THE DISABLED HEIRESS, MY EX-HUSBAND WOULD PAY DEARLY.-Chapter 302

There had to be something else in the box. Maybe Oliver had hidden the real gift underneath? A cheque? A rare artifact? But no, her father was already holding the mini bottle like it was some priceless treasure, and the subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips was definitely not pretend.

Cora's confusion turned into worry.

Her father didn't just look pleased he looked... deeply moved. And that was the part that shook her the most. Never, not once in her entire life, had she seen this kind of expression on his face not even when she bought him a limited-edition fountain pen on his birthday. Not even when his favorite student gifted him a handcrafted sculpture.

It was strange. It was almost.... unbelievable.

Unable to hold it in anymore, Cora stepped forward and said softly, "Dad… is it really that good? Or… are you just pretending because Oliver is new here?"

There was genuine confusion in her voice, and her eyes searched her father's face for a sign any sign—that this was all just him being polite. But he didn't even glance at her. His eyes were still fixed on the small bottle, studying it like it held some ancient secret. His expression was focused, almost nostalgic, as if the sight of it had stirred something buried deep within.

Before he could respond, Uncle Festus stepped forward, his tone sharp and mocking as always. "What are you trying to do, brother?" he said with a half-smirk. "We both know this thing—whatever this is, is

way below you. Come on. Everyone in this room knows it. So why are you acting like it's something grand? Are you trying to cover for this boy's embarrassment?"

Clinton scoffed loudly and leaned back on the chair, folding his arms. "Exactly. You're trying too hard, Uncle. Just say the truth and let's all move on."

At that moment, before Clinton could even say another word, Cora's father suddenly turned toward him with a stern voice and said, "Keep your mouth shut."

His tone was cold sharp enough to silence the entire room. Clinton immediately froze in place, not expecting such a harsh reaction.

"How dare you start talking rubbish?" her father continued, eyes narrowing. "Are you trying to say that I don't know what I'm saying? That I'm pretending to be happy over something that doesn't deserve it? Do I look like the kind of man who would fake joy just to accept a gift that's below me?"

His voice carried weight like a man who had lived long enough to recognize value when he saw it. The authority in his voice made Clinton and even Uncle Festus fall completely silent. No one dared to speak again.

Without wasting another second, Cora's father reached forward, picked up the half bottle of wine again, and held it up for everyone to see. His eyes lit up with rare excitement, and then he spoke again.

"You see this?" he said, pointing at the bottle. "This is not just an ordinary bottle of wine. No—it is an eighty-year-old whiskey. Not just aged, but preserved under rare, delicate conditions. This particular bottle is extremely difficult to find in the world today. Do you all understand what I'm holding in my hand?"

Everyone's eyes shifted to the bottle again.

"The last time I even tried using my network—my deep network—to get one, I was only able to get a forty-year-old version," he continued. "That bottle still sits in our private collection at the mansion. It's so rare and valuable that no one in this house even dares to touch it."

Immediately Cora blinked. She could barely believe what she was hearing. Her father—the same man who rejected the most expensive gifts without batting an eye was now explaining this with the excitement of a child who had found a hidden treasure.

And just like that, the entire mood in the scene shifted.

The moment her father said those words, the jaws of everyone around dropped in complete disbelief. Uncle Festus leaned closer, his smirk fading fast. Clinton looked like someone had just pulled the carpet out from under his feet. The same bottle they mocked a few minutes ago now seemed like something holy.

At that moment, Uncle Festus stood frozen. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He just kept staring at the tiny bottle of whiskey like it had suddenly transformed into gold.

He blinked again. His eyes slowly shifted from the bottle to his brother's face. His jaw tightened not in anger, but in pure disbelief. For a moment, it seemed like his memory had betrayed him. Then it all came rushing back like a flood. That same bottle… the one his brother had once tried to get using deep connections and a significant amount of money connections that took months to activate, and even then, they had only gotten their hands on a 40-year-old version.

That bottle—the one that still sat in the mansion's wine vault, untouched, guarded like a family heirloom—was already known as sacred. No one dared to drink it, not even during major family celebrations. And here it was, an 80-year-old version, right in front of him.

Uncle Festus swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like a fool. His cheeks flushed slightly with shame. He had laughed at it. Mocked it. Called it "mini." But now, the weight of his ignorance fell heavy on him. How could he have forgotten? How could he not recognize the treasure standing right before him?

He turned his head slowly, this time looking at Oliver not with mockery, but with curiosity and a quiet hint of admiration. How…? he thought. How in the world did this man get his hands on something like this? This wasn't something one could just walk into a store and purchase. It wasn't about money it was about rarity, about access, about knowing the right people and circles.

Cora watched her uncle closely. Even from where she stood, she could see the shift in his posture. His arrogance had drained out of his shoulders. He stood softer now, as if something had humbled him deeply.

Just then, her father spoke again.

"This bottle," he said calmly but with weight in his voice, holding it up like a delicate piece of history, "is worth millions."

The room was silent.

"It is not just a drink—it is a treasure," he continued. "And for someone like Oliver to gift me something like this, it means one thing—he knows me. Not by gossip. Not by hearsay. He understands what I value. And he sees me as someone worthy of such a gift."

He paused, his eyes now fixed on Oliver.

"For a stranger to know this much about me, to understand this deeply what I treasure… it tells me something else this man is no ordinary man. No matter who he is or where he comes from, respect is reciprocal."

And with that, Cora's father stepped forward, stretched out his hand, and firmly shook Oliver's.