At dinner, I offered my wife a piece of meat, and she flung the bowl aside, saying coldly, "You're actually filthy."

I froze, completely caught off guard.

"And you're unbearably pretentious."

She set down her chopsticks and went on, "Even if you’re obedient and willing to spend money on me, Victor could do the same."

"Perhaps even better."

"Like the roast goose Victor bought two days ago—spoiled as it was, it still suited me more than anything else on this table."

The contempt in her eyes cut through me as though I were some criminal on trial.

That’s when I realized why she suddenly turned so harsh.

It was because I threw away the roast goose my assistant, Victor Langford, had bought her.

I turned toward my parents-in-law.

They told me to throw it away. They should have defended me.

But instead, they just laughed.

At that moment, I knew I had no place in this house.

——

Today, their expression—watching like it was all theater—told me I’d been fooled again.

I sighed, looked at my wife, and said, "Clara, I’m tired."

Huh?

Clara lifted her chin, sneering. "What? Losing patience already? Always pretending."

She carried herself like a queen, towering above everyone.

"Since you’ve seen through me—"

I paused. "Then let’s divorce. Let’s free each other."

The room fell into dead silence.

Surprise flickered in Clara’s eyes.

Her parents stopped smiling.

"Come on, it’s only roast goose. A few words are enough. No need for divorce."

"Clara just lost her temper because she missed that goose. Why make such a fuss?"

They finally spoke, yet still refused to tell the truth—only shifting the blame onto me.

Always the same.

I’d had enough.

I didn’t want to explain anymore. I stood and went to pack my things. "Amelia Hart!"

"Are you insane?"

Clara grabbed a dish and hurled it at my face, shouting furiously, "Just because I said a few words, you want divorce?"

"What is our marriage to you?"

"Scumbag!"

Seeing her hysteria, I laughed bitterly.

"Excuse me."

"Who brings the opposite sex home every single day?"

"Who belittles their spouse daily for the opposite sex?"

"Tell me, am I the scumbag?"

At my questioning, guilt flashed across Clara’s eyes. She quickly snapped, "Stop with your filthy suspicions."

"Victor comes here often only because he’s grateful I gave him a job."

My father-in-law slammed the table, glaring. "You’re a man—can’t you show Clara some tolerance?"

My mother-in-law coaxed gently, "Amelia, don’t overthink. They know their limits. Hasn’t Victor stayed away these past two days?"

Good cop, bad cop—their tactic for eight long years.

"He hasn’t been here because Clara was on a business trip."

I glanced at the clock. "But right now, he should be at the door."

Just as I finished,

the door flew open.

Victor walked in smiling. "Clara, I heard you missed the roast goose, so I brought you another."

My parents-in-law froze, awkwardness written all over their faces.

Truth is, I had long noticed the pattern.

For six straight months, Victor came to our home at exactly 6:00 PM, Monday through Friday.

On weekends, he arrived at 9:00 AM.

Even his fingerprint was saved on our door lock.

Sensing the tension, Victor hesitated, then said, "Seems I came at the wrong time. I’ll head out now."

"Don't!"

Clara pushed me aside and hurried to stop Victor, smiling as she said, "You're just in time. Sit down and eat with us."

Her earlier rage was gone—she had become as gentle as water.

Once, that gentleness was mine alone. After she and Victor sat at the table, she glanced at me and said, "You're so thoughtful. You know I love roast goose."

The message was clear: I wasn’t attentive enough, didn’t understand her enough.

But since our marriage,

I’ve been able to guess what clothes and jewelry she wanted in ten seconds.

Which colors she favored and which food she avoided.

More than that, I could instantly tell you which client details she needed.

I knew it all.

And once, she despised roast goose, saying it was too greasy. Now she claimed to love it.

Maybe this is what happens—when you love someone, you also love their dog.

"If you pay attention in life, you’ll see."

Victor smiled and pulled out a bottle of medicinal wine worth a few dozen dollars.

"Uncle, try it. I bought this just for you."

He poured my father-in-law a full glass.

"Delicious!"

"A thousand times better than what I usually drink!"

My father-in-law downed it, praising it non-stop. My fists clenched.

I usually bought him Macallan 30-Year-Old and Louis XIII Cognac, yet he claimed they weren’t as good as this cheap wine.

