Chapter 2
“From now on, I’ll only be home one day a week. Can you understand that?” She had abandoned our son on the most important day of his life. She carried another man’s child. She went off on a romantic getaway as if nothing had happened. And now she wanted my understanding? Looking at the arrogant glint in her eyes, I suddenly wondered—how had I loved this woman for twenty years? I calmly set the divorce agreement I had prepared in advance on the table. “Sign it,” I said coldly. “Then you and Ricky can live happily ever after.” Serena’s expression changed. Her face twisted with disdain. “I must’ve spoiled you too much. Now this useless son-in-law of mine thinks he’s someone important. Without me, your whole family would be begging on the streets.” I couldn’t help but laugh. She really believed the Portman Family had risen because of her? She really thought I had been depending on her all these years? I didn’t bother correcting her delusions. I simply said, “I’m determined to divorce you.” Seeing I was serious, Serena flew into a rage. “What the hell are you talking about? Our son would never agree to this divorce.” She snatched the papers off the table and shouted, “If you want a divorce, fine—let our son come and tell me himself!” Then she stormed off, slamming the bedroom door behind her. In the past, whenever she lost her temper, I would swallow my pride and give in. But not this time. I signed the divorce papers on the spot and walked away without looking back. ** The next day, I went to the funeral home to see my son’s coffin. I planned to return to the Addison family estate in New York and bury him there—at home, where he belonged. Just as I was about to leave, my phone rang. It was Serena. “You can sulk all you want,” she snapped, “but don’t take my son out all night. Today is the 30th anniversary of the Portman Group. I’m going to announce him as the heir. Bring him here immediately.” I stared at my son laid stiffly and then replied evenly, “Alright. I’ll bring him over right away.” ** Back then, I had met Serena in college. She was cornered on the rooftop by a gang of arrogant young women from prominent New York families. Even as they beat her, she clenched her teeth and refused to beg for mercy. Bloody, bruised and trembling—she still stood tall. I thought she had backbone. So I stepped forward. The girls looked up and met my eyes—and fled as if they’d seen a ghost. Serena looked at me, stunned. Then she pulled herself to her feet, pain etched in every movement. With effort, she warned me, “Those girls are dangerous. Don’t come up to the rooftop again. Don’t give them a reason to target you.” Even after everything, she was still worried about others. I couldn’t help but smile. “They wouldn’t dare mess with me,” I said casually. She glanced at my simple clothes and scoffed, “Don’t kid yourself. Those girls are New York socialites with power and connections. Why would they be afraid of you?” “I don’t look down on ordinary people, but don’t flatter yourself.” Her sharp tongue amused me. I didn’t explain. Later, I found out she came from a struggling third-rate family. Her father had taken his own life under the weight of debt. She had clawed her way into New York University, hoping to revive her family’s fortunes. She had learned to survive among arrogant, spoiled heiresses. I admired her spirit—resilient, self-reliant, fierce. We started talking more. Slowly, we grew close. She could be kind—genuinely kind. When I skipped breakfast, she would quietly hand me half of hers. If I had a stomachache, she’d bring me warm water and medicine without being asked. And when I was in a dark place, she’d tell corny jokes just to make me smile. Back then, I thought I’d found someone rare. Someone worth everything.