The cold, perfunctory indifference I had always received in return.

I let out a silent, mocking laugh and replied: [You want me to apologize to Bobby? Keep dreaming. No shares. No car. Just a divorce agreement.]

After sending the message, I blocked every one of them.

As soon as I finished handling matters, I rushed onto a plane and flew home, ignoring the barrage of calls Cynthia kept making.

When she couldn't get through to me, she grew even angrier.

Out in the open, she took Bobby and his son shopping through the city's major malls with my in-laws, posting photos of their "family time" on social media.

Friends flooded the posts with likes and comments.

[The three of you look perfect together—just like a real family.]

[Bobby's smile is so warm and gentle, unlike Johnny, who always seems so stern and unapproachable.]

Cynthia replied: [Bobby is so filial to my parents. Not like certain someone who's only come back a few times in all these years of marriage.]

Reading those words, my heart turned to ice.

She was the one who never let me accompany her home—so she could carry on with her lover—and yet she had the audacity to throw the blame onto me.

Over the years, although I hadn't visited often, I had transferred tens of thousands every year to support my in-laws. I never missed a holiday gift.

And this… was the evaluation I received in return.

Meanwhile, the money I earned had been funneled by Cynthia into buying houses and cars for her adulterous lover and his child, funding their carefree, indulgent lifestyle.

Otherwise, Bobby—who had lost both parents early and lacked any real ability—would never have been able to raise a child alone while living so comfortably.

No wonder he was so smug.

I had simply been too foolish, too easily deceived.

I notified all the banks to freeze the supplementary cards under Cynthia's name. Then I forwarded all the evidence my assistant had gathered—proof of her infidelity during our marriage and the massive transfer of assets to support her lover and child—to my lawyer.

He replied quickly.

[Mr. King, the evidence is more than sufficient. I will do my best to ensure the other party leaves the marriage with nothing.]

I sent back a simple thank you, then printed out the divorce agreement he had prepared and placed it on the table.

Just then, I heard the door open.

I looked up to see Cynthia striding in boldly, bringing Bobby and the child straight into the house. My brow furrowed deeply.

"Bobby said he wanted to stay here for a few days and take the child to the doctor, so I brought them home.

"Where's the 100 thousand dollars as compensation I told you to prepare?"

With her hand on her hip, Cynthia looked at me arrogantly.

"Without that money, don't expect me to forgive you so easily."

"Are you out of your mind?" I said coldly. "This is my house, and you bring another man here to stay?"

I immediately ordered security to throw them out.

Furious, Cynthia pointed at me and shouted, "Johnny, think carefully. If you dare kick them out today, our marriage is over!"

I handed her the divorce agreement without a trace of warmth.

"Don't worry. I was planning to divorce you anyway. When the time comes, the three of you can go be a family together."

Her face filled with disbelief, turning pale with anger.

"You're actually threatening me with divorce? Johnny, do you really think I'm afraid of you?"

She tore the agreement into pieces.

"This kind of push-and-pull trick won't work on me, let me tell you! When the time comes, even if you kneel and beg me to come back, it won't be that easy!"

With that, she stormed out with Bobby and the child.

The three of them went straight to the most luxurious five-star hotel in the city.

Cynthia handed over her ID to check in, frowning as she said viciously, "Bobby, you're right. I was too soft-hearted before. That's why Johnny dared to go this far. This time, I'll make sure to teach him a proper lesson."

Then, impatient, she snapped at the front desk,

"What's taking so long? I'm a VIP at your hotel. Can't you even handle something this simple? Where's your manager?"

The receptionist looked at her strangely.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Muller, but your VIP status has been revoked. Your bank cards have also been frozen."