Chapter 73
# Michael's POV
I don't know how I walked away from the city hall entrance.
Those two glaring marriage certificates, the undisguised smile on Benjamin's face, and that kiss Ophelia planted on his cheek as she stood on tiptoes—they replayed in my mind in slow motion, torturing me over and over again.
She got married.
Just like that. While I thought I still had a chance, while I was still wallowing in the self-pity of playing the tragic hero, she had already, without a second thought, tied her life to another man's.
My chest felt like it had been hollowed out, a bitter chill rushing through the emptiness, bringing waves of sharp pain.
By the time I made it back to the Johnson villa, it was already noon the next day.
In the living room, my mom, Winter, was holding a bowl of steaming hot soup, impatiently urging Grandpa.
"Dad, just drink it already. I had someone make this especially for you all morning. It'll start tasting fishy once it gets cold."
Grandpa was leaning back on the sofa, looking very weak. He waved his hand dismissively, not even glancing at the bowl of soup. His cloudy eyes just stayed fixed on the window as he let out a long sigh.
"If only Ophelia were still here," his voice was hoarse, thick with longing. "She was the best at taking care of people. The soup she made was light and comforting, and she could always coax me into drinking a little more. Not like now..."
"Dad!" My mom's shrill voice instantly cut him off. She slammed the bowl of soup down on the table, scalding liquid splashing out. She didn't even care. "Why are you bringing her up again? What's so great about that, Ophelia? Always making a fuss and causing trouble. If she hadn't insisted on breaking off the engagement, would the Johnson family be in this state? I think she's bad luck!"
Standing in the entryway, I listened to my mom's warped accusations and felt sick to my stomach.
It was Freya and I who betrayed her. It was I who abandoned her for profit. How did it become all her fault in my mom's mouth?
"Shut up!" Grandpa slammed the armrest, shaking with anger, his chest heaving violently. "How dare you say that! All these years, how have you treated Ophelia? She did so much for the Johnson family—did you ever treat her like family for even one day? When she bought new clothes, you said she was wasting money. When she ate a little more, you said she had no manners! Now you've driven her away, and you're blaming her? Winter, do you have no conscience at all?"
Each of Grandpa's accusations was like a slap across my face.
Burning hot pain.
Yes, all these years, how could I not know about my mom's mistreatment of Ophelia? But what did I do? I just weakly told her to endure, to be understanding, using flimsy excuses like "that's just how my mom is" to dismiss all her grievances.
"How do I lack conscience?" My mom, stung by his words, raised her voice as well. "Who am I doing this for? Isn't it for Michael, for this family! You think everyone's like you, just thinking about an outsider? If Ophelia really cared, why didn't she come back when our family was in trouble? Now that she's latched onto the Wilson family, she ignores the Johnson family completely. Such an ungrateful person—only you still treat her like a treasure!"
"You..." Grandpa was so angry he couldn't speak, his pointing hand trembling.
Just then, my dad, Cedric Johnson, walked in from outside.
He frowned as he heard the last few lines of the argument, his face showing no emotion, just speaking flatly.
"Enough. What are you arguing about in the middle of the day?"
He took off his coat and handed it to a servant, walked over to Grandpa, and advised in a distant tone, "Dad, why do you keep thinking about someone who's no longer relevant? Let Michael handle his own affairs. What kind of man gets controlled by a woman?"
The contempt in his words made me clench my fists.
Yes, in his eyes, feelings were the most worthless thing, and women were just chips that could be replaced at any time.
As soon as my mom saw my dad return, she immediately found her backbone. She stopped arguing with Grandpa and rushed over, her face full of flattering smiles. "Honey, you're back. How did it go? The White family's investment..."
"Secured." My dad was brief.
"Really?" My mom's eyes lit up instantly, her face showing undisguised joy. "That's wonderful! I knew Preston wouldn't just stand by and watch, given our families' past relationship!"
My dad glanced at her, his look like he was viewing an idiot. "Relationship? There are no relationships in business, only interests."
He then turned his gaze to me, his eyes cold and assessing, like evaluating a commodity's value.
"Michael, you'll follow up on the White family project," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I heard Preston values his eldest daughter lately. Find an opportunity to get close to her. It'll be good for our continued cooperation."
That daughter from the White family...
Ophelia's sister?
Could there be anything more absurd, more ironic in this world?
Looking at my parents' faces, beaming with joy over securing the investment, I felt my chest tighten. A heavy, nameless sadness and despair closed in on me completely.
They didn't know that the core value of the White family they'd worked so hard to court had been pushed away by my own hands.
They knew even less that their smug victory was nothing more than a casual handout from Benjamin and Ophelia.
"What are you standing there for? Go wash your hands and get ready to eat!" My mom cheerfully pulled my dad toward the dining room. "We should really celebrate today!"
I followed behind like a puppet on strings, my mind blank. Just then, someone suddenly knocked on the front door of the villa.
"Excuse me, is this Michael Johnson's home? I have a letter for you."
I froze in the entryway like a soulless statue.
My dad took the letter and casually opened it, still wearing that air of business-world authority on his face.
My mom was still beside him, shrilly complaining about Grandpa, her sharp and ignorant voice filling the entire living room. But I couldn't hear anything—all my attention was drawn to that letter in my dad's hands.
From that thin envelope slid out two things.
One was a bright red wedding photo—Freya and me smiling, which now looked like two clowns' ridiculous masks.
The voices in the living room stopped abruptly.
My dad's gaze was fixed on those two pieces of paper. The color drained from his face at a visible rate, replaced by a dark, stormy gray.
His fingers gripping the papers trembled slightly from excessive force, the veins at his temples throbbing.
The next second, with a tremendous crash, that expensive dining table, along with the carefully prepared meal and that bowl of hot soup my mom had made, was violently overturned. The sharp sound of shattering porcelain mixed with splashing soup exploded in my ears.
"Bastard!"
A roar, suppressed to the extreme, thundered like lightning.
Before I could react, something like a sudden gust of wind, thick with humiliation, struck hard across my left cheek.
The burning pain spread instantly. My ears rang, and a rusty, bloody taste filled my mouth.
Cedric's chest heaved violently. Those eyes, usually shrewd and cold, were now bloodshot, their gaze sinister enough to devour me alive.
"Michael, you bastard! Won't you be satisfied until you've destroyed the Johnson family!"
"Honey, what are you doing!" My mom screamed, frightened by this sudden turn of events. Without even looking at what had happened, she instinctively rushed over to shield me. "Have you lost your mind! Why are you hitting Michael?"
"Get out of my way!" Cedric shoved her aside, pointing at the wedding photo on the floor, his voice trembling. "Look at what your precious son has done! Ask him!"
Only then did she see what was on the floor. She picked it up, her expression changing from shock to confusion, and finally to a kind of nonchalant relief.
She patted my arm and actually said to my dad matter-of-factly, "What's the big deal? Freya has no blood relation to our family. If the two kids are in love, we as parents should support them! Why are you so angry?"
"Support?" Cedric looked at my mom like he'd heard the biggest joke, his eyes full of disappointment and fury. "Winter, have you completely lost your mind? If this gets out, where does the Johnson family's dignity go? What about the project I just secured from Preston? Do you think the Johnson family isn't dying fast enough!"
He suddenly turned to my mom, his eyes growing even colder. "Something this big—you two, mother and son, you knew all along, didn't you? You've been hiding it from me this whole time, haven't you?"