He Smashed My Villa Gate, I Smashed His Family’s Fate

Today was my birthday, and someone kept kicking the front gate of my mansion.

As soon as I opened the door, my wife rushed out and threw herself into the arms of a palefaced man.

“Baby, I’ll come back to you later. You’re the one I love the most. Don’t overthink, okay?”

My heart sank, and I instinctively wanted to step forward.

But my wife slammed the door shut and shouted, “Don’t come out! Celebrate your birthday by yourself. I’m not coming home tonight!”

The pretty boy outside kept kicking the door, cursing loudly:

“What’s so great about a birthday? Emily is mine! If you keep holding onto her, I’ll find someone to cut you down!”

Locked inside the mansion by my own wife, I suddenly felt like the original husband who had to live in the shadows.

I was filled with despair. After donating bone marrow to my wife, my body had become extremely weak, forcing me to go abroad for recovery.

In those two years, I missed my promotion. Fortunately, through relentless effort, I expanded overseas markets and secured global shares, ready to reinvest back home.

Just as my assistant delivered partnership files, the man called me.

“I advise you to leave Emily Parker right away. Miller Corporation is not to be messed with.”

“Emily and I are planning to have children. If you don’t want to raise my kid, then get divorced immediately!”

So shameless—snatching someone’s wife and speaking with such righteousness?

I tapped the partnership list at hand. At the very bottom ranked none other than Miller Corporation…

…

The phone screen glowed. My fingertip lingered over the send button for two seconds, then I pressed it.

“Come back and sign the divorce papers. I’m done wasting time.”

The confirmation message popped up just as dawn crept through the window.

The birthday cake still sat on the table inside the mansion, its candles covered in a thin layer of dust.

Emily’s reply came quickly: “Wait for me at home. We’ll talk facetoface.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I turned toward the study.

On the desk lay two documents. On the left was the draft divorce agreement from the lawyer.

In the asset division section, I deliberately struck out the company shares that should have belonged to me, keeping only the ownership of my pharmaceutical patent.

On the right was a file compiled by my subordinates on Jason Miller. In the photo, the palefaced man smirked arrogantly, but the word “illegitimate child” stood out sharply in the dossier.

He was the hidden son of Miller Corporation’s chairman, someone who couldn’t even get close to core business. His only bargaining chip was to marry upward into power.

My fingertip tapped on the words “Emily Parker’s IPO plan,” and I sneered.

Before I went abroad for treatment, I had authorized my team’s pharmaceutical patent to Emily’s company, which helped her small firm secure a foothold in the industry. Now the company was about to go public.

Jason wasn’t in it for love. He was only after influence in his family, hoping to ride on the IPO wave to gain a voice in Miller Corporation.

By noon the next day, I finally heard the sound of keys turning in the lock.

Emily pushed open the door, her face still flushed. But the moment she saw me, whatever warmth she carried instantly vanished.

She dropped onto the sofa, her tone sharp and unyielding:

“I already told Jason, I’m not getting divorced.”

“Divorce is between you and me,” I leaned back in the chair, staring at her misplaced confidence. “Since when do outsiders get a vote?”

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her purse, but she stayed defiant:

“Don’t be childish! The IPO is around the corner. If we divorce now, the stock price and partnerships will collapse. Can you handle that responsibility?”

“Responsibility?” I suddenly stood, pressing my temple with my thumb.

My body still ached from the surgery, but the absurdity of this conversation hurt even more.

“Who begged me to authorize the patent? Who cheated with another man while I was overseas recovering? And now you lecture me about responsibility?”

My words caught her off guard. She faltered, but quickly glared back at me, raising her voice:

“Even if we divorce, don’t you dare think of taking the patent! That’s the blood and sweat of the entire company!”

“My team developed that patent. Your company is only in partnership,” I tossed the authorization papers on the table in front of her.

“Don’t use ‘blood and sweat’ as moral blackmail. You know perfectly well whose work it is.”

