Tortured Husband, Vengeful Wife

I grew up with Ella Milstein—we were childhood sweethearts. She'd suffered from hereditary migraines since she was young. For her sake, I gave up my family's business and chose to study medicine without hesitation.

At last, in the third year of our marriage, I developed a specialized drug.

When I got home, I could barely contain my excitement. I cooked, preparing a loving lunch to bring to my wife, planning to tell her the good news in person.

Carrying the lunchbox, I made my way into the Milstein Group building without a hitch.

Just as I was about to push open the door to my wife's office, a suave, well-dressed man stepped in front of me.

"What are you here for?" he asked coldly, his gaze sweeping over me with open hostility.

I lifted the lunchbox for him to see. "I'm here to bring food to Ella Milstein."

In front of others, I didn't like calling her my wife.

He let out a breath, his tone turning faintly mocking. "So, a food delivery guy, huh? I'm Ms. Milstein's chief secretary, Chris Palermo. Hand me the food. You can leave."

I shook my head, my expression firm. "I'm not a food delivery guy. And I'll deliver this to Ella myself. Please let me through."

Before I could finish speaking, Chris flew into a rage and snatched the lunchbox from my hands.

"Who do you think you are? How dare a mere food delivery guy try to seduce Ms. Milstein? Dressed like this, too—shameless. I'll teach you some manners today."

With that, he dragged me into a meeting room and slammed the door shut. Before I could react, he raised his fist and struck me.

Pain exploded across my face. My cheek swelled instantly as I collapsed to the floor.

I hadn't even gathered my senses when another kick came crashing down onto my head.

The medicine!

Ignoring everything else, I curled into myself, shielding my pocket with all my strength.

"Let's see what you brought for Ms. Milstein to eat."

Chris opened the lunchbox and dumped its contents straight over my head.

The pork rib soup I had simmered for three hours—still scalding—ran through my hair and dripped down onto the floor.

My scalp burned with searing pain. But I didn't dare move. I was afraid of damaging the medicine in my pocket.

I knew how to make the drug, but one of its ingredients was extremely rare—already extinct, with almost no chance of obtaining it again.

"Oh? You brought cheap chicken too? You're such a cheapo."

He grabbed my chin roughly, his fingers tightening as he forced my mouth open. "So eager to act cheap? You can have it all then."

The braised chicken, drenched in chili-laden sauce, was slammed against my face.

A sharp, burning pain flooded my eyes and nose. I cried out in agony.

Chris casually dusted off his hands, his expression full of disgust. "How revolting. So greasy—I almost got my watch dirty."

Then he looked down at me from above. "You don't actually believe that nonsense about winning a woman's heart through her stomach, do you? Someone as lowly as you—what right do you have to like Ms. Milstein?"

I tried to explain, but the moment I opened my mouth, I broke into violent coughing. The chili had gone straight into my airway. I couldn't speak at all.

Just then, someone knocked on the meeting room door.

"Chris, what's all that noise inside?"