The Almighty Convict's Revenge

03

"Who was that at the door?" In the spacious living room, Belmont Turner sat at the heavy mahogany table, casually flipping through the morning newspaper while taking a slow sip of tea.

"Just some lunatic," the maid replied dismissively. "He kept rambling about how the Elder Patriarch sent him to find the young miss. I already told him to get lost."

"What did you just say?" Belmont Turner's hand violently trembled. The delicate porcelain teacup slipped from his fingers, shattering against the expensive marble floor with a sharp crash.

"Sir! What's wrong?" the maid jumped back, startled by the sudden outburst.

"Quickly, invite him in!" Belmont roared, his face draining of color. "You useless fool, you can't even receive a guest properly!"

Without waiting for her to move, he grabbed his coat, throwing it over his shoulders as he rushed toward the entryway. He yanked the heavy front door open. When his eyes landed on the young man standing outside, his frantic expression instantly melted into an apologetic, welcoming smile. He awkwardly rubbed his hands together.

"Are you... Curry?"

"I am. You must be Mr. Turner?" Curry replied with a calm, polite nod.

"Yes, yes! Come, let's head inside," Belmont Turner said enthusiastically. Stepping forward, he actually reached out and grabbed the young man's battered suitcase, insisting on pulling it himself.

Once inside the brightly lit foyer, Belmont's face was beaming. "Curry, you're finally here. I've been waiting for this day until my eyes practically wore out. Mika! Can't you hear we have a guest? Come down here!" he shouted toward the second floor.

A moment later, a heavy door upstairs clicked open. A stunningly beautiful woman emerged, dressed in sleek, black silk pajamas. Her face was flawlessly sculpted, boasting delicate features. Even the loose-fitting sleepwear could not hide her breathtaking figure, and her long legs were exposed to the air.

However, the icy, exhausted expression on her face completely ruined the inviting image. Mika Turner slowly descended the stairs, her sharp eyes scanning Curry with unmistakable disgust before she coldly turned to her father.

"Dad, why did you call me down? I am still in the middle of dealing with company matters."

"Nothing in the world is more important than your marriage," Belmont reprimanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Dad, until my career is stabilized, I do not want to get married!" Mika Turner frowned deeply, her voice laced with heavy reluctance.

"Nonsense! A marriage is decided by the commands of the parents and the words of the matchmaker. You are going to get your marriage certificate today. I have already prepared the household register!" Belmont bellowed. He aggressively pulled open a drawer, pulled out the booklet, and slammed it onto the table with a heavy thud, dictating absolute authority.

"What do you think you are doing as the head of this house? Can Mika not even control her own life anymore?"

A loud voice shattered the tense atmosphere as a middle-aged woman stormed out of the kitchen. Celeste Vale marched into the living room, glaring at her husband.

"Celeste Vale, shut your mouth! Do you make the decisions in this family now?" Belmont's face flushed crimson with rage as he pointed a trembling finger directly at his wife.

Celeste merely sneered, completely unfazed by his anger. She abruptly shifted her hostile glare toward Curry. Her critical eyes meticulously dissected his entire appearance. He was wearing tattered, outdated clothes. The white canvas shoes on his feet had endured so much wear that they had permanently faded to a dark yellow.

"And what exactly do you do?" she demanded. "How old are you? What is your job? Do you even own a car or a house?"

Hearing this rapid-fire interrogation, Belmont's face darkened with displeasure. "Celeste, it is Curry's very first day at our home. Is it really appropriate for you to ask these things?"

"Oh, so you actually remember it's his first day!" Celeste exploded. "It's his first day here, and you are already forcing your daughter to marry him! Just because your father wrote you a letter from inside a prison, you're taking it this seriously? Are you trying to completely destroy Mika's future?!" she roared.

Amidst the screaming match, Curry stood perfectly still. His expression remained entirely unbothered as he calmly answered.

"I just got out of prison this morning, so I don't have a job yet. I also don't own a car. As for a house, a friend of mine just gifted me a property over at Ravencrest Villa."

The absolute casualness of his response caused Celeste to burst into a harsh, mocking snort. The sheer absurdity of the claim only deepened Mika Turner's repulsion toward him. Not only was he a freshly released convict, but he was also completely disconnected from reality, spouting arrogant lies without blinking.

"Ha! Are you still dreaming? Ravencrest Villa?!" Celeste scoffed mercilessly. "Do you have any idea how much a single estate in that area costs? And you stand here bragging without a shred of shame! You are a reformed convict who just stepped out of a cell! What could you possibly use to buy a place like that?"

She ruthlessly tore into him, completely disregarding his dignity. Facing her aggressive questioning, Curry didn't even bother to justify himself.

"Look at him! It is his first time visiting, and he didn't even bring a single gift. He has absolutely no manners. I truly don't know how his parents raised him!" Seeing Curry remain silent, Celeste pushed even further.

"Enough!" Belmont roared.

Just then, Curry casually unzipped his worn backpack and pulled out the painting he had been given earlier. A faint smile touched his lips.

"Mr. Turner, I heard you have a passion for collecting. Since it is my first time visiting, I wasn't entirely sure what to get you. Please, accept this painting."

Belmont glanced at the item and forced a warm chuckle, nodding his head. "You put a lot of thought into this, Curry."

"What kind of garbage painting is that? The brushstrokes look incredibly rough. Anyone can tell it's a fake!" Celeste glanced at the canvas with utter disdain.

