My wife is the daughter of a top jewelry tycoon. She accused me of pushing her mother down the stairs to steal the family fortune and had me thrown in prison.

While I was locked up, her people disfigured my face and crushed my hands—the same hands that once played the piano.

After my release, I run from her like a madman. Just like she said I would, I give up and start mooching off a wealthy woman.

But then, she clings to me and begs me not to leave.

With insufficient evidence to hold me, I drained my savings to get out of prison and landed a job at a bar. On my very first day, my ex-wife showed up at the place where I worked.

"Well, if it isn't the great piano prodigy, slumming it here?" My ex-wife, Helga Steele, perched on a barstool, sneering. "Get me a whiskey."

In the past, I would've reminded her that her stomach couldn't handle alcohol. But after her people broke my hands and ruined my face, I knew the more I spoke, the less she'd listen.

I set the freshly mixed whiskey down right in front of her. Sure enough, she took one sniff before slinging the icy drink straight at my white button-down.

"It tastes yucky. You are bad at this."

I didn't care. She had money, so I kept mixing. After all, I made 20 bucks off every drink I mixed.

Mom was in the hospital, racking up thousands in medical bills every day. I didn't have any better way to make money.

A single piano gig would've paid me hundreds of thousands back then. Medical bills? They wouldn't have even been an issue.

I kept mixing drinks as Helga kept splashing them on me.

My white shirt was completely soaked by now. The freezing alcohol seeped through the fabric and clung to my skin, sending chills down my spine. I gritted my teeth, struggling to keep my cool.

"What, you trying to get soaked to charm some rich, pretty woman in here?"

She grabbed my white shirt suddenly, yanking me close, her face twisted in disdain. Then, she threw the drink I'd just made for her right in my face.

The foundation covering my scars streaked away, revealing the ugly marks beneath.

"How'd you even manage to seduce some heiress with disgusting scars like these?"

Her long acrylic nails traced my scars, the light touch sending an electric shiver through me. Even now, as I stared at her flawless face glowing under the lights, my pulse refused to slow.

Helga let out a triumphant snicker. "Let me make this clear, Xavier—I hate you. I'll keep you in the dirt where you belong. And don't you dare fantasize about me!"

I barked out a bitter laugh. "Pretty sure I'm six feet under as it is. The only thing I'm getting out of today is you dumping drinks on me. It's putting some extra cash in my pocket."

Her smile dripped with satisfaction. "You got what you deserved. Still, I guess I could throw a little business your way for old times' sake."

Helga turned around and made a quick call.

Before long, her friends, including her childhood friend Zeke Lanning, showed up and booked the biggest private room in the place.

The manager, Arthur Wilder, said they had specifically requested me to serve in the VIP room.

VIP rooms guaranteed 500 bucks in tips, so there was no way I was turning that down. I needed the money even if they were just there to mock or humiliate me.

In the VIP room, attendants were required to serve on their knees. So there I was, kneeling on the carpet, pouring drinks while everyone stared at me in shock.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day the proud Piano Prince would be on his knees serving us drinks."

Helga's best friend, Maeve Sommer, took the glass, her hand brushing against mine. There was something odd in her gaze before she turned to Helga with a teasing smirk.

"No wonder you dumped him, Hel. Even his touch feels worse now that he's out of prison."

A sudden, sharp heat flared across my cheek. Helga had slapped me.

I stared into her furious eyes, completely bewildered.

Her jaw tightened as she glared. "Xavier, you even hooked up with my bestie?"

Maeve quickly turned to Helga with a flattering gaze and said, "How would that even be possible, Hel? I was just messing with you. You know me. I've never been short on men. I just wanted to see if you're still a lovesick fool, if you'd actually teach some scumbag a lesson."

I was speechless. Helga and I had been each other's first and only love. When had I ever been a scumbag to anyone?

Still, the customer was always right, so I kept pouring their drinks in silence. My heart stayed calm as I served them like other customers with unusual tastes.

Helga looked at me, her expression unreadable.

"Feel like opening a bottle of wine?" I asked with a faint smile.

All I cared about was making the sale. Here I was, kneeling and pouring drinks for a lousy 500 bucks. If they weren't going to order some overpriced wine and give me a decent cut, I couldn't even be bothered to humor them.

"You!" She paused, then smiled in understanding. "Right. I promised I'd send some business your way. Bring out your most expensive liquor."

I mustered a smile bright enough to pass. "You got it. Just a moment."

After I called Arthur, he wheeled in a cart loaded with bottles and lined them up on the table.

I did the math in my head. My cut from these would be tens of thousands, enough to cover Mom's hospital bills for days.

A quiet sigh of relief escaped me.

Helga suddenly turned to me and said, "We'll never finish all this. You know I don't drink. So are you gonna drink for us, or should we use this expensive booze to wash your filthy body?"

"The customer's always right. It's your call," I replied.

Since she was feeling generous, I didn't hold back playing along. No matter how weird or twisted the request, I could handle them all. Money was just too damn hard to come by.

Just as I expected, Helga had her friends dump dozens of bottles of alcohol over me, one glass at a time.

Even with the AC running, I couldn't stop shivering. But I stayed on my knees, forcing myself to keep serving them without letting my hands tremble.

