It was raining the day my wife drove our son to his college entrance exam.

Midway through the drive, she sudcdenly turned the car around and rushed to the hospital—leaving our son behind in the downpour.

She was pregnant. With her assistant's child.

My son couldn’t find a taxi. He ran in the rain, desperate not to be late.

He never made it.

A car struck him.

By the time I got the call and rushed to the hospital, he was already gone.

As I stood there, stunned, choking on my grief, my wife—Serena Portman—called me.

“Darling, I’m pregnant,” she said cheerfully. “It’s Ricky Joshua’s.”

“I drank too much that night on the business trip. But this child is still mine… I have to keep it.”

“You’ve always wanted a daughter, right? If it’s a girl, you can raise her.”

She continued, “Ricky’s thrilled—it’s his first time becoming a father. He wants to be there through it all. I’ll be staying with him for a while.”

“But don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you and our son when I get back.”

I wiped away my tears, steadied my voice and answered, “Mm.”

After my son’s funeral, I drafted the divorce papers and made a phone call.

“You’ve always wanted to bring down the Portman Family,” I said. “I won’t stop you anymore.”

——

The voice on the other end chuckled, doubtful.

“Mr. Addison, you’re the king of New York’s elite. Don’t joke. You’ve protected the Portman Family in secret for twenty years. Why would you suddenly let go?”

“I’m divorcing her.”

A pause. Then a stunned, eager response.

“You’re serious?”

“Back then, every heiress in New York was dying to marry you, but you snubbed them all just to marry into the third-rate Portman Family. You even made Serena the wealthiest woman in the province. And now you’re just… letting her go?”

I didn’t explain. I only said, “Don’t ask why. From now on, the Portman Family is on their own.”

The voice laughed in satisfaction.

“I’ve waited years to hear that. Serena always thought she was untouchable. If not for your protection, I’d have crushed her long ago.”

“Since you’re getting divorced, I’ll prepare a nice surprise for her at tomorrow’s Portman Group celebration.”

I had just hung up when Serena returned.

She hadn’t been home in three days.

She burst through the door and headed straight to our son’s room. Finding it empty, she turned to me.

“Why isn’t my son home?” she asked sharply.

“It’s fine for him to relax after his exam, but staying out this late? My son shouldn't be so wild.”

My gaze lingered on the strawberry mark on her neck.

“Do you even remember you have a son?” I said coldly.

She frowned, ready to lash out—but caught herself. Her tone softened.

“He’s still upset about me leaving him that day, isn’t he?”

“When he gets home, I’ll talk to him. He always listens to me. He won’t blame me.”

Yes. Her son always listened.

Because he knew how much she cared about grades, he stayed up late every night studying.

He was always top of his class.

Just the night before the exam, he told me with pride that he would get into Harvard or Columbia University—to make his mother proud.

And yet, it was his beloved mother who left him behind on the most important day of his life.

She caused his death.

I couldn’t begin to imagine the pain he must’ve felt when she kicked him out of the car that morning.

Fighting back tears, I said hoarsely, “You won’t be able to wait for him anymore.”

Her face darkened. “You’re his father. Don’t make a scene like him.”

Then, as if granting me a favor, she tossed a delicate gift box into my hands.

“Ricky’s a first-time dad. He’s really clingy right now and can’t stand to be apart from me.”

"From now on, I’ll only be home one day a week. Can you understand that?"

She had abandoned our son on the most important day of his life.

She carried another man's child.

She went off on a romantic getaway as if nothing had happened.

And now she wanted my understanding?

Looking at the arrogant glint in her eyes, I suddenly wondered—how had I loved this woman for twenty years?

I calmly set the divorce agreement I had prepared in advance on the table.

“Sign it,” I said coldly. “Then you and Ricky can live happily ever after.”

Serena’s expression changed. Her face twisted with disdain.

“I must’ve spoiled you too much. Now this useless son-in-law of mine thinks he’s someone important. Without me, your whole family would be begging on the streets.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

She really believed the Portman Family had risen because of her?

She really thought I had been depending on her all these years?

I didn’t bother correcting her delusions. I simply said, “I’m determined to divorce you.”

Seeing I was serious, Serena flew into a rage.

“What the hell are you talking about? Our son would never agree to this divorce.”

She snatched the papers off the table and shouted,

“If you want a divorce, fine—let our son come and tell me himself!”

Then she stormed off, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

In the past, whenever she lost her temper, I would swallow my pride and give in.

But not this time.

I signed the divorce papers on the spot and walked away without looking back.

***

The next day, I went to the funeral home to see my son's coffin.

I planned to return to the Addison family estate in New York and bury him there—at home, where he belonged.

Just as I was about to leave, my phone rang.

It was Serena.

“You can sulk all you want,” she snapped, “but don’t take my son out all night. Today is the 30th anniversary of the Portman Group. I’m going to announce him as the heir. Bring him here immediately.”

