The atmosphere inside Wijaya Construction’s boardroom still felt like an execution chamber.

Mr. Wijaya and Mrs. Ratna remained frozen in place, trying to process the unbelievable truth that Aris—their "worthless" son-in-law—was now the rightful owner of the company they had spent a lifetime building. Yet, blinded by severe shock and the haze of sheer panic, they had not fully grasped the drastic change in Aris's appearance and status.

To them, Aris was still just Aris. They convinced themselves his presence here was nothing more than a crazy coincidence or a twisted joke.

"Enough with this charade, Aris!" Mrs. Ratna snapped, though her voice quivered slightly. "Stop acting like you own this place! Get out before we call security!"

Aris merely offered a faint smile. He had already taken off his tailored suit jacket and hung it neatly over the back of his chair, revealing a custom silk tuxedo shirt complete with his initials embroidered on the cuffs. On his wrist sat a multi-million-dollar Patek Philippe watch—a timepiece worth more than the Wijaya family's entire net worth—though he kept it partially hidden beneath his sleeve.

"Security?" Aris let out a soft chuckle, his calm baritone voice echoing in the room. "Mrs. Ratna, let me remind you: I am the one who pays the security team in this building now. Are you quite sure you want to kick out your own boss?"

Aris stood up and walked gracefully toward the coffee station in the corner of the room. He poured hot coffee into a porcelain cup with smooth, measured precision. He looked nothing like the man who had been doused with ice water in their living room just last night. He looked like royalty enjoying a quiet morning.

"Father, what should we do?" Bella panicked, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she stared at Aris. She still couldn't fathom the transformation of the man who had slept beside her for an entire year.

Mr. Wijaya stepped forward, his face flushed with a mixture of rage and terror. "Aris, I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing, but don't you dare think—"

Clatter!

Aris turned sharply as Mr. Wijaya approached. He "accidentally" bumped into the older man's arm, sending the scalding hot coffee spilling right over Mr. Wijaya’s expensive silk shirt.

"Agh!" Mr. Wijaya gasped in pain as the hot liquid soaked through the thin fabric.

"Oh, my apologies, Mr. Wijaya," Aris said, his tone dripping with mock regret while his eyes remained cold as ice. "I didn't see you standing there. I assumed you were one of the janitors coming to clear the trash off my desk."

"You! You did that on purpose!" Mrs. Ratna shrieked, snatching tissues from the table to desperately wipe down her husband's shirt.

Aris set the empty cup back on the tray with a soft clink. He pulled out a silk handkerchief—not to help clean the mess, but to wipe off a tiny coffee droplet that had landed on the tip of his own polished leather shoe, treating the splash as if it were a disgusting stain.

"Mr. Wijaya," Aris said flatly. "Your shirt is ruined. Such a shame—that stain is definitely permanent. But don't worry, to a company of this scale, a seven-hundred-dollar shirt is equivalent to about five minutes of office operating expenses. I can simply deduct it from your salary."

"You've lost your mind!" Mr. Wijaya shoved Aris's shoulder, but Aris didn't budge an inch. He stood firm as a mountain, completely unfazed by the old man's weak push.

"I haven't lost my mind. I am simply doing what you used to do to me," Aris replied firmly. "In the past, whenever I made the slightest mistake at home, you would berate and humiliate me for hours, sometimes even withholding food. Tell me—how does it feel to be humiliated in front of your own staff over a minor mistake?"

Outside the boardroom, employees peeking through the cracked door began whispering among themselves. Mr. Wijaya’s reputation—built on arrogance and a ruthless temper—crumbled instantly before their eyes. The man who regularly berated them for tiny scuffs on the floor was now standing with a coffee-soaked shirt, his face beet-red with suppressed rage and embarrassment.

"Bella, look at your husband!" Mr. Wijaya exclaimed, pointing a trembling finger at Aris. "Tell him to stop! He's insulting your father!"

Bella turned to look at Aris. She searched his eyes, but the warmth and love that used to greet her whenever their eyes met were completely gone. In their place was only an unfathomable distance—cold, detached, and foreign.

"Aris..." Bella called out softly, her voice raspy. "Is this really necessary? Do you have to get your revenge like this?"

Aris looked Bella dead in the eye. "Necessary? Bella, this past year was pure agony for me. And not once did any of you feel it was necessary to stop hurting me back then. So why should I feel it necessary to show mercy now?"

Aris sat back down in the chief executive's chair, picked up a document from the stack, and began reading casually.

"Mr. Wijaya, go to the locker room and clean yourself up. You have ten minutes before the executive performance evaluation meeting begins. I want to see the financial reports you've been cooking for the last six months. If they aren't on my desk in ten minutes..." Aris checked his watch. "...then you won't need to return to this office ever again."

Mr. Wijaya stood frozen. He felt his entire world collapsing around him. He looked at Aris, then at the office that was once his pride and joy, now completely ruled by the man he had deemed worthless.

Aris was in total control. And for the Wijaya family, this was only the beginning of their worst nightmare.