Ever since my injury, too much cold water would send my hands into agonizing cramps. Now, they were seizing up with sharp, stabbing pains shooting through them.

But there were still more than a dozen bottles left. My hair and clothes were drenched, liquor dripping from my strands onto the carpet below.

"That's enough," Helga muttered abruptly.

"I'm not done having fun yet, Hel," Zeke said, then upended a bottle of liquor over my head with a nasty grin. "He's the reason your mom's lying unconscious in the hospital.

"If you can't bring yourself to do it, I'll teach this gold-digging social climber a lesson instead. After marrying the prestigious heiress of Jesserton, he not only took it all for granted, but also made your life miserable."

Zeke gave the others a look. As Jesserton's heir, his authority was absolute, and they obeyed without hesitation, drenching me in more liquor.

"I didn't do it, Helly. I swear I didn't push Rosa down the stairs," I said.

I knew explaining was pointless, but I had to try every time this came up. Helga's mother, Rosa Redding, had always treated me like her own son. Why would I kill her over some inheritance?

By the time I got there, Rosa had already fallen. Every maid in the house accused me of pushing her. And of course, the surveillance cameras in the villa just happened to be down.

In the end, Helga had me arrested without a shred of evidence and dragged straight to the police station.

My buddy wiped out my life savings just to bail me out so I could see Mom before she got worse.

Helga slapped me across the face again. "Who told you you could call me that? I said never to call me that again!"

I stared into her eyes, burning with hatred, my chest aching. What else could I do to make her believe me?

We dated for four years in college and had been married for five. Did she really not trust me at all?

Did she think I was just some gold-digging social climber who married into her family for money like everyone else?

I was the one who wanted us to sign a prenup at the time, but Helga refused. She said she trusted me.

After we got married, I continued working as a pianist. The money I made was enough to support her, Mom, and me, with plenty left over to save. I never took a single penny from Helga or the Steeles.

Zeke got to his feet, staring at me like I was the worst kind of monster. "Mrs. Steele was still barely conscious when I arrived. She told me you pushed her down the stairs. Why would I frame you?

"Do you honestly think someone like me, the heir to the Lannings, would go out of my way to set up a gold-digging social climber like you?"

The alcohol from my hair trickled into my eyes, stinging and blurring my vision. Around me, Helga's friends kept chiming in.

"Exactly. Why would Mr. Lanning frame you? You're just greedy. How could you hurt Mrs. Steele after everything Helga's done for you?"

"You're not climbing back up, Xavier, not while we're around."

I didn't care what they said. I just needed Helga to hold on a little longer. Not that I was afraid, but with Mom being sick, I had responsibilities. I couldn't risk another incident or losing my job.

I turned to Helga, my voice nearly pleading. "Ms. Steele, just wait until Rosa comes to. Then we'll know what really happened."

A flicker of surprise crossed her face as her eyes met mine, then she scoffed. "Oh, so now it's 'Ms. Steele?' That was quick."

I offered her a thin smile. "I learned a lot from you, Ms. Steele."

She pressed her lips together. "We don't need you here. Get out."

I let out a quiet sigh of relief and headed to the shower area to wash the alcohol off me. Then, a wave of perfume hit me from behind, and suddenly, I was shoved against the wall.

"Why wash it off? That wine smells good on you." Maeve pinned me there, leaning in until her breath brushed my ear. "Are you mad because I got you slapped?"

I kept my smile easy. "The customer's always right, Ms. Sommer."

"Xavier, since Helga's done with you, you could always consider me. After all, we knew each other first in college. So, how did you end up falling for her? Was it because her family was richer than mine?"

What kind of game were these people playing? Were they testing me again to see if I was some kind of scumbag?

They should cut me some slack. Even if a literal goddess threw herself at me, the only thing on my mind would be earning enough to save Mom. After that, every spare penny goes to my legal fees.

"I can't stand that cold, arrogant look on your face. You've been knocked down into the dirt, yet still act like you're better than everyone else. What do you even have left to be proud of?" Maeve mocked.

When I didn't answer, she shoved me aside and went to wash her hands.

I couldn't be bothered with Maeve, so I made straight for the door.

She was a reckless heiress who played around, and none of her flings had ever lasted more than a month. Even if she hadn't been testing me earlier, she was just playing games with me.

I was about to leave when Maeve leaned against the wall, wiping her hands with a tissue. She raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Hey, Xavier, I meant what I said. If you change your mind and are really desperate for cash, I'm more generous than that woman outside. I'll give you six figures, at least, each time."

I heard footsteps approaching and knew it was Helga just by the rhythm. We'd been married so long, after all.

"Six figures each time? What exactly would you have me do, Ms. Sommer?" I asked.

The footsteps outside stopped. Helga didn't enter—she was eavesdropping.

"Actually, I was the one who wrote those love letters Helga sent you. But those feelings in them? They were real," Maeve said, stepping closer.

Suddenly, Helga burst in and slapped Maeve across the face.

The blow was hard, and Maeve's cheek swelled instantly. Helga's long acrylic nails left angry red scratches down her face.

I smirked.

Helga couldn't stand it when the people closest to her weren't genuine.