The Cheating Wife's Worthless Husband Is the Apocalypse King

Chapter 4: One Hundred Million Dollars

Marco reached the lottery shop just as the same heavyset man from his memory was crossing the street toward the door. His pace quickened without him even deciding to move faster.

He pushed through the entrance first, his shoulder brushing past the fat man, and grabbed the last ticket off the counter before anyone else could touch it.

The fat man froze in the doorway, his round face twisting with annoyance, his breath still heavy from the walk.

"Hey, that was mine." His voice came out whiny and indignant, his thick eyebrows pulling together in a scowl. "I was already on my way over here. You can't just cut in front of someone like that."

Marco glanced at him with a flicker of something close to pity, though his face stayed perfectly calm.

"Bad luck, friend." His tone was light, almost careless. "Guess you'll have to settle for whatever's left on the shelf."

The fat man huffed and muttered something under his breath, but he turned away without pushing the issue further, his shoulders slumping as he wandered toward the magazine rack instead.

Marco felt no guilt watching him walk off. In two weeks, every bill and coin in this city would mean nothing once the toxic rain started falling and the streets turned into a battlefield. Better that this fortune ended up somewhere useful than rotting uselessly in a stranger's wallet.

He folded the ticket carefully and slid it into his jacket pocket, already counting down the hours until tomorrow's draw.

The next morning, Marco stood in front of a small television screen mounted above a coffee shop counter, his heart steady despite knowing exactly what was coming. The numbers scrolled across the bottom of the screen one by one, matching the ticket in his pocket perfectly.

One hundred million dollars.

He did not celebrate. He did not even smile. He simply finished his coffee, walked to the lottery office, and signed the paperwork with the same calm expression he had worn since waking up that morning.

By that afternoon, Marco was sitting across from the most respected divorce attorney in the city, a sharp eyed man named Vittorio Caruso, whose office walls were lined with framed victories from cases far messier than this one.

Vittorio flipped through the documents Marco had handed him, his eyebrows lifting higher with every page he turned.

"You have screenshots, bank records, even photos of them together at a motel two towns over." He set the folder down and leaned back in his leather chair, studying Marco with newfound interest. "This isn't a divorce case anymore, Mr. Ferretti. This is a massacre waiting to happen."

Marco's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile, his hands folded calmly on his lap.

"I want her to walk away with nothing." His voice was quiet but firm, every word deliberate. "And I want her to pay me back for every year I spent feeding that family while they laughed behind my back."

Vittorio nodded slowly, tapping a pen against the edge of his desk, his expression turning thoughtful.

"From what I'm seeing here, her father knew about the affair. Her mother knew. Even her cousin was living under your roof the entire time." His voice sharpened with disgust as he listed each detail. "This entire family treated you like a paycheck with legs."

Marco's jaw tightened slightly at the memory, but his expression remained controlled.

"They treated me worse than that." His tone dropped lower, edged with something cold. "I was their dog. Fed them, sheltered them, never once barked back. They thought I'd stay grateful no matter how many times they kicked me."

Vittorio's eyes glinted with the kind of sharp satisfaction lawyers get when they smell an easy win.

"Well, dogs occasionally grow teeth, Mr. Ferretti." A thin smile spread across his face. "And from where I'm sitting, you're about to bite back hard enough to take their whole hand off."

Marco allowed himself a small nod, the closest thing to amusement crossing his face since he had woken up that morning soaked in cold sweat.

"How long will this take?" His voice stayed practical, businesslike, free of any emotion that might slow things down.

"With evidence this strong, and your new financial position backing you up, we can move fast." Vittorio closed the folder with a satisfied snap. "She and her parasitic little family won't know what hit them until the papers are already signed."

He leaned forward across the desk, his fingers steepled together, his eyes locking onto Marco's with absolute confidence.

"They spent years treating you like something to scrape off their shoes." His voice dropped into something low and certain, carrying the weight of a man who had never lost a case like this. "I promise you, Mr. Ferretti, by the time I'm finished, this family of parasites is going to pay every single price they deserve."