His Contractual Mistress - Chapter 466 Let’s Go Home

Sharon was an ordinary person, while her husband, Wallace Harris, was a promising and handsome man. His family was one of the most prestigious and wealthiest families in New York City. Being able to marry Wallace was an accident.

Throughout their three years of marriage, Wallace had never slept with Sharon. His family also kept persuading him to divorce Sharon.

It was the birthday party of the Harris family’s old matriarch, and all youngsters of the Harris family had given the most expensive gifts possible to make the old lady happy—everyone but Sharon. She asked to borrow money from Madam Harris for the old housekeeper, Uncle Smith, as he had no money to pay for his medical treatment. But as expected, the Harris family humiliated her when she requested.

“The Harris family has never had a poor relative like you. Don’t you ever appear in front of me again! Wallace should’ve married Crystal. She’s certainly a young lady who’s worthy of marrying into our family!” said Madam Harris.

“Please know your place and get out of here. Don’t stay at our house anymore. How can Wallace’s grandfather be so foolish to marry a poor, useless woman like you to my son?!” said June, Wallace’s mother.

“It’s just a few million dollars, yet you’re so poor that you need to borrow from our family. How can a woman like you deserve to be with Wallace? If it were Crystal, she definitely wouldn’t have embarrassed us so much!”

That night, Wallace handed Sharon a bank card, which contained millions of dollars. “The company is developing, so I don’t have much cash. You can use this to help Uncle Smith.”

Facing the Harris family’s hostility, Wallace stated, “Since I have married her, she is my responsibility. Regardless of her being rich or poor, Sharon is my wife.”

It wasn’t until a stranger approached Sharon one day. Only then did Sharon know that she was the daughter of a top prestigious family, who was eligible to receive assets worth at least ten billion.

She suddenly owned the largest company in New York and a bank card that contained hundreds of millions of ‘pocket money.’

In the blink of an eye, her identity had changed. She was no longer the poor daughter-in-law that wasn’t favored by the Harris family. Instead, she had become the most prestigious person in New York!

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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