THE SUPREME KING OF WEALTH

Connor sat quietly in the dim sitting room, his eyes fixed on the Samsung plasma TV mounted on the wall. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the silence as the evening news played.

He barely paid attention, until something caught his ear.

“…and today marks a major milestone for De Clara Grande, one of Midland City’s most luxurious hotels…”

Connor’s body stiffened.

On the screen, Clara appeared—elegant, radiant, smiling as flashes from cameras lit up her face. She stood in front of a grand entrance decorated with gold ribbons and towering floral arrangements. Behind her, the name De Clara Grande gleamed in bold, expensive lettering.

Connor leaned forward slowly, his brows tightening.

“She… didn’t tell me?” he muttered under his breath.

The female news broadcaster continued speaking, praising the success of the hotel, the expansion, and the elite guests in attendance. Connor’s grip tightened around the remote.

“I’m her husband,” he whispered, disbelief creeping into his voice. “How could she not tell me something like this?”

For a moment, he tried to reason with himself.

Maybe.... she planned to surprise him.

A small smile formed on his lips.

“Yeah… that must be it.”

Without wasting another second, Connor stood up and headed to his room. He opened his wardrobe and pulled out his favorite suit—a clean, dark piece that still carried the dignity of who he used to be.

He dressed carefully, adjusting the collar and smoothing out invisible wrinkles.

Tonight will be important.

His wife had achieved something great.

He wanted to be there.

Moments later, Connor stepped outside. The evening air was calm, almost peaceful, brushing lightly against his face. He inhaled deeply before walking toward his car.

His Mercedes S-Class waited in silence.

As he got in and started the engine, the soft purr filled the air. He drove smoothly through Midland City, the glowing skyline reflecting off the windshield. The financial district wasn’t far, and within minutes, the towering structure of De Clara Grande came into view.

Connor parked and stepped out.

His posture was straight. His expression calm.

He looked every bit like a man who belonged there.

But the moment he started walking toward the entrance, whispers began.

“Isn’t that him?”

“The guy who went broke overnight?”

“Yeah… the useless husband.”

Laughter followed.

Connor heard every word.

For a brief second, his grip tightened—then loosened.

His face remained calm, almost indifferent, as if the words meant nothing. He kept walking, ignoring the murmurs and mocking glances thrown his way.

Drones hovered above, capturing aerial shots. Cameras flashed nonstop. Reporters moved around, chasing after wealthy guests.

The atmosphere was grand and cold.

Finally, Connor reached the entrance.

That was when he saw them.

Clara stood among a group of elite guests, dressed in a stunning gown, her smile flawless. Beside her was Mrs. Sam, her mother, and Mason, her younger brother.

Connor’s eyes softened slightly.

But the moment their gazes met his…

They looked away.

Like he didn’t exist.

Connor paused for a second, confusion flickering in his eyes.

“…Clara?” he called softly.

No response.

He took a step forward, approaching the entrance.

“Excuse me,” Connor said politely to the two security guards. “I’m here to see my wife.”

The guards didn’t move.

One of them looked at him coldly. “You’re not needed here.”

Connor blinked. “I think there’s a misunderstanding. I’m—”

“Ms. Clara gave strict orders,” the second guard interrupted, raising his pistol slightly. “You are not allowed inside.”

Connor froze.

“…What?”

For a moment, he thought it was a joke.

He let out a faint, awkward chuckle. “Come on. That’s not funny. Let me through.”

“Sir, step back,” the first guard said sharply. “This is your final warning.”

Connor’s smile faded.

Behind the guards, Clara noticed the disturbance. She turned, her expression instantly darkening when she saw him.

She walked over, her heels clicking sharply against the ground.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

Connor looked at her, still trying to stay calm. “Clara, I saw the news. Why didn’t you tell me about the event?”

Clara scoffed. “Tell you? For what?”

Connor frowned. “I’m your husband.”

She let out a cold laugh. “Husband? You?” She looked him up and down with disgust. “You’re nothing but dead weight.”

Connor’s chest tightened, but he said nothing.

“You don’t belong here,” she continued harshly. “Look around you. Do you see people like you here?”

She paused for a moment, her eyes flickering with something unreadable before hardening again.

“Do you think I can stand here as the CEO of De Clara Grande and be seen with someone who reminds everyone of when I had nothing left in my reputation?”

“I understand.” Connor said calmly.

Mason smirked from behind. “He really showed up thinking he’s still relevant.”

Mrs. Sam shook her head. “Shameless human being!”

Connor swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat.

“I just came to support you,” he said quietly.

Clara stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “Then leave before you embarrass me further.”

Connor remained silent.

Not because he had nothing to say—but because nothing he said would matter anymore.

“Or do you want to see what happens when I lose my patience?” she added coldly.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, turned sharply, and walked away.

Just like that.

Connor stood there, alone at the entrance.

The noise around him blurred.

His mind drifted to that fateful night he signed away his entire real estate portfolio and even his luxury mansion, just to save her failing hotel business. He did it out of love. The decision drained everything he had built, collapsing his real estate empire.

He did it willingly, without hesitation—choosing her future over his own.

Now he had nothing left… she has chosen status over the sacrifice.

He slowly turned and began walking away.

Two more people laughed as he passed.

“Look at him… pathetic.”

“From billionaire to nothing.”

Connor didn’t react.

Two reporters rushed toward him, microphones raised.

“Mr. Wood! What happened to your wealth?”

“Did you really lose everything overnight?”

Connor walked past them without a word.

Then suddenly—

A convoy of luxury cars pulled up.

Everyone turned.

A Rolls Royce stopped at the entrance.

The door opened.

A man in his thirties stepped out, dressed sharply, surrounded by five guards.

Connor recognized him instantly.

Senator Mark Gatlin.

One of the most powerful figures in the city.

Connor’s eyes narrowed slightly.

As the senator began walking toward the hotel…

Clara, seated among elite guests in the garden area with her mother and brother, suddenly turned.

Her expression changed.