had already been dreaming of the next stage.

Felix, the free nanny. Felix, changing diapers at two in the morning while she and Davidson got their rest. It was going to be perfect.

And now this useless man dared to divorce her?

'So what if the child isn't yours?' she fumed as she slid into a taxi. 'What is the difference between a child with another man and an adopted child? As long as he calls you father, why can't you love him like your own? Is his heart made of stone?'

"To the Golden Crown Hotel," she told the driver, forcing herself to calm down. She was going to wait for Davidson there first. Let Felix go home and find his clothes on the curb. Let him stand outside the door knocking for hours while she took her time.

She could already picture it, him begging, apologizing, the neighbors watching.

She sneered out the window. Just you wait.

---

Meanwhile, the Felix she was daydreaming about had no intention of going home.

Instead, he walked into a luxury hotel, sat down in the restaurant, and ordered like a man who had been starving for a year. Steak, lobster, soup, dessert, everything. He ate slowly, savoring every bite, almost licking the plate clean.

People around him glanced over. He did not care. They had no idea what food meant to someone who had almost died of hunger once already.

In the apocalypse, a single bottle of mineral water was worth more than gold, and a piece of bread could get a man killed. This meal, this warm, rich, endless meal, was a luxury no amount of money would buy in six months.

While waiting for dessert, Felix pulled out his phone and downloaded seven of the biggest betting platforms in the world.

Registration took minutes. He searched for the upcoming World Cup final. Spain versus France.

As expected, France was the overwhelming favorite.

Spain had barely crawled into the final, and their situation had gotten worse after the semifinal. Vicente Kristian and Anthony Mike, two of their best players, had suffered serious injuries. Harry Kane, their star striker, had picked up a red card and was suspended for the final. Those three had practically carried Spain through the entire tournament. Without them, Spain would be fielding reserves and prayers.

France, on the other hand, had every star available and rested.

Naturally, almost nobody believed Spain could win. The odds for a French victory sat around 1.40, while a Spanish victory ranged between 7.00 and 9.00.

But Felix was not interested in betting on Spain to win.

He remembered the exact final score.

Spain 2-0 France.

He switched to the correct-score section, and the numbers made his eyes light up.

"Thirty? Thirty-two? Hahaha! These people really don't believe in Spain at all!"

Across the seven platforms, the odds for a 2-0 Spanish victory ranged from 30.00 to 36.00. In simple terms, a thousand dollars at odds of 30.00 returned thirty thousand. And Felix had far more than a thousand dollars.

He currently had 1.3 million.

He was not stupid enough to gamble everything, future knowledge or not. He left 300,000 untouched in his account and dedicated exactly one million to the operation.

On the first platform, he placed 150,000 at odds of 30.00. Potential payout: 4.5 million.

On the second, another 150,000 at 32.00. Potential: 4.8 million.

The third offered 31.00, turning his 150,000 into a potential 4.65 million. The fourth offered 34.00, a potential 5.1 million. The fifth offered 33.00, a potential 4.95 million.

That was 750,000 staked. He split the remaining 250,000 between the last two platforms. The sixth offered 35.00, making his 125,000 worth a potential 4.375 million. The seventh offered the highest odds at 36.00, a potential 4.5 million.

When it was done, Felix opened his phone calculator and added it all together.

32,875,000.

His lips slowly curled into a grin.

That was the total return if all seven bets landed, stakes included. Minus his one million investment, his profit would be 31,875,000. Of course, the government would want its share.

By Felix's rough calculation, about 7.175 million would vanish into the tax authorities' pockets. Add back the 300,000 he had kept aside, and he would be left with roughly 26 million.

"Twenty-six million dollars..."

He stared at the figure for a long moment, then clicked his tongue.

"Those tax-collecting bastards. The world is about to end, and they're still robbing me."

He shook his head and set the phone down. Still, 26 million was more than enough to begin his preparations. More than enough for a fortress.

As for whether Spain would actually win, Felix had zero doubts. He could not forget that shocking result, the one his colleagues had talked about for days, the match that had stunned football fans across the entire world. Spain, missing their three best players, had demolished France 2-0.

Who would have thought that the same match would become his first fortune?

"Hehe. Thank you, Spain." Felix raised a spoonful of dessert like a toast. "Now please, whatever you do, don't score a third goal."

---

Dinner finished, Felix considered booking a room right there and never looking back. Going to the Woods house now would only invite humiliation, and he had no patience left to waste on those people.

Then he remembered.

His parents' pictures were still in that house.

He did not care about the clothes, the shoes, any of it. He had enough money now to buy ten wardrobes and still have change left over.

But those pictures were the only things his parents had left behind, and they were the only part of his old life worth carrying into the new one.

With a sigh, he flagged a taxi and gave the address.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi turned onto Victorious Street, and Felix looked out the window at his former home.

His belongings were piled on the curb like garbage waiting for collection. Shirts, shoes, books, all of it dumped in a heap. Neighbors stood at their windows and gates, whispering, watching, enjoying the show.

And there, standing on the doorstep with his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face, was Harrison Woods.

"Well, well. Look what the cold dragged in." The old man's voice carried across the street. "Your things are all there, trash. Count them, and get out of my sight."

Felix paid the taxi driver, stepped out, and looked at the pile. Then he looked at the old man, and smiled.

He shook his head in genuine admiration. "I have to say, Mr. Woods, I've paid professional movers to do slower work than this. The city really should hire you."