On my fifth year anniversary, the first two things I receive are two bills for water and electricity.

My wife, Whitney Chapman, comes home at a late hour. She's carrying a food container that's filled with food that has gone cold.

"Sorry, I was dealing with an extremely difficult client. I can only make it up to you with supper."

She puts down the container before walking into the bathroom. While she doesn't reek of alcohol, there's dust coating the hem of her windbreaker.

I call Whitney's secretary, only to find out that she has not been to the company today.

A second before I end the call, the secretary adds, "By the way, Mr. Spencer, the new warehouse manager, Maxwell Clarke, was also absent from work today."

Maxwell Clarke? The illegitimate child who brings nothing but shame to the Spencer family? What a big coincidence… or was it?

I quickly contact the property manager of the villa based on the bills I've received.

"A father-and-son duo have just moved into the villa last month."

The manager then sends the list of inhabitants to me. The name listed is also Maxwell Clarke.

This villa happens to be a property my father left for me back when Whitney and I first got married. Since it's too far from the city, I've left it vacant all this time because I wanted to reserve it as a villa meant for vacation purposes.

Now, the people I hate are the ones living in that villa.

The water was turned on in the bathroom. Whitney Chapman was taking her bath.

I went to the entryway and picked up the trench coat she'd just changed out of. There was an unnoticeable stain on its hem that looked like plaster.

A crumpled supermarket receipt lay in the coat's pocket. I silently smoothed it out. It was issued today at 3:00 pm. The items listed on it were pasta, oil, and…a packet of cigarettes.

She lied to me.

She hadn't been attending a business dinner just now. In fact, she'd been out running errands for those two men voluntarily.

Maxwell Clarke and I, Harvey Spencer, were half-brothers of the same mother. His father, Samuel Clarke, was a home wrecker who seduced my mother for her wealth many years ago and ended up causing my father's death.

After I took over the reins of the Spencer family five years ago, the first thing I did was drive them out of Reelsburg City.

But alas, my wife brought them back recently. She even helped them settle down in the house I inherited from my father.

The shower was turned off. Whitney walked out with a bathrobe wrapped around her body.

Seeing that I was still sitting on the couch, a flicker of uneasiness crossed her eyes. "Why haven't you gone to bed? Have you had your supper? You don't have to eat it if the food's gone cold. I'll cook something for you tomorrow."

Leaning back on the couch, I pointed at the bill on the table. "Why did you pay the utility bills for the manor in West End?"

Whitney was drying her hair when I asked her that question. She paused momentarily, then replied calmly, "The management called and told me the circuit breaker tripped due to aged wiring. I dropped by to deal with it and paid the bills while I was at it."

She was lying.

How had I never noticed what a remarkable actress she was?

"Oh, really?"

I scoffed before asking, "Did you need cigarettes to repair the wiring?"

I slapped the supermarket receipt on the table.

Finally, her expression became flustered.

After a long silence, she sighed. Then, she explained in a softened tone, "I might as well tell you everything since you've found out.

"Mr. Clarke has fallen ill, while Maxwell is working as a warehouse keeper at our company. They are going through a difficult time. I just can't turn a blind eye to their situation.

"The past is in the past, and they've learned their lesson. Harvey, you should live and let live. You're now the CEO of a corporation. Why must you drive them into a corner?"

Live and let live? I stared at the woman before me, who seemingly had a heart of gold, and was stunned at how ridiculous she was being.

"Whitney, have you forgotten how my dad died? It's all because of that rascal, Samuel Clarke,! He marched into our house and blackmailed us, angering my dad so badly that he had a cardiac arrest and passed away! Now you're telling me to live and let live?"

Frowning, Whitney said in a resigned tone, "That's an old score between the older generation. Maxwell was still young at that time, so how is any of it his fault? He's your mother's son too.

"Besides, after getting to know him, I realize he's a kind person, unlike what you've told me. Harvey, you're being prejudiced. As a man, you really should be more tolerant."

I fixed my gaze on her. It felt like I never truly knew what type of person my wife was all this time.

"I want them gone by tomorrow."

Whitney's expression turned cold. "Maxwell is your mother's son as well. He's your only brother in the entire world. I can't stand by and watch them end up on the streets."

With that, she grabbed her clothes and went to the guest room.

It was our fifth wedding anniversary, yet instead of a surprise celebration, all we had between us was chaos.

I stared at the closed guest room door, and my gaze slowly turned cold.

The next morning, I drove to the manor in West End. That manor belonged to me. I'd rather tear it down than allow those bastards to set foot in it.

Once I arrived, I entered the password and opened the door.

Samuel was sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, smoking a cigarette.

He was startled when he saw me. "H-Harvey? What are you doing here?"

He reflexively cowered but soon sat back upright. His gaze turned sharp.

"I almost forgot—you're the CEO of Spencer Group now. Have you come to mock us? Save your energy. Whitney has been taking good care of us. She said this manor is spacious enough that we should make ourselves at home and stay as long as we like."