Emily’s expression shifted at last, panic flickering in her eyes. She inched closer, her tone suddenly softer:

“Just wait until after the IPO, okay? By then I’ll compensate you—any amount you want.”

“I don’t need it.” My interruption was cold as ice.

“The marriage ends. Sign the agreement, or I’ll take it to court.”

Emily slammed the table and shot up, ready to explode, when her phone suddenly rang.

Glancing at the screen, her face softened instantly. She answered in a syrupy tone:

“Baby, what’s wrong? Okay, I’ll come right away… No, I didn’t say much to him.”

Hanging up, she didn’t even spare me a glance. She snatched her purse and bolted for the door, the clatter of her heels fading down the hallway like a stinging slap across my face.

I drew a deep breath and began packing my suitcase—the mansion was suffocating, filled with nothing but bitterness.

Just as I dragged the suitcase to the door, my phone rang again. The caller ID showed Emily’s mother.

I hesitated, then answered, out of respect for the elder.

“Mrs. Parker, Emily and I are getting divorced.”

There was silence first. Then Mr. Parker’s indifferent voice came through:

“If there’s no love left, let it go. Better to part on good terms.”

But the next second, Mrs. Parker snatched the phone, her voice shrill and piercing:

“Will! If you’re a real man, don’t sabotage the IPO! That patent must stay with Emily—it’s her life! You can’t burn the bridge after crossing it!”

The words burn the bridge pounded in my head like a nail.

Clenching the phone, I spoke slowly:

“Mrs. Parker, Emily’s life was saved by my bone marrow. The patent is mine. You know very well who’s burning bridges here. This call is just to inform you.”

I hung up, opened the door with my suitcase, and froze.

A familiar black sedan was parked outside. My father, Richard Johnson, and my younger brother, Kevin Johnson, stood beside it. Kevin turned away awkwardly, while Richard’s face was like thunder.

The moment he saw me, he barked:

“Who told you to divorce Emily Parker?”

The suitcase wheels thudded against the steps. Before I could answer, his accusations rained down like hailstones, shattering two years of missed family longing in an instant.

My grip on the handle tightened. My voice dropped low:

“So you both already know?”

“So what if we do?” Richard stepped forward, jabbing a finger at my nose.

“What’s wrong with Emily? She’s rich, has status, and treats you well enough. Why the hell would you divorce her?”

“I don’t love her anymore. Her heart belongs to someone else.” I tried to stay calm, though my fingertips trembled.

“Divorce is the best choice for both of us.”

“Bullshit!” Richard roared, the sound rattling my eardrums.

“What will you get after divorce? Kevin and I are relying on her! If you leave her, what happens to us?”

“Relying on her?” I froze, turning to Kevin.

“What do you mean by that?”

Kevin scratched his head with a sheepish smile, sidling closer:

“Bro, think straight. Emily’s powerful now. The company’s about to go public. If you divorce her, how could you ever find someone better?”

“Dad’s nursing home costs a hundred thousand dollars a quarter. Emily’s been paying it all.

And I’m getting married soon—she even said this mansion would be my wedding gift…”

“So it’s all about money.” Something pressed hard against my chest, but I straightened my back.

“You don’t have to worry about money. I’ll cover Dad’s nursing home fees. And Kevin’s wedding house—I’ll handle it too.”

“You?” Richard sneered, his eyes full of contempt.

“I know your limits. You’ve spent the past two years overseas in recovery, earning nothing. Emily is this family’s lifeline! She hasn’t even demanded divorce, so why are you stirring trouble? Get back to her and live like a husband should!”

“Live like a husband?” My voice rose sharply, my body trembling with anger.

“She’s been cuddling other men, staying out all night. And you expect me to look the other way? You think I can live like that?”

“So what if you turn a blind eye? A man should know when to bend and when to stretch!” Richard’s face flushed red.

“If it weren’t for Emily these past two years, Kevin and I would’ve starved!”

“Helping you?” My eyes locked on his, and a thought struck me.

“My annual dividends from her company amount to at least two million. She didn’t give you any of that?”

