Hi Ex, Your Uncle Is My Hubby Now - Chapter 36: Chapter 36

Then, after the sweet talk, came the warning, "Irene, as a daughter, sometimes you have to learn to let things go. Being too ruthless doesn't always do anyone good."
Even now, Henry still thought she was just throwing a tantrum.
And he wasn't alone. Shelby thought the same.
They were both convinced that Irene loved money enough that if they threw enough of it at her, she'd come around.
But Irene had long since given up on the idea of them as her parents.
So no matter how outrageous they acted or how absurd the things they said, they no longer had the power to truly wound her.
She flipped the bank card in her fingers like a coin and let out a cold laugh. "How generous of you, Mr. Jackson."
Then she caught the card and gave him a look, her head tilted ever so slightly. "But I've got a better idea. Want to hear it?"
Henry relaxed a little, thinking she was finally about to give in. He even smiled. "Go ahead."
Irene smiled, too—but it didn't reach her eyes. "Well, since Shelby is locked up and can't 'contribute' at the moment, and since you're her husband, I figure you should share in both the good times and the consequences.
"So here's what I'm thinking—I'll hire a guy to sleep with you. And afterward, I'll give you 1.5 million dollars in compensation. Then we'll call it even."
The words barely left her mouth before Henry exploded.
He shot to his feet, face red with rage. "Irene! Are you out of your mind? I'm your father! How can you say something so disgusting?"
But Irene was louder—and sharper. "Oh, I'm out of line for offering to have a man sleep with you? Then what do you call Shelby trying to have me raped?
"When parents act like monsters, don't be surprised when their children stop pretending to be saints!"
With that, she flung the card straight at his face. The sharp edge nicked his cheek, leaving a thin red line of blood.
"You think you can buy my forgiveness with money? Then why can't I do the same?"
She stared him down, voice icy. "Mr. Jackson, as a parent, maybe you should learn to be a little more forgiving."
Henry was shaking—literally. His finger trembled as he pointed at her, unable to get a single coherent word out.
Then—bang—the guest bedroom door burst open. Ruth came charging out, a full-sized keyboard raised like a weapon.
"You bastard! Get out of this house!" she roared. Without hesitation, she brought the keyboard down hard on Henry's shoulder.
He yelped and ducked, trying to flee.
But Ruth had spent years doing farm work, trekking up and down mountains looking for herbs—her strength and stamina were no joke.
Wherever he ran, she followed—relentless, precise, and furious.
WHACK!
WHACK!
WHACK!
Each blow landed with the force of years of repressed fury. Within seconds, the keyboard snapped in two.
She tossed the broken pieces aside, bent down, dragged Henry out from under the dining table by his collar, and unleashed a flurry of slaps across his face. Left. Right. Left. Right.
Old grudges, new betrayals—it all came out at once. She was practically foaming at the mouth with rage.
By the time she paused, Henry's face was swollen and bloodied, his nose pouring red. He was dizzy, disoriented—completely wrecked.
Irene rushed over and grabbed Ruth before it went too far. "Grandma! Stop! You'll kill him!"
Even restrained, Ruth got in one last kick.
"Grandma," Irene said quickly, trying a different tactic, "if he dies in our home, we won't be able to sell the apartment."
That hit the mark.
Ruth finally dropped her foot.
If she couldn't beat him to death, she could at least destroy him with words.
"You absolute disgrace. Even a bestiary full of wild beasts would be incomplete without your name!
"I used to call you a white-eyed wolf—that was an insult to wolves. You're just a gutless coward in a human costume, doing nothing but despicable things under a borrowed face!
"You were cruel and ungrateful to me, and I've swallowed that for years. After all, I'm the idiot who gave birth to this trash.
"But Rini—she's my treasure. No one touches her. Especially not you two pathetic excuses for parents, who can only unzip your pants and call it parenting!"
Then she shoved Irene aside and stormed into the kitchen.
Seconds later, she returned—with a butcher knife in hand, eyes burning with fury. She advanced step by step, murder practically radiating off her. "Get. Out. Now. "And if you're still standing here in one more second—I swear to God, I'll carve you up myself."