"Alright, it is the thought that counts," Belmont hurriedly intervened, smoothing things over as he accepted the gift. As a veteran in the antique circles, Belmont knew the market intimately. If this painting were an authentic masterpiece, it would easily fetch at least thirty million on the market. A young man who had just walked out of prison could never afford such a treasure. He naturally assumed it was a cheap replica, but out of respect for the young man's pride, he chose not to expose it.

"Alright, both of you, go get the marriage certificate right now!" Belmont urged.

"I know." Mika Turner knew her father's stubborn temper; he would never let this go until it was done. Grabbing her ID and the household register, she marched out.

An hour later, the two of them walked out of the local Civil Affairs Bureau, identical booklets in hand. The photo stamped inside was a stark representation of their reality: Mika Turner stared blankly into the camera, her face devoid of makeup and warmth.

Staring down at the glossy red booklet in his rough hands, Curry let out a soft, self-deprecating murmur. He ran his thumb over the cheap gold foil lettering stamped on the cover. "On TV, people usually date for a while, maybe hold hands or share a meal before getting married. I never expected my own wedding to be this ridiculously fast."

Hearing his barely audible whisper, Mika abruptly stopped in her tracks. The sharp click of her designer heels halted on the concrete pavement. She slowly turned around, shooting him a look so incredibly cold it could have frozen boiling water.

"Curry, let's get one thing perfectly clear right now," she stated, her voice dripping with unfiltered disdain. "I only registered this absurd marriage with you because my father relentlessly forced me into it with threats. Do not mistake this piece of paper for affection or acceptance. You and I are fundamentally not on the same level, and we never will be."

She aggressively crossed her slender arms over her chest, lifting her chin to look down at him like a queen addressing a peasant. "Since we are forced into this arrangement, I am setting three absolute rules that you will follow to the letter. First: We are husband and wife in name only. You are not allowed to harbor any inappropriate thoughts about me, nor will you ever step foot into my bedroom. Second: When we are out in public, you will not initiate contact with me. If we cross paths on the street, we will pretend to be complete strangers. Third: You have absolutely no right to interfere in my private life or ask about my whereabouts. And naturally, I will not interfere in your miserable existence either."

Having delivered her ruthless ultimatum, she didn't care to hear a single syllable of his response. To her, his opinion was entirely worthless. She sharply turned on her heel, her silky hair whipping through the air as she slid gracefully into the driver's seat of her sleek BMW. With a violent twist of the key, she slammed her foot onto the accelerator. The luxury engine roared to life, and the tires squealed against the asphalt. The car sped off into the bustling city traffic, leaving Curry standing completely alone in a swirl of exhaust and dusty wind.

Curry simply stood there, looking helplessly down at the legally binding certificate in his palm. A wry, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Who in the world gets married like this?"

Meanwhile, back in the grand, suffocatingly quiet living room of the Turner Estate, Belmont sat on the edge of the plush leather sofa. The grandfather clock ticked heavily in the background. The moment the heavy front door clicked open and Mika walked through, his head snapped up reflexively.

"Did you get the certificate?" he asked, his voice tight with anxious anticipation.

Without saying a single word, Mika marched straight to the center of the room. Her expression was a mask of frosty indifference. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the bright red booklet through the air. It landed onto the polished glass surface of the coffee table with a heavy, definitive thud. Completely refusing to entertain a conversation or answer her father's questioning gaze, she immediately turned her back and stomped directly up the grand wooden stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

"This is all your fault! Just look at this absolute mess you've created!" Celeste shrieked, violently pushing the first-floor bathroom door open. She stormed into the living room like a hurricane, her face flushed an ugly shade of crimson. Seeing the undeniable proof of the marriage sitting innocently on the table, her facial features twisted in pure, unadulterated fury. "My perfectly wonderful, highly educated daughter is now legally bound to a miserable, filthy convict! I truly have no idea what goes on inside that rotting brain of yours!"

"Shut up! The wood has already been carved into a boat, and the deal is done!" Belmont retorted stubbornly, gripping the armrests of the sofa until his knuckles turned white. "As the old saying goes, marry a chicken, follow the chicken; marry a dog, follow the dog! It is her destiny now!"

"You only know how to blindly follow your insane father's orders! What good is your father to this family now? He is still rotting away inside a damp federal prison cell!" Celeste screamed back, her shrill voice echoing off the high ceilings. She aggressively pointed a trembling finger at the red booklet. "I seriously don't know what your father saw in that pathetic boy. He has no money, no social status, no education, and absolutely nothing to his name! Instead, his mouth is completely full of arrogant, disgusting lies! Claiming he owns a property at Ravencrest Villa? What a joke! A man like that is destined to be a worthless, bottom-feeding loser for his entire pathetic life!"

Belmont's thick eyebrows knitted so tightly together they nearly formed a single line. The veins on his forehead bulged as he glared fiercely at his hysterical wife, his patience finally snapping. "I said, enough!" he bellowed, his booming voice vibrating through the floorboards.

Ding-dong! Just as the domestic tension reached a dangerous, explosive boiling point, the crisp, melodic sound of the front doorbell echoed abruptly through the sprawling house, shattering the heavy silence.

"That must be that disgusting convict crawling back here because he has nowhere else to go. Just watch how I curse him out and throw him back into the streets!" Celeste muttered venomously. Grateful for a target to unleash her boiling rage upon, she aggressively stomped toward the elegant entryway, rolling up her imaginary sleeves.

She reached out and violently yanked the heavy mahogany door open, a string of the most vicious, humiliating curses already loaded on the tip of her tongue. But the very moment her furious eyes landed on the figure standing gracefully on the sunlit porch, she froze completely. The insults died instantly in her throat, replaced by a look of sheer, paralyzing bewilderment.

"Who... are you?"