After the Heartache of Love, I Found My Comfort

My wife's family possessed assets worth tens of millions of dollars, so I chose to marry into her family and live with them.

Her foster brother baselessly accused me of causing her father's vegetative state and claimed I married her for money.

Due to his suspicion, I was sent to prison.

She broke my hand, which I used for painting, stabbed my eye, which I used for photography, and left a four-inch scar on my face.

My mother knelt before her, begging for my release.

After being released, I avoided her like the plague.

Yet she haunted me like a vengeful ghost.

My mother spent her life savings to bail me out, but my wife demanded my mother apologize on the spot before she would let me go.

On the way home, my mother suffered a heart attack from anger and collapsed on the spot, then was hit by a passing vehicle and became a vegetable.

Seeing that we both suffered similar fates, the Lopez family finally agreed to let me go.

Upon my release, the first thing I did was sign the divorce agreement, vowing never to have any connection with the Lopez family again.

To earn money for my mother's treatment, I took on two high-paying jobs.

I thought I had paid a high enough price, but until I saw my ex-wife, Jenesis Lopez, at the bar, I realized how naive and laughable I was.

She was surrounded by a group of friends, her gaze upon me filled with arrogance and disdain.

"Isn't this the great artist Westley Henderson? How come you're in such a lowly place like a bar?

"I remember you used to look down on places like this."

As she spoke, she pulled out a wad of cash and threw it in my face.

"Serve my friends well, and there's more."

I gritted my teeth, my jaw trembling uncontrollably.

"You've got the wrong person. I just sell drinks, not a stripper."

With those words, mocking laughter instantly surrounded me.

Jenesis's face turned slightly grim. After a moment, she pulled out several thousand dollars and threw it in front of me.

"You can be!"

They casually named a few wines, crushing my last shred of dignity.

Those wines, more expensive than my life, if sold, could cover my mother's medication for a month.

I slowly lowered my head and turned to get the wines.

My hand, broken by her stomping in prison and left untreated, trembled as I held the tray, sweat quickly forming on my forehead.

Holding the tray out in mid-air for a long while, no one reached out.

Cold sweat soaked my shirt.

After a while, Jenesis raised her eyebrows at me.

"Aren't you going to drink to sell the wines? Don't you know the rules here?"

As she spoke, my hand gripping the tray tightened incessantly.

We had been together for five years, and she knew I was allergic to alcohol.

If it weren't for the scar on my face and the old injury on my wrist, I wouldn't have been forced to choose this job.

As I casually opened a bottle, prepared to drink, she snatched it from me.

The wine poured on the ground, soaking into the carpet under the sofa.

She lifted her chin, gesturing for me to kneel on the ground.

"Oops, how careless of me. This wine is very expensive. What should we do? Why don't you suck it from the carpet?"

My gaze fell on the carpet, unprecedented humiliation surrounding me.

The carpet in the bar, trampled by countless men and women, was never cleaned.

The passing manager, Monroe Smith, saw this and walked straight to me.

He kicked me in the back of my knee.

Suddenly, my legs went weak, and I knelt on the ground.

I kept trying to calm myself down.

"Westley Henderson, stay calm.

This is the best job you could find."

Seeing me unmoved, Jenesis threw another thousand dollars at my head, the bills scattering on the ground.

I stiffly bent down, my face getting closer to the carpet, yet I refused to lower my head completely.

In the next second, Jenesis's stiletto heel pressed down on my head.

My head tilted, my face pressed hard against the carpet, and the light fell, illuminating the terrifying scar in my eye corner.

That scar was from when she stabbed me with a pen in prison. The pen tip pierced my eyeball, and in my pain, I avoided it, leaving a terrifying scar on my face.

After the rescue, I still lost my left eye.

The surrounding people exclaimed as if they had just discovered the scar.

"What's that on his face? So scary! How can they hire such people?"

They knew better than anyone the origin of my wound, yet they pretended to be completely unaware, which deeply pierced my heart.

Jenesis smiled lightly, her stiletto heel gently caressing along my scar.

"Is this still our great artist? I can't recognize him."

With those words, she pressed her foot down on my hand on the ground, grinding it hard.

The severed tendons couldn't heal, but the flesh was still excruciatingly painful.

"Westley, did you use this hand to tamper with my dad's car?"

She spoke word by word. With each word she uttered, the pressure of her foot on my hand grew heavier.

Picking up the scattered bills, she slapped my face with them.

"Not drinking yet? Waiting for me to invite you?"

Monroe, who had been frozen, regained his senses at these words.

He kicked my butt.

"Drink it now! She's a VIP here. If you can't take care of her, don't ever come to work again!"

With that, he forcefully turned my head, pressing my lips to the carpet.

My face was already covered in rashes from the carpet's alcohol.

At that moment, both of my hands were useless, and Monroe's strength was so great that I couldn't break free.

Jenesis smiled wickedly in my ear, whispering, "This is your retribution for harming my dad!"