Richard’s eyes flickered, but his voice hardened even more:

“I saved it for your brother! He’s in debt from his startup and not married yet—of course we need to put money aside!”

“In debt from a startup?” I snapped my gaze to Kevin. He’d once racked up debt from gambling.

“Tell me the truth—are you gambling again?”

Kevin’s face turned crimson, spreading down his neck. He waved his hands frantically:

“No, bro, don’t twist this! Dad and I are just telling you—don’t divorce! Otherwise our whole family will suffer!”

“Our family?” I looked at the two men before me, realizing how utterly foreign they’d become.

So during my two years abroad, Emily had already bought them off with money. For their own benefit, they had trampled on my dignity without hesitation.

When Kevin tried to grab my arm, I shoved him off coldly:

“Don’t call her your sisterinlaw anymore. And don’t call me your brother—because I, Will Johnson, refuse to be disgraced like this.”

With that, I dragged my suitcase away and hailed a passing cab.

As the car door closed, I could still hear Richard cursing “unfilial bastard,” with Kevin sneering behind him, “doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

The taxi slowly pulled away from the mansion. Leaning against the window, I watched the streets recede, my eyes suddenly burning.

I had thought family would be my strongest support. But in my darkest hour, they sided with outsiders, delivering the cruelest cut.

The cab stopped at the Hilton Grand Hotel as dusk spread over its gleaming glass facade.

Dragging my suitcase inside, I was greeted by the smiling front desk clerk, who handed me my reservation slip:

“Mr. Johnson, your executive suite is ready. Would you like to check in now?”

I nodded, pulling a black card from my wallet.

“Charge the deposit to this.”

After processing, the clerk returned the card and room key. Just then, my personal phone buzzed three times.

Three text invitations to a banquet, all from the Lewis Pharmaceuticals Administration Office.

At the end, one line read: “A private car is waiting at the hotel entrance. Robert Lewis Sr. wishes to meet you.”

Holding the room key, I chuckled softly.

The Lewis family was the leader of the local pharmaceutical industry. They had tried to connect with me during my overseas expansion.

I didn’t expect them to reach out the moment I returned.

It would both ease my mind and open doors to new resources—saving me considerable effort.

I washed up in my hotel room, and someone from the Lewis family delivered a tux for the banquet, letting me know a car was already waiting downstairs.

After I changed, I headed to the lobby. A black Maybach rolled up outside the revolving door. The window lowered, and a suited chauffeur inclined his head.

“Mr. Johnson, I’m here on behalf of the Lewis family.”

I was just about to get in when a snide voice rang out behind me.

“Well, if it isn’t Will. Getting divorced and still blowing Emily’s money on a fancy hotel—got some nerve.”

I turned and saw Jason striding over with three guys in black Tshirts. His hair was slicked back, a key fob twirling in his fingers, his eyes full of provocation.

Before I could speak, he lunged and grabbed my wrist, raising his voice so everyone could hear:

“Hey, look! This guy used a stolen credit card to book a room. I’m calling the cops right now!”

Guests turned to stare; a few raised their phones to film.

Jason grew bolder, waving his phone in my face. “The police will be here any minute. You’re not going anywhere.”

I shook him off, brushed my cuff, and kept my tone even.

“This is a joint credit card with Emily. I’m an authorized user. Check with the bank if you don’t believe me.”

“A joint card?” Jason sneered. “Emily already froze your limit. You clearly used her main card. You stole it.”

Right then, two officers entered the lobby. Jason rushed over, pointing at me and shouting,

“Officers, that’s him! He used someone else’s card and is pretending he’s loaded!”

The officers looked to me. I took out my authorized user card and the bank’s limit letter and handed them over.

“Officers, this is my authorized card. The banking app shows the transactions, all approved by my account.”

They called the bank on the spot. The rep’s voice came crisp over the line:

“Mr. Johnson is an authorized user on this account and has full spending privileges. Today’s charges were properly authorized.”

Jason’s face went sheetwhite. Then his gaze snagged on my tux like a lifeline.

