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?"

Whitney was stunned momentarily. She then picked up the file. As she went through it, the scowl on her face only deepened.

Maxwell dropped to his knees with a loud thud and hugged her legs.

"Whit, it's not what it seems! That was all in the past… I only started gambling because someone lured me into it. I've stopped gambling now! Harv is falsely accusing me. Everything in that document is fake! Some of them are even from way back in the day!"

He cried so hard that tears and snot covered his face.

Whitney wavered again. Lowering the documents, she turned to me.

In a firm tone, she said, "Everyone makes mistakes. Maxwell might've gone astray in the past, but what's more important is that he's turned over a new leaf. As for the company's imprest funds, consider them a loan from me to him. I'll reimburse the company later."

I stared at her in disbelief. Even with solid proof of Maxwell's past doings, she still chose to take his side.

"Whitney, have you lost your mind?"

Whitney rose to her feet with a righteous expression on her face.

"I trust my judgement. Maxwell has made mistakes before because of unavoidable circumstances in life, but he isn't evil. On the other hand, you are being overbearing and jumping at shadows—hardly the behaviour I'd expect from a real man."

To think she'd say that I wasn't behaving like a real man because of that pretentious, manipulative Maxwell…

"Whitney, since you insist on taking his side, we might as well put an end to our marriage."

Whitney frowned. Impatient and convinced I wasn't serious, she snapped, "Harvey, stop it. Do you think it's proper to bring up a divorce over a small issue like this? I know you're mad, so I'll overlook how you've made a fuss out of nothing today."

I calmly returned her gaze. "I'm serious about this. I'll send you the divorce papers tomorrow. As for him…"

I walked up to Maxwell, who was hiding behind Whitney. He peeked out from behind her, and the smug look in his eyes was clear as day.

He thought he'd won.

I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out from behind Whitney.

He yelped, "Whit!"

"Harvey, what are you doing?" Whitney reached out to stop me.

I snatched the iced coffee from the table and splashed it on Maxwell's face. He gasped for air as the coffee dripped off his face. It was a pathetic sight.

"Here's some coffee for you." I patted off any residue on my hands and used a tissue to wipe them clean, disgusted.

I continued, "You're both sorry excuses for humans—a match made in heaven indeed."

Whitney was so furious that she was shaking all over. She swung her hand high to hit me.

I caught her arm and stared at her coldly. "I dare you to hit me. If you do, you'll only prove that we truly aren't getting along.

"Remember, our company is soon getting listed. If word gets out that the vice president is having an affair with her employee, is involved in domestic abuse of her husband, and has spent the company's funds on her lover, do you think the board of directors will allow you to keep your position?"

Whitney's arm froze mid-air, and she slowly lowered it. Through gritted teeth, she hissed, "Harvey Spencer, are you threatening me?"

"So what if I'm threatening you?" I retorted, flinging her arm to one side and heading for the door. I continued, "Whitney, the fight has only just begun. I will show you that you're nothing without me."

I pulled out my phone and called the legal department. "Mr. Scott, draft me a divorce agreement. I want to make sure Whitney doesn't get a single penny from the divorce. Then, contact the media on my behalf. I have a surprise for our vice president."