Must Repay a Hundredfold!

Razor Claw was nothing more than a societal rogue, a former street brawler who had spent time behind bars.

In our altercation, my blade was effortlessly dodged by him, and in return, he grabbed my wrist and glared at me fiercely.

"Worthless! You dare to ambush me?"

Simultaneously, my wife's scream echoed from behind, "Enough! Both of you, stop it!"

Fortunately, I managed to break free from Razor Claw's grip.

Turning his attention to my wife who had approached, Razor Claw remarked, "Little sister, keeping a husband like him is pointless. I advise you to divorce him promptly. With your qualities, I can easily find you a better match in society, and I guarantee you'll be much happier."

"Stop talking, just go! Who invited you anyway?" My wife shot Razor Claw a fierce glance.

I was momentarily stunned. Wasn't it my wife who called him here? How did he know about the discord between Emily and me?

Undeterred, Razor Claw continued, "Little sister, take my advice. Quickly divorce him. Despite this house being in a mediocre location, it's still worth at least a million or more."

Realization struck as I heard his words. Razor Claw probably wasn't aware of my wife's infidelity, explaining his comments.

The house was indeed under my name. I had originally purchased it to store some machinery, and after bankruptcy, it was the only property retained.

Without this house, my wife might have divorced me long ago.

My wife then retorted to Razor Claw, "Just leave! This is a family matter; you don't need to meddle."

It was evident that my wife was feeling guilty, hence her defensive stance. If it weren't for her affair, she might have jumped even higher than Razor Claw.

However, Razor Claw's words served as a reminder. If I didn't expose the adulterer and proceeded with the divorce, she might get half of the house.

I couldn't let that happen. Despite her giving birth to my son and standing by me, her infidelity was not a reason to claim a single penny from me.

Razor Claw, realizing his efforts were futile, gestured dismissively, "Fine, I don't care anymore. But, little sister, if he bullies you again, give me a call. I'll make sure to deal with him properly."

With that, Razor Claw walked away. Passing by my mom, he sneered, "Old hag!"

Suppressing my rage, I watched him walk down the corridor until he callously stepped on the cured meats my mom had worked hard to bring.

Simultaneously, he muttered, "What disgusting stuff, stinks to high heaven."

"F*cking stop right there!"

I couldn't take it any longer. I roared and charged out once again.

This time, my mom intercepted me, crying, "Alex, don't get involved, calm down!"

I couldn't push my mom away; her back wasn't great, and if she fell, she might not be able to get up.

Thinking I wouldn't dare to confront him, Razor Claw taunted, "Alex Phoenix, you're a waste just waiting to divorce my sister. You're barking like a dog now!"

With that, he left, leaving me seething with anger.

Remembering the good times when he used to buy me good food and wine, calling me brother-in-law sweetly, now that I was down and out, he turned hostile. Truly, blood is thicker than water.

After Razor Claw's departure, my mom, looking at the mess on the floor, began to sob.

I knew the effort she put into this, planning since the beginning of the year, saving egg by egg.

She refrained from eating or selling them, all for my sake and my son's.

Razor Claw had gone too far, and if my mom hadn't stopped me, I would've surely dealt with him!

I approached my mom, helped her up, and proceeded to pick up the cured meats and sausages that Razor Claw had trampled on.

Not a single egg remained; all shattered!

Despite the intense frustration, I held back my tears. The humiliation I endured today would be repaid a hundredfold!

Soon, my wife came over to assist, picking up the cured meats and sausages scattered on the floor. She simultaneously said, "Husband, don't blame my brother. He's just worried about me, so..."

I remained silent, noting down the humiliation from today.

I wouldn't resort to violence now, at least not yet.

This whole family, including Emily's materialistic parents, would pay back the three million dowry I gave them.

Furthermore, I'd make them feel the humiliation I endured today!

Killing them wouldn't alleviate the resentment in my heart; I wanted to destroy them from the inside out!

As night fell, my son refused to share a bed with my mother, citing an unfamiliar scent that displeased him.

I scolded him, only to face a barrage from my wife, who defended our son's lack of understanding due to his tender age.

Left with no alternative, I reluctantly let my son sleep with my wife, while my mother took his room, and I resigned to spending the night on the sofa.

After my wife drifted into slumber, I stealthily retrieved my son from his room.

In a hushed tone, I questioned, "Panpan, tell Daddy, did a man visit our home tonight?"

With his sleep-ruffled eyes, he nodded, prompting me to press further, "What do you remember?"

Terrified, he shuddered and, shaking his head, confessed, "Daddy, Mommy told me not to talk, or she'd hit me."

Recalling the sight of the handprint on my son's face, I understood instantly.

Taking a deep breath, I reassured him, "It's okay, Panpan. Let's go back to sleep. Forget about tonight; Mommy won't hurt you."

After tucking my son back into bed, I found solace in the solitude of the living room, accompanied only by the swirl of my thoughts.

My mind was in turmoil.

Memories of my past actions towards my wife's family fueled regret, especially considering my financial downfall.

Despite investing in cars and houses post-bankruptcy, depleting my resources, my in-laws remained elusive, severing ties.

Divorce was inevitable, but now wasn't the right time for a confrontation. I needed to secure the house and reclaim the three million dowry.

I refused to shoulder the blame for this situation; they had driven me to this point. If my wife hadn't betrayed me, none of this would have happened.

That sleepless night, I pondered my next moves.

My mother, an early riser from the countryside, noticed my restlessness.

Curious, she inquired about my early awakening, and I, claiming it was a habit, evaded the details.

Seizing the opportunity, she shared village news. With construction underway, our ancestral home was slated for demolition, promising substantial compensation. She suggested I visit soon.

Agreeing, I planned a trip to visit my father's grave.

Concerned about her living arrangements after the house was gone, she assured me, "Don't worry. They're providing resettlement houses in the village. I know you've been eager to restart your career; use the money for that."

Tears welled in my eyes, moved by my mother's enduring sacrifices. Love, it seemed, was more about money than genuine care.

Accompanying my mom to the bus station on my electric scooter, I returned home, resolute in exposing the adulterer, reclaiming my assets, and initiating the divorce.

Every penny would be repaid, and the house, a symbol of past endeavors, would remain in my possession.

From that moment on, love held no credence. With money, I would rebuild my life.

Confident in my abilities, I believed I could carve out a niche for myself in this rapidly evolving era of the internet.