From behind us, Walter's voice cut through like a whip. "Adam, don't waste your breath on him. He's a nobody—a common worker with nothing to his name. Stop giving him the time of day."
Adam glanced back with a smirk. "Uncle Walter, the man's still your son-in-law. Who knows—maybe he'll make something of himself one day."
Walter scoffed. "Him?"
"That deadbeat couldn't amount to anything if you gave him a hundred years."
He turned to Cynthia. "Sweetheart, where's that divorce agreement I told you to have ready? Go get it. Let this waste of space sign."
Cynthia nodded and gave me a brief glance before disappearing into the house.
There was nothing in that look. No warmth, no anger, no guilt. Just the gaze of a stranger.
Three years of marriage. Two of those years, I'd treated her like she was the center of my world.
One year away on business, and this was what I came back to.
She'd moved on before my suitcase was even unpacked.
Almost laughable, really.
But it all came down to one thing—they all thought I was broke.
The truth was, I had more money than both their families combined.
Snow began to fall, and the aroma of a home-cooked meal drifted from inside the house.
A cold smile tugged at my lips.
Clearly, I'd interrupted their family dinner.
Adam spoke up again. "Uncle Walter, it's snowing out here. That's not good for the baby—Cynthia shouldn't be standing in the cold. Why not let him come inside to sign?"
The corner of his mouth curled. His meaning was transparent—he wanted to humiliate me on their turf.
Walter let out a derisive snort. "Our two families are on the rise. I doubt he'd have the nerve."
I swept a glance at the bodyguards stationed around the villa. At a subtle look from Walter, every one of them turned their eyes on me.
Ready to move the instant the order came.
So this was how it was going to be. A trap dressed up as a dinner invitation.
But I'd been to every corner of this country and seen far worse.
Not a ripple of unease. I smiled faintly. "Why wouldn't I dare?"
As I stepped inside, I sent my location to my people.
The dining table in the living room was laid out with an impressive spread—steaming dishes that filled the air with rich, savory warmth. Through the kitchen doorway, I caught sight of Eunice bustling over the stove. She turned, spotted me, and her expression shifted from surprise to undisguised contempt—a mirror of her husband's.