A group of unwelcome visitors suddenly show up at a relative's funeral. The man in the lead claims to be my wife's boyfriend and wants to punish me. Apparently, I'm her fresh-faced lover.

I don't want this to turn into a big deal because we're at a funeral, so I tell him we'll settle this after everything's over. Unexpectedly, my wife's boyfriend causes a huge fuss and instructs his men to pin me to the ground, wanting me to get on my knees and grovel at his feet.

The rest of my relatives are unmoved by this. They watch as my legs get broken. I sneer and say, "Your girlfriend bought this urn for my mom. She spent a fortune on this, you know!"

Sure enough, the man is furious. He clamors and wreaks havoc, ultimately smashing the urn to pieces. "How dare you parasites latch onto my girlfriend and try to exploit her! Don't think you're getting a cent out of her!"

What he doesn't know is that the "mom" whose funeral is being held is my wife's mother and my mother-in-law.

The funeral that is crashing is hers, and her urn is the one he's just smashed.

Rosalie Clarke and I had been estranged and separated for several years now.

That was why I was surprised when her family called me.

"Zayne, your mother-in-law has passed away. We can't reach Rosalie. Please, come back and handle the funeral arrangements."

Hearing that Mona North, my mother-in-law, had passed away, I felt a sudden jolt in my chest. It wasn't grief, but rather as if a tightly strung string in me had snapped.

Rosalie and I had separated about three years ago.

Since then, she'd been living as if she'd never been married—constantly hitting up bars and clubs, hiring male escorts, and completely ignoring my messages and calls.

I frowned upon hearing the news, thinking Rosalie had crossed the line. Something had happened to her mother, and yet, Rosalie was nowhere to be found.

I stared at the voice message for a long time before finally canceling all meetings for the week and heading to Rosalie's hometown. My assistant wordlessly signaled for ten bodyguards to accompany me.

I tried calling Rosalie during my journey there. For some reason, I couldn't reach her.

I opened her social feed and found an update from just an hour ago, showing off her latest shopping spree. Most of the items were men's brands. A man's hand could be seen in the corner of the photo.

Clearly, Rosalie had bought all those things for him.

I sighed, opened our chat, and left her a message about how her mother's cremation was done, and she should come back to say her final goodbyes before the burial.

The message wasn't even sent—Rosalie had just blocked me.

Relatives from the Clarke family told me that Mona had caused quite a scene, demanding a custom urn worth eight million dollars and even staging a hunger strike in the village until she got her way.

"Poor her. If she hadn't gone on that hunger strike, she might not have fallen and passed away," they lamented with pained expressions, though they were quick to step back when it came to paying.

I considered it for a moment, then paid for the urn using Rosalie's card. Almost immediately, Rosalie called me.

"What did you spend so much on? Refund it now."

I didn't want to argue with her about money. I simply urged her, "Come back home. There's been a family emergency."

Rosalie must have heard the dirge playing in the background, and her tone faltered. "Who?"

"An elder in the family passed away," I replied calmly.

Rosalie said nothing and immediately hung up.

I couldn't help but wonder if I hadn't specified that it was her mother who'd passed away, would Rosalie have mistaken it for someone in my family and just ignored it altogether?

After handling everything, I opened my phone to catch up on work, only to get a notification from a forum.

"My fiancée's card suddenly shows a charge of eight million dollars. Does this mean trouble?"

There was no shortage of posts designed to grab attention, so I was about to close it when I noticed that I was following this particular poster. Curious, I clicked in to scroll through and realized it was from Lester Cumin, Rosalie's assistant.

Back when Rosalie first started her company, she and I were still close, and I'd handled most of the company's early arrangements, even helping recruit the initial team. Lester, her assistant, was personally recommended by her. I had followed his social media as part of his background check.

I opened the post to find a slew of comments speculating that his fiancée was paying for a boy toy—a pretty boy they warned him to watch out for.

Uninterested, I was about to unfollow him when Lester posted another update.

"Confirmed, folks—there's definitely someone else. My fiancée is on her way to meet her side piece. I'm on my way to catch them in the act."

Attached was a screenshot from a couple's tracking app showing her current trip, with the destination set as none other than Rosalie's family home.

I sighed and put my phone away.

There went another unfortunate soul wounded by love.

If I ever had a chance to help him in the future, I thought, maybe I would.

Rosalie still hadn't replied to any of my messages or calls.

Around me, her relatives had already split into small groups and started a game of cards, leaving piles of peanut shells scattered across the floor.

I sat far away. Seeing they weren't interested in bothering me and were even ignoring me, I relaxed a bit.

The stale, foul smell in the room was starting to give me a headache. Lips pressed into a tight line, I contemplated escaping to the outdoors just as chaos erupted beyond the walls.

Opening the door, I came face-to-face with Lester.

He had a crowd of seven or eight people behind him, a phone in one hand and a stick in the other, looking ready to start trouble.

"Lester?" I was taken aback. "What are you doing here?"

He froze for a moment before he waved his stick around and loudly announced to his group, "This is the guy! How else would he know my name if he wasn't my fiancée's boy toy?"

