"Besides, even if what's inside isn't real Moutai, so what? My son got that bottle! This prize came from my son's luck! It has nothing to do with you, nothing to do with your broke parents—not even a cent!"

I looked at them coldly.

My voice was so calm it didn't carry a single ripple.

"Fine."

"Then guard that 'luck' properly."

I left those icy words hanging, didn't bother watching their faces cycle through their wonderfully varied expressions, turned around, went back to the bedroom, and locked the door.

I knew they wouldn't let it go. That "five million" mirage had already sunk its hooks deep into their souls.

The next morning, just as dawn broke.

I got ready for work like usual and headed down to the underground parking garage.

From a distance, I spotted it—the driver's side window of my white sedan, shattered all over the ground.

My heart dropped. I rushed over.

The inside had been ransacked. The storage compartment hung open, small odds and ends scattered across the seats and floor mats.

On the passenger seat, that dark red Moutai gift box I'd deliberately placed there yesterday had vanished.

Sure enough.

They made their move.

I just hadn't expected them to stoop this low.

Rage shot straight to my head, but I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm.

After confirming nothing else was missing, I turned around and went back upstairs.

In the living room, Ryan and Mrs. Lambert sat at the dining table eating breakfast.

My gaze swept over them coldly.

"Ryan, my car was broken into."

His hand holding the spoon paused. He didn't even look up, just gave a vague "Oh."

Mrs. Lambert snorted a laugh and set down her chopsticks.

"Oh, your car was broken into? Did you forget to lock it? Thieves these days really are something—specifically targeting careless people like you."

I kept staring at Ryan. "The Moutai I left on the passenger seat is gone."

He finally raised his head, guilt and impatience flickering across his face.

"If it's gone, it's gone. It wasn't yours anyway. Whoever ends up with it, it's theirs…"

"Whoever ends up with it, it's theirs?"

I was so angry I almost laughed.

"So breaking into my car and stealing my things—in your eyes, that's perfectly fine? That's just skill?"

"Don't make it sound so ugly!"

Mrs. Lambert slammed the table and shot to her feet.

"What do you mean stealing? That liquor was my son's to begin with! My son taking back what's his—what's wrong with that? You're the one who left something that valuable lying around, and you think you're in the right?"

Ryan puffed up like he was going all in, neck jutting out stubbornly.

"Joy, I'm telling you—the bottle's in my hands now. This prize has nothing to do with your parents!"

Something inside me snapped at the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Since you've said it like this. Done things like this."

I took a step back.

"Ryan, let's get a divorce."

His eyes went wide, like he hadn't expected me to say it so cleanly, so decisively.

Mrs. Lambert froze for a second too—but quickly, her expression twisted into pure elation.

"Divorce! You have to divorce!" Her voice trembled with excitement. "Joy, you said it yourself! Don't you dare regret it!"

She yanked hard on Ryan's sleeve.

"Hurry up and divorce her—what are you standing there like an idiot for? A daughter-in-law who only cares about her own family should've been kicked out long ago. Once we get that five million, Mom will find you a better one!"

The shock on Ryan's face crumbled fast, crushed under the weight of greed.

He tried to make his voice sound tough.

"Fine, divorce! But the assets have to be divided properly! That five million…"

"I don't want the bottle."

I cut him off cold.

Ryan's eyes lit up instantly. I kept going.

"But I have conditions."

I held up one finger.

"First—you leave with nothing. Except this bottle, everything else is mine."

"Second—you broke into my car and damaged it. You'll cover every cent of the repair. I'll have the dealership assess it tomorrow. Transfer the money to my account by end of day."

"Third—"

My gaze sharpened.

"The house fund had $200,000 of my savings in it. Return that too. Tomorrow. Every last cent."

"In your dreams!"

Mrs. Lambert shrieked first.

"Leave with nothing? Why don't you just rob us outright?"

Ryan's face flushed crimson. "Joy! Don't push it! Even in a divorce, assets get split fifty-fifty! This house, this car—I have a stake in them!"

"And that money—I can't just pull it out of thin air!"

"Can't pull it out?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Then we have a problem, Ryan."

I deliberately slowed my words, giving them time to stew.

"I could just... not divorce you. Wait until after you claim the prize, then file. Half that money would still be mine, wouldn't it? Even if it gets frozen and tied up in court for a year or two..." I tilted my head. "Can you afford to wait?"

His expression curdled.

He knew I was right.

If this divorce didn't happen now, ownership of that windfall would become a legal nightmare.

Delay meant risk. For them, not me.

I let myself smile, just a little. Time to twist the knife.

"My terms are simple: house transferred to my name, car repairs paid, $200,000 returned. Miss even one, and I won't sign."

"We can drag this out as long as you want. See who breaks first. Hint—it won't be me."

I turned as if to head back to my room.

"Wait!"

Ryan's voice cracked with urgency. He shot a desperate look at his mother.

I caught the conflict churning in her eyes.

"Joy..." His tone shifted, pleading now. "Can't you give us a few more days? That's not pocket change. I really can't get it together all at once—"

"Tomorrow."

I didn't flinch.

The longer this dragged, the more chances they'd catch on to my game.

"Non-negotiable."

"If you can't make it happen, I won't just refuse to sign—I might call the cops. See if they're interested in whoever broke into my car..."

The living room went dead silent.

A full minute passed.

Then Mrs. Lambert grabbed Ryan's arm and hauled him toward the balcony corner.

"...loan sharks... your cousin knows someone... handle it first... once we get the five million... we'll make it all back..."

I couldn't catch everything, but enough fragments drifted over.

I smiled to myself.

Cornered dogs really do jump walls.

After a while, they came back.

Ryan looked like he'd aged ten years, but his eyes held a reckless, all-in kind of resolve.

"Fine." His voice was hollow. "I agree. The house is yours. The car money, the $200,000—I'll... I'll figure it out by tomorrow. We sign. We divorce."

"You're sure?"

I held his gaze.

"Once you sign, there's no taking it back. The bottle's yours. Everything else—including whatever debts you might rack up—has nothing to do with me."

"I've thought it through."

Mrs. Lambert rushed to answer, as if afraid her son might back out.

"Hurry up and sign! After this, you won't have the slightest thing to do with the Lyons family anymore!"

Ryan, standing beside her, nodded with a resolute look in his eyes.

Very good.

That's exactly what I wanted you to say.