HE SURPRISED HIS FAMILY WITH AN EARLY RETURN FROM HIS MILLION-DOLLAR EMPIRE—ONLY TO FIND HIS WIFE SCRUBBING POTS IN THE MUD WHILE HIS FAMILY FEASTED ON HIS DIME!

Panic instantly erupted like a bomb inside the courtyard.

The distant relatives and social-climbing parasites who had been eating my food and drinking my wine suddenly scrambled like rats fleeing a sinking ship. They didn't care about Margaret, Jennifer, or Michael; they cared only about saving their own skin. People rushed toward the front driveway, tripping over themselves, scrambling into their expensive sports cars, and peeling out through the security gates in a chaotic cloud of tire smoke and gravel.

Jennifer burst into loud, theatrical tears, wiping mascara down her cheeks. "Liam, you can't do this to your own flesh and blood! We're family! Where are we supposed to go?"

"You can go wherever you want, as long as it is far away from my sight," I replied coldly, not blinking an eye at her dramatics. "You had five years to live like royalty on my dime while treating my wife like garbage. Your tab has officially run out."

Margaret glared at me with pure, unadulterated venom, her mask of maternal love completely incinerated. "You are throwing away your real family for a penniless nobody! You'll regret this, Liam! You'll come crawling back when you realize she's bleeding you dry!"

"Mother," I said, pointing a firm finger toward the front gates. "Step off my property right now, or I will have security physically drag you out."

Realizing the game was permanently up, Margaret grabbed Jennifer by the arm. With venomous glares and muttered curses, my mother, sister, and brother turned on their heels and marched toward the driveway, loading themselves into a single battered car—the only vehicle left behind that didn't belong to them—and speeding away from the mansion.

Silence descended heavily over the backyard. The industrial sinks hummed quietly. The mountain of dirty pots remained untouched.