"Besides, even if what's inside isn't real Moutai, so what? My son got that bottle! This prize came from my son's luck! It has nothing to do with you, nothing to do with your broke parents—not even a cent!"
I looked at them coldly.
My voice was so calm it didn't carry a single ripple.
"Fine."
"Then guard that 'luck' properly."
I left those icy words hanging, didn't bother watching their faces cycle through their wonderfully varied expressions, turned around, went back to the bedroom, and locked the door.
I knew they wouldn't let it go. That "five million" mirage had already sunk its hooks deep into their souls.
The next morning, just as dawn broke.
I got ready for work like usual and headed down to the underground parking garage.
From a distance, I spotted it—the driver's side window of my white sedan, shattered all over the ground.
My heart dropped. I rushed over.
The inside had been ransacked. The storage compartment hung open, small odds and ends scattered across the seats and floor mats.
On the passenger seat, that dark red Moutai gift box I'd deliberately placed there yesterday had vanished.
Sure enough.
They made their move.
I just hadn't expected them to stoop this low.
Rage shot straight to my head, but I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm.
After confirming nothing else was missing, I turned around and went back upstairs.
In the living room, Ryan and Mrs. Lambert sat at the dining table eating breakfast.
My gaze swept over them coldly.
"Ryan, my car was broken into."
His hand holding the spoon paused. He didn't even look up, just gave a vague "Oh."
Mrs. Lambert snorted a laugh and set down her chopsticks.
"Oh, your car was broken into? Did you forget to lock it? Thieves these days really are something—specifically targeting careless people like you."
I kept staring at Ryan. "The Moutai I left on the passenger seat is gone."
He finally raised his head, guilt and impatience flickering across his face.
"If it's gone, it's gone. It wasn't yours anyway. Whoever ends up with it, it's theirs…"
"Whoever ends up with it, it's theirs?"
I was so angry I almost laughed.
"So breaking into my car and stealing my things—in your eyes, that's perfectly fine? That's just skill?"
"Don't make it sound so ugly!"
Mrs. Lambert slammed the table and shot to her feet.
"What do you mean stealing? That liquor was my son's to begin with! My son taking back what's his—what's wrong with that? You're the one who left something that valuable lying around, and you think you're in the right?"
Ryan puffed up like he was going all in, neck jutting out stubbornly.
"Joy, I'm telling you—the bottle's in my hands now. This prize has nothing to do with your parents!"
Something inside me snapped at the sheer absurdity of it all.
"Since you've said it like this. Done things like this."
I took a step back.
"Ryan, let's get a divorce."
His eyes went wide, like he hadn't expected me to say it so cleanly, so decisively.
Mrs. Lambert froze for a second too—but quickly, her expression twisted into pure elation.
"Divorce! You have to divorce!" Her voice trembled with excitement. "Joy, you said it yourself! Don't you dare regret it!"
She yanked hard on Ryan's sleeve.
"Hurry up and divorce her—what are you standing there like an idiot for? A daughter-in-law who only cares about her own family should've been kicked out long ago. Once we get that five million, Mom will find you a better one!"
The shock on Ryan's face crumbled fast, crushed under the weight of greed.
He tried to make his voice sound tough.
"Fine, divorce! But the assets have to be divided properly! That five million…"
