The Discarded Son-in-Law Is a Billionaire Heir

The steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sound keeping Zade connected to the living world.

He lay alone in a freezing hospital room, staring blindly at the cracked white ceiling.

His head throbbed with a terrifying, white-hot pressure that made every gasp of air feel like swallowing broken glass.

A severe brain injury from a violent car crash was slowly killing him.

But the physical pain in his skull was nothing compared to the agony tearing his heart to pieces.

Just three days ago, his entire world had shattered into dust.

His sweet, four-year-old daughter, Jemima, was dead and had suffered a critical crisis from sickle cell disease while Zade was away running an errand.

Binta, his cold-hearted wife, had ignored the little girl’s fever and agonizing cries.

She had left Jemima unconscious on the floor to go party with her wealthy boyfriend, Pascal Black. By the time Zade found out and raced home, it was already too late.

He had crashed his car in a desperate panic, waking up in this hospital bed only to learn that his baby girl was gone forever.

Tears of absolute agony leaked from Zade’s eyes, burning the raw skin on his cheeks.

He could still feel the warmth of Jemima’s small, fragile hands. He could still hear her tiny voice calling him "Daddy."

The pain in his chest was so intense he wanted to scream until his lungs burst, but his battered body could barely muster a whisper.

Suddenly, the door pushed open.

A weary nurse walked in, holding a desk phone with a long cord stretched out behind her, she looked at Zade with a mix of pity and frustration.

"Mr. Zade, I have your wife on the line," the nurse said softly, holding out the receiver.

"The chief surgeon says you need emergency brain surgery immediately. If we don't operate within the hour, you won't survive. But the hospital requires a deposit first. We need her to sign the financial authorization."

Zade reached out with a trembling, swollen hand. Hope, small and foolish, flared up in his dying chest, he grabbed the receiver and pressed it against his ear.

"Binta... please..." Zade rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves dragging across concrete.

"Please, Binta... save me. The doctors say I need surgery..."

A sharp, cruel laugh echoed through the speaker. It was a sound that instantly turned Zade's blood to ice.

"Save you?" Binta sneered, her voice dripping with venom.

"Are you out of your mind, Zade? Why on earth would I waste millions of dollars on a useless, penniless loser like you?"

"Binta... I’m dying..." Zade pleaded, tears streaming faster down his pale face.

"I begged you to save Jemima and you left her... Please, don't leave me too... I just want to live..."

"Jemima was a sick, expensive mistake anyway!" Binta snapped, her words slicing through Zade’s heart like a rusted blade.

"Her death was a relief, and your death will finally set me free! I’m with Pascal now, Zade. A real man! A man with power and money. Your worthless existence has held me back for four long years. Just do everyone a favor and close your eyes."

Before Zade could even process the horrifying cruelty of his wife’s words, another voice took over the phone line.

It was Mrs. Brighton, Binta’s arrogant, mother.

"Listen to me, Zade," Mrs. Brighton barked with sickening coldness.

"You entered our home as a beggar, and you are dying as a beggar. My daughter signed a marriage certificate with you, not a death pledge. Don't expect us to spend a single penny of the Brighton family fortune on your medical bills. Honestly, I would rather pay for your funeral wooden box than pay for your surgery!"

Click.

The line went dead.

The dial tone echoed in Zade’s ear like a mocking laugh.

The nurse took the phone back, shaking her head in utter disbelief before turning around and walking out of the room, leaving him in pitch-black isolation.

A wooden box.

They wouldn't pay to save his life, but they would happily pay to bury him.

A sudden, fierce surge of rage erupted from the deepest depths of Zade's soul.

It was a burning, wild fury that scorched away his fear and pain.

Blood poured from his bruised knuckles as he clenched his fists so tightly his fingernails dug into his palms.

He had given everything to Binta. He had loved her through poverty and humiliation, he had swallowed his pride every single day, enduring her mother's insults and endless beatings just to keep a roof over Jemima’s head and had cooked, cleaned, and lived like a dog in their mansion, all out of love.

And how did they repay him?

They let his innocent, sick daughter die alone on a cold floor and left him to rot in a hospital bed, laughing as his life faded away.

"You monsters..." Zade gasped, his chest heaving violently.

The heart monitor began to beep erratically. Beep... beep... beep...

A thick, dark shadow crept into the edges of his vision.

Coldness spread fast through his arms and legs, his lungs slammed shut, refusing to take in another breath of air.

He was dying, and he knew it. His body was failing, but his mind was on fire with pure, unadulterated hatred.

Beep... beep... beeep...

Zade stared up at the blank ceiling, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He didn't want peace or rest.

He wanted vengeance!

If there is a God above... if there is any justice in this cruel world... give me another chance! Zade screamed internally, his heart thrashing against his ribs one final time. Let me go back! Let me rip down everything they hold dear! Binta... Mrs. Brighton... Pascal... I swear on my daughter’s grave, I will make you bleed tears of blood! I will destroy you all!

The heart monitor let out a single, solid, unbroken tone.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

The red line on the screen went completely flat.

Zade’s body went limp against the blood-stained mattress. His fist slowly uncurled, resting lifelessly by his side. Darkness slammed down on his consciousness like a heavy iron gate, swallowing his pain, his breath, and his final breath of life.

Zade was dead.

Yet, in that final, terrifying second of pitch-black silence, his vow of revenge burned brighter than the sun.