“So what if I did?” I replied flatly, expressionless.

Smack!

A loud slap landed squarely on my face.

Chest heaving with fury, Ronald pointed toward the door. “Get out! You want a divorce? Fine! But it won’t be Ava who leaves with nothing—it’ll be you, you ungrateful bastard! My legal team will see to it!”

At that moment, a relative I was on decent terms with leaned in and whispered urgently, “Liam, the old man means business this time. You’re already in the wrong. If you don’t back down now, you’ll walk away with nothing.”

Any sensible person would weigh their options at this point. But I simply licked the metallic taste of blood off the corner of my lips and said, “Fine. See you in court.”

Without another word, I turned and walked out of the house, leaving behind a room full of stunned, judgmental stares.

Outside, a black van screeched to a halt.

Inside was Daphne, a former classmate of mine who now worked in media.

She took one look at the injury on my face and sighed.

“I’ve already contacted a private investigator I know,” she said quietly.

“If what you suspect turns out to be true, this is going to be huge. A complete media firestorm.”

She hesitated for a moment before asking, “But how did you even find out something like this?”

I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror, at the jagged wound across my face, and said coldly, “My wife’s Alaskan Malamute.”

“A dog?” She blinked, confused. “Isn’t it normal to keep a dog? I have a golden retriever at home.”

“This dog...” I said slowly, voice low and cold, “...has a long surgical scar—starting from the back of the neck and running all the way down to its waist.”

“You mean... it had a major operation?” she asked, still puzzled.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I pulled out my phone and handed her a surveillance video.

In the footage, Ava was stepping out of the bathroom with a towel.

And that Alaskan Malamute was lying on the couch—legs spread, lazily smoking a cigarette.

Daphne gasped, instantly covering her mouth.

“Oh my God... Don’t tell me that dog is—”

A thick, eerie silence filled the car.

I clenched my teeth, fists trembling.

After all this time... I was finally going to expose the truth.

After meeting with the private investigator, I decided to return home to pack my things.

But just as I entered the neighborhood, a group of neighbors out on their evening walk began whispering and pointing.

“That’s him—the guy divorcing Ava over a dog. Tsk. Idiot.”

“He’s got a free ride with the Powell family and still doesn’t know how to play his cards. If it were me, I’d have sweet-talked Ava until the company was mine.”

“He’s gotten too full of himself. Thinks he can act tough now. What a fool.”

I ignored them and walked right past.

When I opened the front door, the rich aroma of home-cooked food wafted through the air.

The dining table was covered in beautifully prepared dishes—all my favorites.

I turned and saw the room where the dog had been kept now stood open. Bailey was gone.

On the other hand, Ava, wearing an apron and covered in sweat, was seated at the table, nursing our daughter.

“Honey, you’re back?” She looked up at me with a gentle smile.

“I already sent Bailey away. Look, I’m feeding Zoe now, and I cooked all your favorite dishes. Can we stop fighting, please?”

Since we got married, she rarely cooked for me. Even when I was sick and craving a bowl of her noodles, she’d just tell me to order takeout.

This feast... it was clearly her last-ditch effort to win me back.

But I didn’t even glance at the table.

“Save it for Bailey,” I said coldly, walking straight to the bedroom. “I’m just here to pack.”

“Liam!”

Ava stood up abruptly. Her voice cracked with tears and barely contained rage.

“What more do you want from me?!” Ava shouted, her voice trembling with hysteria.

“I sent the dog away. I fed the baby myself. I cooked your favorite dishes. I’ve begged and pleaded—what else do you want?! Do you want me to die in front of you?!”

Her emotions surged uncontrollably, and the partially open collar of her blouse exposed a glaring ambiguous red mark.

I stopped in my tracks, eyes coldly fixed on the mark on her chest.

“I’ve said it clearly,” I said, voice devoid of warmth. “I want you to walk away with nothing.”

Just then, our daughter in her arms suddenly began coughing violently, her limbs flailing.

She was clearly choking on milk.

“Ah! Zoe!” Ava panicked, her face turning pale as she looked to me for help.

“Liam! Call an ambulance! Please, save our daughter!”

I stood still, unmoved.

“Stop being so irrationally jealous!” Ava screamed, sobbing as she tried to thrust the choking baby into my arms.

“Zoe is dying! I’m begging you—please stop this madness!”

Our baby’s face was turning purple, her breath becoming shallow.

But I stepped back, deliberately avoiding Ava’s outstretched hands.

