THE DISGUSTING SON-IN-LAW WON'T TOLERATE INSULT ANYMORE

She'll divorce you

Karvel took a deep breath, stared down at his phone.

The woman who had likely betrayed him... was now reminding him not to embarrass her in public, as if nothing had happened.

Unbelievable.

“What were you doing earlier? Who were you with?”

He asked coldly, his voice dropped several degrees. 

 “Excuse me? Unlike you, I actually work. Sorry I wasn’t sitting around begging for charity or playing with stray dogs outside the hospital like you!”

His jaw tightened. “Too busy to answer the phone?”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale. “Are you really trying to pick a fight over that? Do it after the banquet. Right now, grow up and show up.”

Then she hung up.

Karvel stared at the screen, his fingers trembling—not from pain, but rage. He felt like he’d just swallowed poison.

He turned to Alina Hart, who stood nearby, watching quietly.

“I need a favor.”

“Anything, young master.” she said.

“I need you to investigate something. The call I made to my wife earlier—can you track where she was? And who was she with?”

Her eyes sharpened. “Of course. I’ll have it traced immediately.”

“I just need the truth. If she really did it… I’ll let her go. ”

Despite everything, he still felt something for her. She’d never ridiculed him like the rest of her family. Cold, yes.  But not cruel. 

But this time, things were different.

Alina nodded. “Understood.”

Karvel checked the time. “I’ll head to the banquet first. Can I… borrow your car?”

Alina raised a brow, amused. “Borrow? Those cars out front? They’re yours. Everything I arrived in—yours. You don’t borrow from yourself.”

She pulled a matte black key fob from her pocket and dropped it into his hand. “You’ll have to settle for the Aventador. No time to send the Maybach.”

Karvel blinked at her. “Settle…?”

“That one’s only worth about three million,” she added nonchalantly.

He stared at the key like it was made of dragon bone. Just how deep did this rabbit hole of wealth go?

Then she handed him something else: a solid black card with a golden edge.

“Your family has holdings in nearly every major industry,” Alina explained. “Including the hotel you're going to. This card gives you full access. No passwords. No limits.”

He clenched the card, swallowed. “No limits?”

Just minutes ago, he was on his knees begging for enough money to keep his mother alive. Now… the world had flipped.

Without wasting more time, he left the building and slid into the Lamborghini Aventador.

Minutes later, he arrived. But instead of pulling up to the hotel’s grand entrance, he parked several hundred meters away in a quiet alley.

He wasn’t here to show off.

Not yet.

Still dressed in his torn, bloodstained clothes, bruises fading but visible, he walked the last stretch on foot.

Karvel stood outside the revolving doors, watching guests flow in, draped in designer suits and diamond-dripping dresses. Even the bellboys here probably earned more respect than he did.

And right at the door of the banquet hall—he ran into his in-laws.

Patricia’s eyes sharpened as they landed on him, a slow, venomous smile spreading across her face.

“Well, well. Look who decided to slink in. You heard, didn’t you?” She tilted her head, feigning concern, but her eyes glittered like shards of glass. “Known where Elena is now? ”

Robert let out a harsh laugh, clapping his hands once. “Finally got the memo, huh, trash? Your little marriage charade’s over. Vincent’s taking our girl out of this gutter—and you’re getting tossed to the curb.”

“Definitely! Vincent is much better than this trash. Third floor, baby!” Patricia beamed. “We’re finally stepping above those second-floor peasants.”

The hotel has seven floors, with access tiered like a social ladder—only the rich could even breathe on the first.

This year’s banquet for Grandma Margaret’s birthday was being hosted on the third floor—for the first time ever.

All thanks to Vincent Langford.

Elena’s parents were practically floating with arrogance.

“Wait till Mother sees this,” Patricia added. “We’ll finally get some real recognition!“

 Karvel’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground—years of their vitriol had forged a shield, thin but unyielding.

Patricia’s smile widened, her tone slicing like a knife. “Don’t look so glum, Karvel. ”

She reached up, adjusting the pearls around her neck with a flick of her wrist, as if the mere mention of divorce polished her social standing. 

“Think of it as a favor. You’ll finally be free to crawl back to whatever hole you slithered out of. And we? We’ll be third-floor regulars, then fourth-floor，then top of the heap—all thanks to Vincent. No more scraps from Margaret, no more being laughed at. Just the life we deserve!”

“Dear,” Robert chimed in, grinning, “let’s not rub it in. The poor sap looks like he’s about to cry.”

“Cry? Good. He should.” Patricia leaned in, her voice dropping to a hissed whisper. “You thought she’d stay with you? A man who can’t even afford a taxi to a banquet? When she comes back, she’ll hand you those papers, and you’ll slink away. That’s all you’re good for.”

Karvel’s fingers curled into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. The words weren’t new—their contempt had always been loud—but this time, they came laced with a sickening certainty. 

She’s with him. She’s chosen him. This is real.

Patricia stepped back, preening, and nodded toward the curb. “Speak of the devil. Here comes our future.”

A sleek black Rolls-Royce glided to a stop, its engine purring like a contented beast.

Robert’s face lit up. “There they are! Our ticket out of here!”