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

She'll divorce you

Karvel stared down at his phone, her voice still ringing in his ears.

 Cold. Dismissive. As if nothing had happened.

The woman who had likely betrayed him... was now reminding him not to embarrass her in public.

 Unbelievable.

He took a deep breath and redialed. She picked up with an annoyed huff.

“What now?” she snapped. “You’re not still sulking, are you? This isn’t the time.”

Karvel’s voice dropped several degrees. “What were you doing earlier? Who were you with?”

A pause. Then, she laughed—dry and condescending. “Excuse me? Unlike you, I actually work. Sorry I wasn’t sitting around begging for charity or playing stray dog outside the hospital.”

His jaw tightened. “You weren’t at work. I called you, remember? And a man answered the phone.”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale. “Are you really trying to pick a fight over that? I was busy. That’s all you need to know.”

“Busy… in the shower? With him?”

“Enough!” she barked. “You want to throw tantrums? Do it after the banquet. Right now, grow up and show up.”

She hung up.

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

Is this how far she’s fallen? Or… am I being paranoid?

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

He turned to Alina Hart—SF1—who stood nearby, watching quietly.

“I need a favor.”

“Anything,” she said.

“I need you to investigate something. The call I made to her earlier—can you track where she was? And who she was 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. No more begging for scraps of affection.”

Alina nodded. “Understood.”

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

Alina raised a brow, amused. “Borrow? Karvel, 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. Elegant. Weighty. Deadly.

“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 swallowed. “No limits?”

“None.”

He left the building and slid into the low, growling beast of a car. The engine purred like a panther about to hunt. But instead of pulling up to the hotel’s grand entrance like royalty, 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.

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

“Look what the dog dragged in,” his father-in-law snorted, wrinkling his nose. “No, wait—he is the dog!”

Laughter rippled from behind him. Mother-in-law, cousins, and a few hangers-on smirked and turned to get a better look at Karvel’s sorry state.

“Showed up on foot?” his mother-in-law gasped. “Did you lose the bicycle too, or is that parked in the back with the other stray animals?”

A snobby cousin leaned closer, pretending to examine him. “He’s got more tears in his shirt than that street raccoon I ran over last week.”

“Maybe he’s just trying out a new hobo aesthetic,” another snickered. “Gotta stay trendy, right?”

Karvel didn’t flinch. Not even a blink.

But inside, the rage brewed like a volcano under ice.

“Honestly,” the father-in-law grunted, “I don’t know how we let our daughter marry this... dumpster puppy.”

“She could’ve had Vincent Langford,” someone muttered. “He’s successful, classy—drives a Jaguar, not a twisted ankle.”

Karvel raised an eyebrow. “You mean the same Vincent I heard breathing heavily on the other end of my wife’s phone?”

They all blinked.

“Excuse me?” his mother-in-law snapped.

“Nothing,” Karvel said coolly, adjusting his collar. “Just wondering what kind of man joins his friend’s wife in the shower.”

The father-in-law waved a dismissive hand. “Enough! Don’t play the jealous mongrel now. Once the banquet ends, we’re ending this joke of a marriage.”

“Yes,” his mother-in-law said, arms folded like a peacock flaring its feathers. “She’ll divorce you. And then she’ll marry a real man.

One who wears suits, not blood and laundry stains.”