My wife's family possessed assets worth tens of millions of dollars, so I chose to marry into her family and live with them.

Her foster brother baselessly accused me of causing her father's vegetative state and claimed I married her for money.

Due to his suspicion, I was sent to prison.

She broke my hand, which I used for painting, stabbed my eye, which I used for photography, and left a four-inch scar on my face.

My mother knelt before her, begging for my release.

After being released, I avoided her like the plague.

Yet she haunted me like a vengeful ghost.

My mother spent her life savings to bail me out, but my wife demanded my mother apologize on the spot before she would let me go.

On the way home, my mother suffered a heart attack from anger and collapsed on the spot, then was hit by a passing vehicle and became a vegetable.

Seeing that we both suffered similar fates, the Lopez family finally agreed to let me go.

Upon my release, the first thing I did was sign the divorce agreement, vowing never to have any connection with the Lopez family again.

To earn money for my mother's treatment, I took on two high-paying jobs.

I thought I had paid a high enough price, but until I saw my ex-wife, Jenesis Lopez, at the bar, I realized how naive and laughable I was.

She was surrounded by a group of friends, her gaze upon me filled with arrogance and disdain.

"Isn't this the great artist Westley Henderson? How come you're in such a lowly place like a bar?

"I remember you used to look down on places like this."

As she spoke, she pulled out a wad of cash and threw it in my face.

"Serve my friends well, and there's more."

I gritted my teeth, my jaw trembling uncontrollably.

"You've got the wrong person. I just sell drinks, not a stripper."

With those words, mocking laughter instantly surrounded me.

Jenesis's face turned slightly grim. After a moment, she pulled out several thousand dollars and threw it in front of me.

"You can be!"

They casually named a few wines, crushing my last shred of dignity.

Those wines, more expensive than my life, if sold, could cover my mother's medication for a month.

I slowly lowered my head and turned to get the wines.

My hand, broken by her stomping in prison and left untreated, trembled as I held the tray, sweat quickly forming on my forehead.

Holding the tray out in mid-air for a long while, no one reached out.

Cold sweat soaked my shirt.

After a while, Jenesis raised her eyebrows at me.

"Aren't you going to drink to sell the wines? Don't you know the rules here?"

As she spoke, my hand gripping the tray tightened incessantly.

We had been together for five years, and she knew I was allergic to alcohol.

If it weren't for the scar on my face and the old injury on my wrist, I wouldn't have been forced to choose this job.

As I casually opened a bottle, prepared to drink, she snatched it from me.

The wine poured on the ground, soaking into the carpet under the sofa.

She lifted her chin, gesturing for me to kneel on the ground.

"Oops, how careless of me. This wine is very expensive. What should we do? Why don't you suck it from the carpet?"

My gaze fell on the carpet, unprecedented humiliation surrounding me.

The carpet in the bar, trampled by countless men and women, was never cleaned.

The passing manager, Monroe Smith, saw this and walked straight to me.

He kicked me in the back of my knee.

Suddenly, my legs went weak, and I knelt on the ground.

I kept trying to calm myself down.

"Westley Henderson, stay calm.

This is the best job you could find."

Seeing me unmoved, Jenesis threw another thousand dollars at my head, the bills scattering on the ground.

I stiffly bent down, my face getting closer to the carpet, yet I refused to lower my head completely.

In the next second, Jenesis's stiletto heel pressed down on my head.

My head tilted, my face pressed hard against the carpet, and the light fell, illuminating the terrifying scar in my eye corner.

That scar was from when she stabbed me with a pen in prison. The pen tip pierced my eyeball, and in my pain, I avoided it, leaving a terrifying scar on my face.

After the rescue, I still lost my left eye.

The surrounding people exclaimed as if they had just discovered the scar.

"What's that on his face? So scary! How can they hire such people?"

They knew better than anyone the origin of my wound, yet they pretended to be completely unaware, which deeply pierced my heart.

Jenesis smiled lightly, her stiletto heel gently caressing along my scar.

"Is this still our great artist? I can't recognize him."

With those words, she pressed her foot down on my hand on the ground, grinding it hard.

The severed tendons couldn't heal, but the flesh was still excruciatingly painful.

"Westley, did you use this hand to tamper with my dad's car?"

She spoke word by word. With each word she uttered, the pressure of her foot on my hand grew heavier.

Picking up the scattered bills, she slapped my face with them.

"Not drinking yet? Waiting for me to invite you?"

Monroe, who had been frozen, regained his senses at these words.

He kicked my butt.

"Drink it now! She's a VIP here. If you can't take care of her, don't ever come to work again!"

With that, he forcefully turned my head, pressing my lips to the carpet.

My face was already covered in rashes from the carpet's alcohol.

At that moment, both of my hands were useless, and Monroe's strength was so great that I couldn't break free.

Jenesis smiled wickedly in my ear, whispering, "This is your retribution for harming my dad!"

I shook my head vigorously, but Monroe held my head firmly with both hands, and I couldn't move at all.

In prison, I had explained countless times.