“Whether you live or die, what’s it got to do with me?”

Because of my retreat, the baby slipped from Ava’s arms.

Thud!

The sound of her tiny body hitting the floor was gut-wrenching.

“Ahhh!” Ava collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably.

“You animal! She’s your own daughter! How can you just stand there?! What kind of monster are you?!”

Out of nowhere, Samuel burst through the door, rage burning in his eyes.

Without a word, he landed a punch squarely on my jaw.

As he cradled Zoe tightly in his arms, he fumbled for his phone and dialed emergency services, his voice cracking as he shouted, “My sister gave up everything to marry you. She fought against our whole family, suffered so much—and now you won’t even save your own daughter?! You’re a damn wolf in human skin!”

He knew all too well that I’d always been grateful for Ava marrying beneath her status to be with me.

Normally, that one reminder would make me back down—no matter how bitter things got.

But not this time.

Wiping the blood from my mouth, I stared him down coldly and said, “I wish I’d never married her. I wish that child had been stillborn.”

My words broke Ava completely.

The light in her eyes died out, replaced only by a hollow void of hatred and despair.

“Fine,” she said hoarsely, her voice brittle, “Fine, Liam. Divorce it is.”

She looked at her barely breathing daughter and choked out, “I’ll make sure you leave with nothing. And every cent the Powell family ever gave you—every penny—you’ll pay it all back with interest.”

I sneered. “Sure. And I’ll be asserting my rights too. Not only will I have you leave with nothing—I want compensation for emotional damages.”

“One hundred million.”

With that, I turned and walked out.

...

While we waited for the court date, Samuel launched a social media campaign.

Using a dog lover’s account, he painted a picture of me as the ultimate villain.

Soon, my name was everywhere—tagged in scandals, cursed in comment sections.

The public outcry exploded.

[Modern-day Judas. Without the Powell family, he’d still be harvesting wheat in the mountains!]

[It’s just a dog! She didn’t even cheat on him! He wants a divorce over that? Gold-digger much?]

[Jealous of a dog, hates his brother-in-law, watches his own daughter nearly die—he’s worse than scum.]

My personal info was doxxed, my face was plastered across hate posts.

It didn’t stop there. Some enraged netizens even took justice into their own hands.

My Audi—the one I’d bought with my own money—was smashed to pieces.

Spray-painted across the shattered car was one word, in blood-red letters:

SCUMBAG

When Daphne finally found me, I was leaning quietly against a utility pole, expression blank as I watched the mob destroy my car.

“Liam, how much longer are you going to let this go on?!”

She was nearly in tears, stomping her foot in frustration.

“The public is completely against you,” Daphne warned, her voice low and urgent. “At this rate, you’ll be socially dead before the trial even begins. It’s time to tell the truth—”

“No rush,” I interrupted her calmly.

“Very soon, I’ll expose her filthy secret and nail her to the pillar of shame for good. There’ll be no coming back from it.”

...

The court day arrived swiftly.

The courtroom was packed—Ava’s relatives, friends, and even curious onlookers filled every seat.

Ava sat in the defendant’s chair, her face was pale as a ghost, cradling our daughter, who was hooked up to an oxygen tube.

Her brother Samuel and their father sat stern-faced in the front row of the gallery, flanked by an imposing legal team.

On my side, there was only Daphne and a few of her journalist colleagues, cameras rolling, ready to livestream everything.

Before the trial began, Ava turned to me with pleading eyes.

“Liam, we’ve been husband and wife for years. I truly don’t want to see you continue down this road. There’s still time—turn back before it’s too late.”

Ronald let out a disdainful snort.

“Drop the case now. Apologize on your knees to my daughter and son. Swear never to interfere with her keeping the dog again, and maybe I’ll show you some mercy.”

I gave a cold smile. “Your Honor, let’s begin.”

In court, the Powell family’s lawyers unleashed a storm of accusations—that I was ungrateful, filing for divorce over trivial matters, indifferent to my daughter’s life, and demanding an outrageous compensation.

The judge furrowed his brow as he flipped through the case files.

“Plaintiff Liam Scott,” he said sternly, “your claim to divorce over a pet is legally insufficient. Additionally, it is well-documented that you received substantial financial support from the defendant’s family. This court is inclined to rule that the fault lies entirely with you.”

“The court hereby finds—”

“Your Honor!” I stood up suddenly, voice was firm. “I have ample evidence to prove that my divorce request—and the compensation demand—are entirely justified.”

Finally, the moment of truth.