Saying nothing, I stepped forward, grabbed his collar, and lifted him off his feet.

"Who are you to call her by her name?" I growled, pressuring him.

"Let go of my dad!" someone shouted from the stairs.

Maxwell dashed toward us and stood between Samuel and me. There was a determined yet fearful look on his face.

"Harv, it's all my fault. Don't hurt my dad or blame Whit for this. You can beat me up if you like, anything to make you happy."

As he spoke, he suddenly dropped to his knees. I'd seen enough of this act of his five years ago.

I released my hold on Samuel and patted my sleeve in disgust.

"Don't act all chummy with me. We aren't that close. And… 'Whit'?"

I scoffed and continued, "How affectionate. Anyone would think she's married to you instead."

Maxwell bit his lip, looking very much aggrieved. "Harv, I know you hate me, but my dad and I were at a loss. Whit only helped me because she took pity on me. All we need is a place to stay. I wouldn't dare ask for more."

"You wouldn't dare, you say?"

I looked around, and my gaze fell on the pair of female indoor slippers on the shoe rack by the door. Whitney hadn't only been supporting them with daily essentials, she'd also been dropping by frequently to offer concern and support.

"Maxwell Clarke, I'm disgusted at the thought of you staying in my house."

I went to the living room and kicked the coffee table so hard it toppled over. There was a loud crash as the glass shattered.

Startled, Maxwell and Samuel clung to each other.

I continued, "Everything in this house has been my property since before my marriage."

I casually grabbed a golf club nearby and swung it at the television.

"Now that they have been contaminated, I might as well destroy them all."

After the television, I went for the antique vase, then the portrait hanging on the wall…

With a straight face, I smashed all the valuables in the house.

I wanted to destroy everything. Instead of letting them enjoy the convenience of having those valuables, I'd rather have a house full of trash.

Just as I swung the golf club toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, someone flung open the front door.

"Harvey Spencer, have you lost your mind?"

Whitney came running in and tried to take the golf club from me. I coldly shook off her hand, and she staggered backward.

Immediately after, she approached Maxwell and Samuel. "Maxwell, Mr. Clarke, are you two alright? Are you hurt?"

I felt bitter knowing that all the blood, sweat, and tears I'd poured in for the past five years had been wasted on an ingrate who'd stab me in the back.

After consoling Maxwell, Whitney turned to me with eyes filled with disappointment and anger. "Harvey, I never thought you'd become so unreasonable—you're just like a violent thug."

Still holding the golf club, I stood upright. "Whitney, this house is under my name. They are trespassing on private property without permission. I have the right to call the police on them."

Whitney was peeved. "Even though that's the case, as your wife, I have the right to access the house. How is it wrong for me to allow my friend to stay here?"

She told me to leave.

Maxwell stole a glance at me. Although his eyes looked innocent, I noticed the provocative smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He was challenging me.

Taking a deep breath, I suppressed the anger welling up in me. "Whitney, remember what you just said. You'd better not beg me for mercy later on."

With that, I left the manor. As I stood outside the house, I lit a cigarette.

After that incident, I immediately enlisted the help of a private investigator to look into Maxwell and Samuel.

Maxwell was never a hardworking, goal-driven person. Throughout the past five years, he'd gotten addicted to gambling and had owed a huge amount of debt.

Samuel wasn't sick either. His leg had been brutally broken while he helped Maxwell escape his debtors. They had returned to Reelsburg City because they had no other choice.

Meanwhile, Maxwell had deliberately schemed to secure a job in Spencer Group as a warehouse keeper.

I flung the file onto my office desk.

Whitney wasn't only blind to his true colors, but she had also lost the ability to discern between right and wrong.

That afternoon, I went to the office. I was the CEO of Spencer Group. Although Whitney was the vice president, the real authority lay with me.

When they saw me, the receptionists greeted me respectfully, "Mr. Spencer."

I headed straight for the vice president's office.

The employees watched me. Their gazes were filled with reverence.

With a cold expression, I opened the door.

What I saw next made me scoff.

Whitney was sitting at her desk, going through some documents. Meanwhile, Maxwell was standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

"Whit, your shoulders are very stiff. I'll give you a quick massage," he said in a sickeningly ingratiating tone.

When he saw me entering the office, he seemed flustered and withdrew his hands. "Harv… Mr. Spencer."

Whitney scowled. "Why have you come? Don't you know how to knock?"

I scoffed. "This is my company. Why should I have to knock? As for you two, what do you think you're doing during office hours?"

Whitney became increasingly displeased. "Maxwell was just offering to give me a massage because he saw that I was tired. You're the one with a filthy mind."

I cast the findings from the investigation on the desk before her.

"Read this, word by word. This is the person you labelled as hardworking and goal-driven. He's nothing more than a gambler with a mountain of debt who's been deliberately trying to get closer to you.

"Whitney, did you ask for my permission when you used the company's imprest fund to pay off his debts?"