Her father, Hank Lopez's car accident had nothing to do with me.

If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have had the money to study painting, let alone someone to organize an art exhibition for me.

There was no way I would harm him for money!

But no one believed me.

Just because of her foster brother, Jaden Lopez's accusation, I became a sinner in everyone's eyes, my guilt as clear as day.

I gritted my teeth, my lips grinding against the carpet under Monroe's pressure.

Through clenched teeth, I managed to squeeze out words.

"Jenesis, I've told you, it wasn't me."

Upon hearing her name, her eyes reddened suddenly.

"If it wasn't you, then who? My brother? My dad adopted him when he was five and raised him as his heir. Are you saying my brother, who treated me like his own family, harmed my dad and framed you?!

"The Lopez family has been his for a long time, why would he need to?"

Mentioning her father, the only family she had left in the world, Jenesis grew increasingly agitated.

She gritted her teeth, forcing out her words. "You can still talk? Looks like you haven't had enough to drink!"

She had barely finished speaking when her close friend chimed in.

"Oh, this carpet does absorb well, let me try."

With that, she picked up another bottle and poured it, the liquid soaking through the carpet onto the floor.

Internally, I couldn't help but bitterly smile.

When I received the call for help after Hank's accident, I rushed over immediately, and he only had superficial injuries.

But when Jaden arrived and took Hank to the hospital in his car, Hank became a vegetable.

I laughed bitterly to myself, thinking, "Maybe Jaden really wasn't after money.

But what if it was for you?"

Desperate for air, I was forced to open my mouth and gulp down mouthfuls of wine.

Wine filled my throat, and my insides began to itch madly.

Monroe, frightened by my state, made an excuse to let me go to the bathroom to freshen up, giving me a brief respite.

In the bathroom, I swallowed the allergy medicine I carried with me, burying my head in the sink with the water on full blast.

Whether it was tears or sweat, my face was drenched.

Just as I was about to suffocate, a hesitant female voice echoed around me.

"Excuse me, are you Westley?"

I lifted my head from the sink, disheveled, only to meet a pair of clear, kind eyes.

The woman, dressed in luxury, seemed out of place in my world.

I thought she had mistaken me, nodded briefly, and prepared to leave.

I still needed to earn my thousands of dollars.

But she called out to me, her eyes full of surprise.

As her gaze landed on the scar on my face, she hesitated.

"I thought I was wrong. I've seen your art exhibition and loved your paintings, but then you disappeared."

After saying that, she smiled sweetly and reached out to me.

"I'm your first-generation fan, my name is Alanna Lambert."

Hearing her name, I vaguely remembered.

During the only art exhibition of my life, funded by Hank, someone contacted me, saying she wanted to collect my paintings.

I was so happy back then, thinking it was the start of my art career.

I never imagined it would be my only and last exhibition.

Recalling the past felt like a lifetime ago, I avoided her gaze and spoke softly, "You've got the wrong person, I'm just a bartender."

With those words, I fled hastily.

The armor I once prided myself on had now become a blade stabbing into me.

Suppressing the bitterness in my heart, I returned to Jenesis.

When I came back, a few handsome young men had gathered around her and her friends, making them giggle.

One of them noticed my return and exclaimed in surprise, "Jenesis, you were right. How did he dare come back? Damn, I lost the bet, so pissed off!"

Hearing this, I took a deep breath, forcing a smile.

Jenesis leaned in a man's arms, speaking disdainfully, "Well, he's been with me for five years, I can practically read his mind even with my eyes closed. You only lost half a million dollars, don't worry. You can bully him to feel better!"

I clenched my teeth, refusing to let a sound escape.

My pride was trampled under their feet, and all I felt was indignation.

The girl talking to Jenesis, hearing her suggestion, immediately brightened up.

In the next second, she took off her high heels and poured the wine I had just brought over into the shoe.

Then she covered her mouth innocently.

"Oh no, how careless of me. This wine is so expensive, I feel so bad."

Her eyes fell on my face with a playful smile.

"What now? Doesn't this wine cost two months of your salary? Can't waste it, can we? Why don't you drink it, and I'll pay the bill, how about that?

"For such a great artist to drink it, wouldn't it be an honor for the wine?"

With that, the eyes of the surrounding onlookers burned with amusement as they looked at me, scorching my wounded pride.

I turned to Jenesis, staring at the woman I had loved for five years.

Honestly, deep down, I didn't want to believe she would treat me like this.

We had been together five years, and we were each other's first.

After I was released from prison, I went to the hospital and was told that Hank's condition was stable and there was a chance that he would wake up.

As long as Hank woke up, I could prove my innocence.

But she ignored my gaze, playing games with the man beside her.

The woman pointed to the shoe filled with wine with her bare foot, signaling me to drink.

I bent down, lowering my head to hide my disgrace.

My hand uncontrollably trembled as I reached out.

Just as I was about to touch her high heel, someone grabbed my arm.

"Westley? What a coincidence, are you here for inspiration? Can I invite you to talk about your painting?"