Before I could react, Lester punched me square in the face.

Exhausted from several sleepless days of funeral preparations, I saw stars as I fell to the ground.

Lester smirked and grabbed me by the collar.

"Hey pretty boy, my fiancée isn't even here yet, and you're already acting all weak and innocent!"

With that, he pulled out a small knife from somewhere.

Its sharp edge which grazed the corner of my eye instantly drew blood.

Satisfied at the sight of my blood, he smirked. "You've got the face of a freeloading man. Guess it's that face that's got my fiancée hooked, huh?"

Before I could even process what was happening, he swung the knife at my face again.

"Let's see if any rich lady would want you when I'm done with that face!"

Having been caught off guard and disfigured while being repeatedly called a pretty boy, I eventually lost my temper. I got to my feet and landed a solid punch, sending Lester sprawling onto the ground.

Lester and I were clearly mismatched in strength. He landed hard on the ground, clutching his face and staring at me in disbelief.

"How dare you hit me? You, a sneaky side piece, dare lay a hand on the real boyfriend! My fiancée is the CEO of Clarke Group! And you, a country bumpkin living out here in the boonies, dare mooch off Rosalie? Are you tired of living?"

It dawned on me then—his so-called fiancée was actually my legal wife, Rosalie. At first, I thought Lester had mistaken me for someone else, but now it was clear he had the right person. The real irony was that he was the very sneaky side piece he was accusing me of being.

Trying to avoid further conflict, especially with a funeral underway, I decided to calmly suggest, "There's a funeral going on. It's bad luck to cause trouble here. Why don't you leave, and we'll deal with this after it's over?"

Lester froze, finally noticing the house's setup. There was a portrait hanging in the living room, a small, diamond-encrusted urn shining on the table beneath it.

The relatives around us had paused their card game to watch the scene unfold with curious expressions.

Growing more nervous, Lester raised his stick defensively. "Stay back! This guy seduced my fiancée; I'm just doing what's right! If any of you come closer, I'll take you all on!"

The group of older ladies, however, stayed put. They clearly showed no intention to set the record straight about my identity.

After a long pause, Lester suddenly seemed to understand something and began laughing, pointing at me.

Lester sneered. "You pathetic, worthless leech. Even your family doesn't stand with you. Who's going to help you now? You're an embarrassment to all men!"

Lester glanced at the memorial photo, and then at the scattered gifts in the house. He scoffed, "That photo must be of your mother, right? And all these gifts are probably from Rosalie.

"You're living off the dead. Don't you have any shame? Your whole family's a bunch of parasites. Don't think for a second you'll get a penny from my fiancée even if someone's dead!"

With that, he directed his group to smash everything in sight. Only then did I realize Lester had brought over two or three dozen people, each one holding a club or stick.

As the memorial photo crashed to the ground, glass shards scattered across the floor. My newly purchased porcelain vases, each worth tens of thousands, toppled one by one, sending sharp fragments flying and cutting into my legs.

I wanted to speak up to stop them, but seeing the recently installed security cameras on the wall, I held my tongue.

I waved subtly to the bodyguards waiting nearby, signaling them to hold back unless absolutely necessary. Then, turning to Lester, I gave him a slight smirk.

"Lester, just a heads-up, the damages you're causing here are well over a million. But hey, if you're ready to cover it, keep going."

Lester looked at me like I was an idiot. "Acting tough, are we? All that money comes from my fiancée anyway. What's it to you?"

"I'll break whatever I want! What are you going to do about it? Rosalie is happy to spend on me! I'll keep breaking them!"

Seeing no one stepping in to stop him, Lester grew bolder. He motioned for his men to pin me down before he mentioned in a voice dripping with contempt, "Tell you what. If you get on your knees right now, in front of everyone, and beg me for forgiveness, I might consider letting you go pay your final respects to your mother. Otherwise, you'll just have to watch her witness you getting beaten to a pulp."

I was immobilized as I was held down by a dozen sticks. As I weighed my options, I fixed my gaze on Lester.

"If Rosalie cheated, you should take it up with her. Why come after me?"

At this, Lester's expression changed, a flicker of resentment clouding his gaze. "Rosalie's just too soft-hearted to say no to anyone. How is any of this her fault? It's your fault. If you hadn't selfishly drained her account of that eight million, she would have bought me a new car by now! It's your fault she was humiliated at the dealership when she couldn't pay! You'd better return the money!"

As soon as he finished, a hail of blows rained down on me.

Several strikes hit my stomach, leaving me gasping and nearly stumbling as my face paled.

Lester's grin widened. "That's more like it. Now you look exactly like the good-for-nothing leech you are. Smile for the camera. I'll send a picture of you to all the rich ladies out there. Maybe one of them will take a liking to you."

Hearing this, the onlookers smirked, some even pulling out their phones to snap pictures.

My mind began to reel, memories surging back.

The same thing happened a few years ago. Mona and the villagers had treated me the same way. And now, at her funeral, I was once again being humiliated like this.

Anger exploded within me, propelling me into action. Fueled by rage, I fought back, fending off seven or eight people, taking down each one who came at me.