Then Victor produced a face mask for my mother-in-law.

Despite his exaggerated praise of whitening and moisturizing,

I saw instantly it was a worthless street-stall product.

She must have seen it too, yet she smiled brightly and said, "With a son-in-law like Victor, anyone would be lucky."

It was obvious.

Their words were aimed at me, cutting me down while praising him.

They wanted me to feel small.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. My chest pounded—I flipped the table!

Everyone was stunned.

Clara immediately roared, "Amelia, what’s wrong with you now?"

My in-laws’ faces sank, convinced I was being overbearing. "Yes! I’m having a seizure! I’m having one now! Hahaha..."

I laughed wildly, smashing my new TV and stabbing my new sofa with scissors.

I stormed into the bedroom, dragged out every designer bag I’d bought for Clara, and slashed them open before her eyes.

My in-laws kept their distance, afraid I might strike them.

"Amelia."

"Calm down, we can talk!"

Victor wanted to rush forward, but Clara stopped him.

"Don’t go."

"He’s crazy right now—don’t let him hurt you."

Hearing this, I suddenly felt empty and dropped everything.

"Have you had enough?"

Clara looked at me coolly, drew a long breath, and said, "We’re going to the theater. You clean the living room."

Her tone was commanding. She clearly assumed I’d vented my anger and that was the end of it.

I turned in silence and walked toward the bedroom.

"Clara, why not bring Amelia along?"

Victor rubbed his nose awkwardly. "I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe it’ll calm him."

Despite his innocent look, he was clearly pleased.

"It’s fine. That’s just him—trying to get my attention."

Clara shook her head and smiled. "Besides, what does he know about theater?"

As she said this, her gaze lingered on my back, her eyes wandering.

"That's right. Forget him. Let’s get to the theater before we’re late."

"I heard a famous actor is performing today."

My mother-in-law quickly agreed, as though nothing had happened. The only thing that mattered was watching the play.

"Alright, alright."

Clara finally regained her composure and nodded gently.

They packed up and left. My father-in-law deliberately walked last, shouting, "Amelia, a son-in-law must know his place."

"Remember, without me, you’re nothing, and you can’t even survive in law."

Eight years of relentless hard work.

Always being ordered around.

It never earns true love.

I should have realized this long ago.

No matter how much effort you give to someone who despises you, they’ll still despise you.

Romance exists only in fantasy.

Reality gives nothing but a cruel slap in the face.

Burn the wedding photos.

Rip the family portrait.

I dragged my suitcase out of the house and sent a message to Clara’s rival, Victoria Manning.

[Find me a place to stay, and I’ll join your law firm.]

The city’s two most famous firms are Snow’s and Manning’s.

They constantly fight for clients, even alternating the Bar Association presidency.

Victoria replied immediately.

[No problem! Congrats to Attorney Hart for escaping her bootlicking life. Here’s a bonus picture!]

She sent me a sultry photo in a short skirt and black stockings as a celebration.

I smiled wryly and muttered, "This woman is chasing me again."

Of course, I joined Victoria’s firm.

Mainly to prove myself.

Everyone thinks Clara runs her firm, but no one knows how much effort I poured it behind the scenes.

I wonder if Snow’s Law Firm will stay dominant after I leave—or if I’ll rise to the top and shake the world.

At ten that evening, Clara’s parents and Victor came home, chatting and laughing. But when they saw the living room still wrecked, they froze.

"You’re rebelling!"

"Amelia, get out here!"

My father-in-law’s face darkened. Finding me gone, he snapped, "Almost thirty, and you run away like a child. Shameful!"

Clara noticed the torn family photo in the trash. Her lips tightened, fists clenched.

"Clara."

"Is Amelia mad because of me?"

Victor feigned innocence.

"It has nothing to do with you. It’s Amelia’s fault."

Clara smiled, reassuring him, then entered the bathroom and called me.

"Why run around when you haven’t cleaned the house?"

Her first words almost made me laugh.

While eating barbecue with Victoria, I replied, "That’s your home, not mine."

"You…"

Clara paused, then softened her tone. "Can you stop making a fuss? My dad’s furious. If you continue, he’ll fire you and block you from the entire industry."

"I’ll submit my resignation tomorrow morning."

I hung up and clinked glasses with Victoria.

"A toast to the moonlight."

"A toast to the past!"