“Wait! That tux is mine! Custom Italian couture—I lost it from my car yesterday. He stole it!”

He’d barely finished when the click of high heels cut through the lobby—Emily had arrived.

Wearing a sequined gown and immaculate makeup, she hurried toward Jason, worry in her voice.

“Jason, what happened? You said you were in trouble…”

“You’re just in time,” Jason grabbed her hand and jabbed a finger at my tux.

“Look! That’s the Italian custom piece you helped me order. I left it in my car yesterday and it went missing—he stole it! Tell them!”

All eyes swung to Emily. I looked at her too, clinging to one last, absurd sliver of faith.

The provenance of the tux was clear. She wouldn’t lie—not to my face.

Emily studied the tux for two seconds, then nodded and addressed the officers and the onlookers, voice ringing bright:

“Yes, I ordered that for Jason from an Italian designer. It cost six figures for the set. Will, you just got back—where would you get that kind of money? You must have stolen it.”

“Six figures?” I blinked—so the Lewis family’s gift was that extravagant.

But colder than the price was Emily’s lie.

To defend Jason, she flipped black to white in public and dumped the filth on me.

With her backing him up, Jason straightened, stepping in to grab my lapel.

“Will, I’ll be reasonable—take off the tux now and hand it back. I won’t press the creditcard theft, and you can walk.”

His buddies raised their phones, ready to film me being stripped, snickering about how it would go viral.

Emily added a tone of “kind” persuasion:

“Will, just listen to Jason. Take it off and spare everyone the trouble. If you’re short on cash, I can transfer you some—don’t make a scene you’ll regret.”

“A scene?” I laughed, looking at the pair.

“So you both think I’ll never afford a sixfigure tux in my life?”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Jason scoffed. “You spent two years abroad recovering—no job, no income. Other than spending Emily’s money, what can you do? Take the tux off or we go to the station.”

He signaled his guys, and two of them rolled their shoulders and advanced.

“He’s a guest of the Lewis family. Who dares lay a hand on him?”

A resonant voice carried from the entrance, followed by steady footsteps.

The Lewis family’s butler appeared in a tailcoat with a silver crest pinned to his chest, two staffers in tow. He came straight to my side.

Before Jason could speak, the butler presented a giltedged document to the officers, his tone crisp:

“Officers, everyone—this tux is a private custom piece commissioned by Mr. Lewis for Mr. Johnson.

It was flown in from the atelier in Italy this morning to this hotel. The invoice bears Mr. Johnson’s name, measurements, and the atelier’s exclusive seal. It is not a ‘lost item,’ as alleged.”

Then he turned to Emily, a cool edge in his voice:

“Ms. Parker, you say you commissioned this for that gentleman?

To my knowledge, the Lewis family has an exclusive arrangement with the atelier. Without Lewis authorization, no identical piece can be made.

Could you produce your commissioning receipt?”

Emily’s face froze. Jason stared dumbly at the seal and my name on the document, speechless.

Murmurs rippled through the lobby; those filming lowered their phones.

“So he tried to hustle someone under the Lewis family’s protection? Bold move,” someone whispered.

The officers frowned at Jason and Emily.

“If you can’t provide evidence, this looks like false accusation. You’ll need to come to the station to make a statement.”

Jason blanched and tugged at Emily to leave, but she stayed rooted, eyes on me—shocked, embarrassed, and unmistakably rattled.

The butler bowed slightly to me.

“Mr. Johnson, apologies for the disturbance. Mr. Lewis is waiting at the banquet. Shall we?”

I smoothed my lapel, let my gaze pass over Jason and Emily—both in disarray—and felt nothing at all.

“Let’s go. We shouldn’t keep Mr. Lewis waiting.”

The Maybach’s window rose, sealing out the lobby’s noise.

The engine purred; soft classical music threaded through the cabin. I had barely touched my phone when the screen lit up.

Emily was calling.

I answered. Before I could speak, her urgent voice burst out:

“Will, how do you even know the Lewis family? The butler was so respectful—have you known them all along?”