I stared at my son laid stiffly and then replied evenly, “Alright. I’ll bring him over right away.”

***

Back then, I had met Serena in college.

She was cornered on the rooftop by a gang of arrogant young women from prominent New York families.

Even as they beat her, she clenched her teeth and refused to beg for mercy.

Bloody, bruised and trembling—she still stood tall.

I thought she had backbone.

So I stepped forward.

The girls looked up and met my eyes—and fled as if they’d seen a ghost.

Serena looked at me, stunned.

Then she pulled herself to her feet, pain etched in every movement.

With effort, she warned me, “Those girls are dangerous. Don’t come up to the rooftop again. Don’t give them a reason to target you.”

Even after everything, she was still worried about others.

I couldn’t help but smile.

“They wouldn’t dare mess with me,” I said casually.

She glanced at my simple clothes and scoffed,

“Don’t kid yourself. Those girls are New York socialites with power and connections. Why would they be afraid of you?”

“I don’t look down on ordinary people, but don’t flatter yourself.”

Her sharp tongue amused me. I didn’t explain.

Later, I found out she came from a struggling third-rate family. Her father had taken his own life under the weight of debt.

She had clawed her way into New York University, hoping to revive her family’s fortunes.

She had learned to survive among arrogant, spoiled heiresses.

I admired her spirit—resilient, self-reliant, fierce.

We started talking more. Slowly, we grew close.

She could be kind—genuinely kind.

When I skipped breakfast, she would quietly hand me half of hers.

If I had a stomachache, she’d bring me warm water and medicine without being asked.

And when I was in a dark place, she’d tell corny jokes just to make me smile.

Back then, I thought I’d found someone rare.

Someone worth everything.

Over time, I fell in love with her sincerity and innocence.

She used to blush shyly and say she simply wanted to be kind to me.

And so, we fell in love, got married and had a child.

Knowing her pride and reluctance to leave her hometown,

I willingly stayed with her at the Portman Family estate under the guise of being a live-in son-in-law, quietly supporting her from the shadows.

With my help, she rebuilt the Portman Group from the brink of collapse and rose to become the wealthiest woman in the province.

But success changed her.

She was rarely home.

When I gently asked her to spend more time with our son, the woman who once swore she'd never look down on others gave me a disdainful look and said, “What do you know? You’re just a son-in-law”

“Do you think all I have to do is stay home and raise kids like you? If I didn’t work so hard outside, could you and our son enjoy such a comfortable life?”

Her words pierced through me.

Her growing arrogance slowly crushed the last of my hope.

Still, I was grateful.

She had given birth to my son—a bright, brilliant boy.

And all I ever wanted was to raise him well and see him thrive.

So I tolerated her.

Again and again.

I never imagined that my patience would become permission.

That she would betray me, conceiving another man’s child.

That her carelessness would cost our son his life.

After he died, there was nothing left binding me to this family.

And whatever love I had for Serena vanished along with him.

Lost in these thoughts, I arrived at the Portman Group building, carrying my son's death certificate.

Inside, the elite of the province had gathered for the company’s 30th anniversary celebration—business moguls, socialites, political figures. The entire upper echelon was in attendance.

Serena stood at the center, radiant in an elegant gown, her expression proud and aloof—like a goddess basking in her own glory.

Ricky, dressed in a tailored suit, held her by the waist, looking at her as if she were the only person in the world.

I stepped inside, expressionless.

As I neared, I heard Ricky’s voice. He was pouting like a child, sounding pitiful.

“Serena, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault your husband wants to divorce you.”

Serena smiled at him sweetly, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

“Silly... I’m rich and Bryan loves me more than life itself. There’s no way he’d divorce me. He’s just throwing a tantrum. Don’t take it to heart.”

But the moment her eyes met mine, all tenderness vanished. Her gaze turned icy.

“Bryan, didn’t I tell you to bring your son to the celebration today? How dare you show up alone!”

Around us, the murmurs of the powerful began.

“So that’s the Portman Family’s live-in son-in-law? He looks like he works on a construction site.”

“Just a househusband. No wonder Serena always preferred her assistant.”

“With that rustic look? He’s completely unworthy of someone like Serena.”

Their snide remarks only deepened Ricky’s smug smile.

Then, putting on a display of false humility, he looked at me with watery eyes, as if he were the victim.

“Bryan, I know it’s my fault. I got Serena pregnant and made you two fight.”

“If you’re angry, just yell at me. Don’t take it out on your son. Don’t dress like you’re in mourning and show up alone on such an important day.”

“You know how important this event is. With all these high-ranking guests present, are you deliberately trying to humiliate Serena and shame the Portman Family?”

His sanctimonious act drew approving glances from the crowd.

Even Serena’s expression softened, touched by his “consideration.”

But I simply looked at him, calm and cold.

“I don’t care if you enjoy being the other man,” I said flatly.

“But don’t ever bring up my son.”

“You’re not worthy.”