Humiliated at My Son's Wedding, I Own Half His Empire

1. To give my adopted son face, I quietly put together a bridal gift worth over a hundred million, ready to surprise him. But the moment I arrived, I found my wife seated at the very back table, without so much as a corsage. I was about to ask why when my son walked over with his bride, his tone light and offhand. "Rachel Henson's uncle doesn't have kids, and her parents want him up on the stage as the groom's elder." I froze. "If he goes up, then what about us?" My son raised an eyebrow, mocking. "Rachel's parents gave me a million-dollar dowry. Can the two of you match a million in bridal gift?" The guests around us tittered, calling us paupers. My wife's face went white, her fingers crushing wrinkles into the hand-sewn gown she'd spent two months making. She didn't lose her temper. She only forced a careful, placating smile. "Vivian Fox, if we've done anything wrong, just tell us. We'll fix it, I promise." I stared at him. "I wasn't around much when you were small, so I can accept not going up. But your mother poured everything into raising you, and she doesn't go up either?" My son rolled his eyes, impatient. "You couldn't have kids of your own, so you adopted me. Anyone would've raised a kid the same way, right?" "Calling you Mom and Dad is already generous of me." "Of course, if you can come up with a million in bridal gift, then I suppose you could go up after all." I was shaking with rage. But my wife just clutched my arm and kept shaking her head. She ached for our son, afraid he'd lose face in front of his bride's family. I suddenly laughed. My wife couldn't bear to put him in a hard spot. But Vivian had no trouble making fools of us in front of a hall full of guests. Fine, then. I didn't want this daughter-in-law anymore. And this hundred-million bridal gift, there was no reason left for me to give it. 1. Seeing me laugh, Vivian raised an eyebrow. "What are you laughing at? Is there something wrong with what I said?" "You only adopted me back then because you couldn't have kids of your own, isn't that right?" "You did it to satisfy your own selfish wants, that's all. Don't put yourselves up on some pedestal." "Calling you Mom and Dad is me doing you a favor." Hearing how ruthless his words were, the people around us looked at us with open amusement, not even bothering to hide their sneers. "A couple of paupers. If it weren't for the groom, they'd never have gotten to attend a Henson wedding at all." "They should count themselves lucky to be here, and they still want to go up on stage?" "Blame them for having no money. If they had money, the son wouldn't be talking to them like that." The crowd burst out laughing. My wife had crumpled the gown out of shape in her hands. Seeing it, Vivian rolled his eyes again. "What era do you think this is, still wearing some floral hand-sewn thing? Hideous." At that, my wife's lowered head sank even further. She was no good with words. To hold up some face for our son, she'd gone all over the city choosing the fabric, then spent two months sewing it herself. When she finished it, she even asked me whether it would embarrass our son. I'd smiled then and said. "I wasn't home. You're the one who raised him through everything." "Whatever you wear, he'll love it." And now, his own mouth had turned it into a joke. I fixed my cold stare on Vivian. "Apologize to your mother!" He scoffed. "I'm not the one who told her to wear it." "She put it on herself, and now nobody's even allowed an opinion?" The air went heavy. Beside him, his bride Rachel laughed softly. "Don't be upset, both of you." "Viv's a straight shooter. Whatever's on his mind, he just likes to say it." "And that thing earlier, about my uncle going up on stage, that's only because he felt sorry for him." "You should count yourselves lucky, having a son with a heart this kind." As if he understood Vivian better than we did. But Vivian felt sorry for someone else. And that meant the parents who raised him got stuck at the back table? In the end, it all came down to greed — he wanted that million. But for money, would he really disown his own parents? Anger filled me to the brim. I was about to speak when my wife caught hold of me. "Please, love, our son's getting married today. Don't." Humiliated by her own son, and she was still thinking about his wedding. Just then, Vivian started up again in that snide tone. "Some people, you know. Can't earn a dime, and their temper's a mile wide." "No money themselves, and can't stand to see anyone else make it." His bride Rachel looked at me. "Uncle, I hear you've been working abroad all this time. You must not have been able to find work back home." "Our company happens to be short a cleaner. If you'll just agree not to go up on stage, I can arrange it for you after the wedding, at double pay." Henson? The relevant details surfaced in my mind. A publicly listed company. Market value in the tens of millions. In an ordinary person's eyes, it was impressive enough. But what my wife and I had never told Vivian was that I ran a large multinational company abroad, worth billions. Back when we learned we couldn't have children, it was my wife who suggested adoption. Not long after, she brought home Vivian, not yet two years old. I couldn't be everywhere at once overseas, so my wife stayed home full time to care for him. Vivian cried and fussed as a baby, and she got up every single night to tend to him. I offered to hire a nanny. But my wife said he was an adopted child to begin with. If we brought in a nanny on top of that, he'd never feel he belonged with us. So she wore herself down to dark circles, and one strand of her hair after another turned white. Later, when he started school, she went so far as to move nearby just to be there for him. Up before dawn every day to cook his meals and wash his clothes. When our son got bullied, timid as she was, she still dared to go confront the other party and demand answers for him. I'd thought that even if Vivian felt nothing for me. He'd at least be good to her. But I never imagined he'd seat her at the back table with no corsage. And on top of that, sneer that the gown she'd spent two months sewing by hand had no taste.