The day I became heir to the group, my wife of five years tried to kill me.

On the day I was announced as the company heir, someone barged onto the stage with fake documents, accusing me of embezzling project funds and colluding with competitors.

My father tore up the inheritance papers on the spot and expelled me.

The hall’s screen repeatedly displayed photos of the new heir, Jasper.

As I stumbled out of the building, a black car suddenly lost control and struck me.

I collapsed into a pool of blood, overwhelmed by pain.

While in a coma, I overheard her talking to an assistant.

“Madam, Mr. Nolan has already been completely ousted; why take things to such extremes?”

“He’s too brilliant. Only by crippling him can we eliminate future troubles—”

“Jasper saved me from a fire five years ago. If he wants the inheritance, naturally I have to help him clear the obstacles.”

I gazed at the burn scar below my collarbone, a mark left three years ago when I rushed into the flames to save her.

Later, clutching the Certificate of Bravery from the Fire Department, I barged into the Jasper Corporation press conference.

My wife was adjusting the cufflinks of her “benefactor,” Jasper. I tore open my shirt to reveal the scar, my voice hoarse but resolute.

“Fiona, you said you’d spend your life with your benefactor once he recovered—”

“But your benefactor is right in front of you, and you’re the arsonist executioner.”