Chapter 2

The disdain on Cynthia's and Diego's faces froze, turning into a flicker of confusion.

Then they exchanged a glance, then burst out laughing.

"You're calling the police?" Diego let out an exaggerated snort and swatted my phone out of my hand.

It hit the ground with a crack, its screen shattering instantly. He scoffed, "A cheap clay doll, and you're calling it a Class-One artifact? You got delusions or something? As if a broke nobody like you could handle real national treasures?"

Not only did he show zero remorse, but he doubled down, as if determined to expose my "act" with even more reckless behavior. He spun toward a nearby display case, where we'd just arranged a set of Revolutionary War-era silver goblets.

The security system wasn't fully activated yet; the glass cover was just loosely shut. Before I could react, he yanked it open and swept his arm across the shelves.

A cascade of shattering sounds followed, denser and more piercing than the figurine's crash. The goblets, shimmering iridescent under the lights, were reduced to a pile of glittering dust in an instant.

"I'm not just smashing that one today. I'm smashing the whole damn lot! What are you gonna do about it?" He pointed at the debris on the floor, taunting me. "Dollar-store crap, ten for a buck? Quit pretending."

He pulled out his wallet, fished out a $100 bill, and tossed it on the ground. "This should cover your whole cartload. Keep the change."

These were our nation's precious artifacts, and he was insulting everyone with a measly banknote.

Blood rushed to my head, making me dizzy with rage. These exhibits were invaluable and irreplaceable. His reckless destruction was erasing crucial pieces of our national history.

Cynthia stood there with arms crossed, watching coldly from the sidelines. Far from stopping him, she seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, her eyes filled with contempt as if she'd seen through all my "tricks".

"Henry, are you done throwing your tantrum?" she scoffed. "I get it—you still want me back. After all, with my family background, missing out on that would haunt you forever."

She paused, as if granting me some massive favor. "It's fine. Apologize to Diego for trying to scare him with this low-rent stunt. We'll let it slide, and if you still want to honor the engagement, I might consider it."

That was the woman I had loved for five years. She was arrogant, ignorant, and utterly foolish.

Diego linked arms with her, boasting in his showy tone, "Cynthia, you're way too kind to him. After everything he has pulled, you're still offering him a chance?"

Then he turned to me, his eyes overflowing with scorn and gloating. "You hear that? Cynthia has a soft heart, still hung up on old times. Aren't you gonna thank her?"

I spat right onto his shoe. "What you've destroyed today are genuine exhibits from the Smithsonian Institution. Every piece here is a real historical artifact. Not something you can just throw money at to insult. I've already called the authorities. The police are on their way. You're both in deep trouble."

Cynthia wrinkled her nose in disgust. "You're just after money, aren't you? Spinning these wild tales. Three years on, and you're still the same gold-digger."

She drew a Centurion card from her wallet and flicked it at my feet. Her voice was laced with impatience and condescension. "There's a million dollars on this. That should cover your whole room of trash, right? Take the money and drop the act. My patience has limits."

"A million dollars? To buy this room of trash?" I stared at the card lying amid the ruins of centuries-old artifacts, the irony burning like acid.

Every word they uttered felt like a red-hot iron searing my heart. This wasn't mere property damage or a squabble resolvable with cash—it was a blatant desecration of our nation's history and a vicious assault on the professional principles I'd upheld for years.

Slowly, I lifted my head, my gaze piercing through the wreckage to fix on Cynthia's smug face. When I saw the unbridled arrogance in her eyes, the last strand of my rationality snapped.

I surged to my feet. In their stunned silence, I raised my hand and, channeling every ounce of my fury, slapped her hard across the face.