Zhonghai was under a pounding rain.
Inside the Holden family courtyard, voices rolled like boiling water. The whole place was alive.
Today was Patrick Holden’s housewarming feast. The head of the Holden family had just moved into a villa at Tangchen Yipin. It was a grand occasion, so he invited guests from all sides and laid out a rich banquet.
The people who came to offer congratulations filled the hall with nonstop chatter. Joy hung everywhere in the Holden residence.
“Moving from old branches to tall trees, swallows flying into a high hall. I present one bolt of fine silk, and wish Master Holden rising fortune after fortune.”
“A lucky home on blessed ground, purple light upon the new beam. This old man offers Master Holden a pair of golden canaries…”
Gifts came in one after another. Blessings did too.
Patrick Holden and his wife, Beatrice Holden, stood in the middle of it all with smiles spread across their faces. Husband and wife basked in the glow of the moment. The whole hall looked smooth, warm, and full of cheer.
Then the door was shoved open.
A man stumbled into the main hall. He was soaked through from head to toe. Rainwater dripped from his hair, ran down his face, and soaked his clothes tight against his body. He looked miserable, almost broken. The minute he came in, he raised his voice and begged like a man with nowhere left to go.
“Dad! Mom! Melissa! My mother was in a carriage accident. She’s got bleeding in the skull. She needs surgery right now, or she could die!”
“Please—please lend me three hundred thousand!!!”
The man stood there drenched, breathing hard, eyes fixed on Patrick Holden and Beatrice Holden in the main seats.
The hall went still for a beat.
Then laughter burst out.
“Who’s this supposed to be? Borrowing money on a day like this? Has he got no sense at all?”
“Hair all over the place, soaked like that... don’t tell me he’s some lunatic?”
Some people stared at him, baffled.
But those who knew him curled their lips and laughed coldly.
“Who else could it be? The Holdens only have one daughter. He’s calling them Dad and Mom. No need to guess. This has to be the Holden family’s live-in son-in-law, Marcus Whitfield.”
The moment that was said, everyone understood.
The Holden family’s live-in son-in-law was no secret in Zhonghai.
Two years ago, under the old master’s hard hand, the Holden family’s daughter, Melissa Holden, had been forced into marriage with a man named Marcus Whitfield.
They all said Marcus Whitfield came from nothing. No family name. No backing. No skill, no worth.
And worst of all, he was spineless.
That was why the Holden family had never looked at him straight. In their eyes, this live-in son-in-law was less than a man.
Even Melissa Holden, the only daughter of the family, could not stand this useless husband of hers.
Their marriage had long since turned into an empty shell. Husband and wife in name only.
Now that everyone saw him in person, the rumors did not miss by a hair.
This was Marcus Whitfield, all right.
Soaked through. Filthy. Miserable from head to toe.
And he had actually barged right into the banquet looking like that.
The moment Beatrice Holden saw him, her face darkened on the spot. She sprang up like a cat with its tail stepped on and shrieked, “Marcus Whitfield, are you tired of living? Do you even know how much this carpet costs? If you dirty it, can you afford to pay for it? Get out. Right now!”
Melissa Holden was sitting on the sofa. She frowned at once, her pretty face full of disgust as she looked at him, as if one more glance would soil her eyes.
Marcus stood there dripping rainwater. His clothes clung to his body. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His face was pale, and his lips trembled.
“Mother-in-law,” he said, voice hoarse, almost begging, “my mom is in the hospital right now. Please, save her. Three hundred thousand. Just treat it as a loan to me, alright?”
His face was full of pleading. It was the look of a man driven to the wall, with nowhere left to go.
“Three hundred thousand?” Beatrice Holden’s voice shot up sharp enough to pierce the room. “Heavens, listen to yourself. You want me to hand you three hundred thousand? Marcus Whitfield, do you take me for a fool?”
She strode over and pointed straight at his face, fierce as a knife. “Since you love money so much, why don’t you go rob a bank?”
The guests around them looked on with strange smiles, their eyes full of ridicule.
Beatrice Holden did not hold back in the slightest. She sneered, “My Holden family has money, yes. But what are you? A live-in son-in-law. What right do you have to spend Holden family money?”
She jabbed a finger at the soaked floor beneath his feet and barked, “Get out! Let me tell you this—this carpet alone costs more than three hundred thousand. Can you pay for it?!”
The more she looked at Marcus, the more disgust rose in her chest.
If the old master had not insisted back then on bringing Marcus into the family, she would have kicked this piece of trash out long ago.
Now the old master was lying in the hospital himself, gravely ill, barely hanging on.
No one was left to shield Marcus anymore.
Marcus’s expression turned bleak.
For two years after marrying into the family, he had kept his head down and endured everything. He cooked, washed clothes, cleaned the house, did every chore he was told to do. He had never done a single thing to wrong the Holden family.
But even so, in their eyes, he was never a person.
At best, he was a dog they kept by the door.
His fists slowly clenched. The veins on the backs of his hands stood out. Pain burned in his face, and the rainwater dripping from his sleeves tapped softly onto the floor.
At last, he lifted his eyes and looked at his wife, Melissa Holden.
There was bitterness in his gaze. There was also one last thread of hope he could not bear to cut.
“Melissa,” he said in a low, aching voice, “I know you’ve never liked me. But for the sake of the time we were husband and wife... help me this one last time. Will you?”
His face was full of pleading. He had humbled himself all the way into the dirt.
But Melissa Holden rose to her feet as well. She looked at Marcus Whitfield and laughed, light and sharp.
“Marcus, my mother is right. You eat off the Holden family, you live off the Holden family. We don’t owe you a damn thing. Why should we lend you three hundred thousand? Just because you’re my cheap husband?” She gave a cold sneer. “Don’t make me laugh. If my grandfather hadn’t gone senile, do you think I would’ve married trash like you?”
Every word was like a needle, driving hard into Marcus’s heart.
His fists clenched tight. His nails bit straight into his palms until blood seeped out.
Thud!