THE SUPREME KING OF WEALTH

A MARRIAGE ALREADY BURIED

His chest tightened the moment Clara dropped the folder on the table.

He stared at it for a second, then at her.

“Clara… what is this?”

Her voice came out cold, sharp, and without hesitation. “Divorce paper. Sign it.”

The words hit harder than anything he had heard all day. Connor’s fingers twitched slightly at his side, but his face remained calm. Shock flickered in his eyes, but it faded quickly, replaced by something quieter.

“I see,” he said slowly. “So we’ve reached this point.”

Clara crossed her arms, her expression filled with impatience. “Don’t act surprised. This marriage has been over for a long time.”

Connor let out a faint breath. “I’m not surprised. Just… disappointed.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed slightly, then she spoke again, her tone colder than before.

“I can’t keep living with a husband who has nothing to offer,” she said. “My brand is rising. I need someone who matches my level… someone whose influence can push my business even further.”

Connor’s gaze sharpened slightly, but his voice remained calm.

“Someone like Senator Gatlin?”

For a brief moment, Clara’s expression shifted.

Then she recovered quickly.

“He's none of your business,” she snapped.

Connor didn’t respond immediately, but the silence carried meaning. He already knew. He had seen enough to understand what was happening behind his back.

Before the tension could settle, the door pushed open again.

Mrs. Sam walked in, her face already twisted with anger.

“Why is he still standing there?” she snapped. “Connor, stop wasting time and sign it! A man like you shouldn’t cling to a marriage you can’t maintain!”

Connor didn’t respond. His eyes returned to the folder.

Mrs. Sam stepped closer, raising her voice. “Do you want my daughter to suffer with you forever? Sign it and leave with whatever little pride you have left!”

Clara stepped forward, picked up the pen, and thrust it toward him. “Sign it now.”

Connor glanced at the pen, then back at her. A faint, almost ironic smile touched his lips. “You’re that desperate to be free from me?”

Clara didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Connor nodded slowly. “No problem.”

He walked to the table, his movements steady. “Despite everything I’ve done for you… it’s funny. You never valued it. Not you, not your family.”

Clara scoffed. “Everything you’ve done? You mean that one help you keep shouting about?”

Connor’s eyes darkened slightly, but his voice stayed calm. “One help?”

She stepped closer, her tone sharp and cutting. “Men help women every day without making noise about it. You’re the only one acting like you performed a miracle. No one forced you to be foolish.”

Mrs. Sam nodded immediately. “Exactly! Always talking as if you saved the world. If you were truly important, would you be standing here like this today?”

She added harshly, “Stop trying to compare yourself to people who are thousands of miles better than you!”

Connor said nothing. He opened the folder and began flipping through the pages.

Each line, each clause, each legal word felt like another nail sealing something already dead inside him.

He spoke quietly, almost to himself.

“I sold seven prime estates in Westbridge, including three waterfront villas and four luxury penthouses, four commercial skyscrapers in Midland City's business district, the private villa at Aurora Coast, and my flagship estate mansion.”

Clara’s expression flickered for a brief second, but she quickly masked it.

Connor continued, his voice steady but lower now. “All worth over two hundred million dollars. I liquidated everything to keep your hotel from collapsing.”

Mrs. Sam waved her hand dismissively. “Stories. If that were true, you wouldn’t be broke now.”

Connor looked up at her, his gaze calm but firm. “It is true.”

Clara’s lips tightened. “Even if it is, that was your choice. Don’t expect gratitude forever.”

Connor closed the folder gently. “I never asked for gratitude. I asked for respect.”

A heavy silence filled the room.

Then Connor picked up the pen.

“No problem,” he said softly. “I will sign it. This marriage is already dead anyway.”

He paused for a second, his grip tightening slightly.

“I gave up everything because of the love I truly had for you,” he continued quietly. “But it seems love alone was never enough for you.”

Clara said nothing.

Connor leaned forward and signed his name in one smooth motion. The sound of the pen on paper was soft… but final.

He placed the pen down.

“Congratulations,” he said calmly. “You’re free.”

Clara immediately grabbed the folder, checking the signature. A satisfied look crossed her face.

“That’s good,” she said. “You’re no longer in my world anymore.”

Connor let out a faint, humorless breath. “You keep degrading me, yet I’m the one who saved everything you stand on today. Unfortunately, you never saw that.”

Clara turned toward the door, her voice cold. “Finally… I’m free from a cursed burden like you.”

She paused, then added without looking back, “And I’m not done with you. You’re leaving this house tomorrow morning. You don’t belong here.”

Mrs. Sam folded her arms. “Did you hear her? This is not your house. Leave and go back to wherever you came from!”

Connor nodded once. “Of course. After all… this house was built with your money, right?”

Clara turned slightly. “Exactly.”

Connor’s gaze remained steady. “The source of that money… It was me who saved it from collapsing. But that’s no longer my concern. I’ll leave tomorrow morning as you wish.”

He straightened slightly. “You’re free to continue mingling, Senator Gatlin.”

Clara smirked. “Yes, because I truly love him, and there’s nothing you can do.”

Mrs. Sam added bitterly, “You’re not worthy of mentioning that name!”

Connor said nothing. His hand tightened briefly into a fist, veins faintly visible, then slowly relaxed.

Why react? he thought.

There was nothing left to lose.

Clara had already made her choice.

“Start preparing,” Clara said again. “Tomorrow morning, you’re leaving!”

Mrs. Sam nodded. “And don’t leave anything behind. We don’t want memories of you here.”

Connor remained calm. “Understood.”

Clara gave him one last look of disgust, then turned and walked out. Mrs. Sam followed, muttering under her breath.

The door shut.

Silence filled the room.

Hours later, morning came.

Connor woke early as usual. He packed quietly, folding his clothes with precision. There wasn’t much left—just a suitcase, a few documents, and the worn file he always carried.

A loud knock came.

Then another.

Connor opened the door.

Clara stood there, already dressed, her expression sharp. “You’re still not done?”

“Almost,” he replied calmly.

She frowned. “Hurry up and get out. I don’t want to see you here again.”

She turned and walked away, leaving the door open behind her.

Connor closed it gently and finished packing. Minutes later, he lifted his suitcase, adjusted his suit, and walked out.

In the living room, Mrs. Sam was already waiting.

She looked at him with open disgust. “Look at him… still pretending to have dignity.”

Connor didn’t respond.

“Don’t ever come back begging,” she continued sharply. “No one here will help you.”

Connor walked past her without a word.

As he stepped outside.

What he saw made his eyes narrow slightly… but his face remained calm.