The Son-in-Law Apocalypse Revenge

002

Desmond checked his watch as he stepped out of his car in the Lumière parking lot. 8:00 PM. He was exactly one hour late.

In his previous life, this hour would have been spent in a state of near-collapse. He remembered how he used to drive like a maniac, heart hammering against his ribs, rehearsing a thousand different ways to say "I’m sorry" so that Vanessa wouldn't look at him with that soul-crushing disappointment. He would have arrived sweaty, trembling, and clutching a bouquet of cheap flowers he couldn't afford.

This time, he smoothed his jacket and walked toward the entrance with a calm nonchalance. His pulse didn't even quicken.

The restaurant was the pinnacle of luxury—gold-leafed ceilings, soft violin music, and the smell of butter and expensive wine. He spotted Vanessa immediately. She was sitting at their usual corner table, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was a mask of fury.

As he pulled out the chair and sat down, she didn't even wait for him to speak.

"An hour, Desmond. I have been sitting here for an entire hour while people stared at me," she hissed, her voice low but sharp. "Where is your phone? Why didn't you pick up my calls?"

Desmond didn't flinch. He didn't offer an excuse. He simply signaled for a server. "I had other important things to attend to," he said flatly.

Vanessa’s jaw dropped. She expected a stuttering apology, not a dismissal. "Important things? What could possibly be more important than your wife’s time? You’re a factory worker, Desmond. Your 'important things' usually involve cleaning grease off a machine or begging for overtime."

"Things change," Desmond replied. He looked at her, really looked at her, and wondered how he had ever been so blind. The woman in front of him was beautiful, yes, but her eyes were cold, filled with the same disdain he had seen right before the beast tore him apart.

Vanessa let out a sharp, mocking laugh. 

"You’re right. Things are changing. In fact, they’re changing right now."

She reached into her designer bag and pulled out a thick envelope. She slapped it onto the white tablecloth with enough force to make the silverware rattle.

"What’s this?" Desmond asked, though he already knew.

"A divorce agreement," Vanessa said, her voice regaining its haughty edge. "Read it. 

Sign it. I’m done, Desmond. I’m tired of pretending that we belong in the same world. You can’t afford my lifestyle. You can’t even afford the wine on this menu without checking your bank balance first. You’re below my standard, and frankly, you always have been."

Desmond picked up the envelope. He didn't look hurt. He didn't look shocked. He opened it, flipped to the last page, and took a pen from his pocket.

"Are you even going to read it?" Vanessa asked, her brow furrowing. "I’m taking the house. I’m taking the car. I’m taking everything we built together because, let’s be honest, you didn't build any of it. You just worked for it."

"Okay," Desmond said.

He signed his name with a steady hand. He didn't hesitate. He didn't pause to reminisce about their wedding day. He simply slid the papers back across the table toward her.

Vanessa stared at the signed documents. She looked at the papers, then back at him, her eyes wide with confusion. "That’s it? 'Okay'? Aren't you going to beg? Aren't you going to tell me you’ll work harder? That you’ll get a promotion?"

"Why would I beg for a burden to stay on my back?" Desmond leaned back, his eyes cold. "Besides, we both know you’ve already found a replacement. How is Thaddeus Crane doing, by the way? Is he still promising you the world?"

Vanessa turned deathly pale. The smug look on her face vanished, replaced by a momentary flash of pure terror. "How... how do you know that name?"

"I know more than you think," Desmond said. 

"I know he’s been whispering in your ear for months. I know you think he’s your ticket to the high life."

Vanessa quickly recovered, her shock turning into a defensive sneer. "So what if I am? Does it matter? Thaddeus is a prince who can give me everything I want—security, status, a life where I don't have to worry about the price of groceries. You? You’re just a guy who works in a warehouse. You were a mistake, Desmond. A narrative that needs to be corrected."

Desmond felt a chill go down his spine. Those were the exact words she had used right before she pushed him into the claws of the beast. The narrative is about to be corrected.

"You're right about one thing," Desmond said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "A mistake was made. But it wasn't you marrying me. It was me thinking you were worth saving."

Vanessa opened her mouth to snap back, but Desmond had already turned his attention away from her. He picked up the leather-bound menu, looking through it with genuine interest.

Wagyu beef. Fresh lobster. Truffle risotto.

He wasn't looking at the prices. He was looking at the nutritional value. These were high-calorie, nutrient-dense foods. In three weeks, a single plate of this would be worth more than a mansion. It would be life or death.

Vanessa watched him, her anger bubbling over. "Are you ignoring me? I just ended our marriage, and you’re looking at the steak?"

"I'm hungry," Desmond said simply.

He had spent the afternoon selling off his newly surged stocks. The $2,400 had already turned into a substantial sum. He had millions in his account now, and he wasn't going to let a single cent sit idle in a bank that would be a pile of rubble in twenty-one days. This food was the reason he was here, not Vanessa. He needed to get this order and keep it in his dimensional space.

A server approached the table—Celeste, a young woman who had always treated Desmond with basic courtesy despite his status.

"Good evening," Celeste said, her voice professional but kind. "May I start you with some drinks?"

"Water," Vanessa snapped dismissively. "I won't be staying long."

"I'll have the 2015 Château Margaux," Desmond said calmly, naming the $3,800 bottle. "And I'd like to speak with your catering manager about a bulk order."

Vanessa's head snaps up. "Excuse me?"