Investing in My Crippled Wife: Every Return Makes Me Stronger

Two days later.

The Kalmira City District Court.

”...”

Everyone was staring at the judge, waiting for the final decision that would decide the fate of House Vale’s heir.

Near the front, Soren sat quietly next to Ryan and Seria, his expression entirely calm. Across the aisle sat Garin, his clothes wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot after spending 2 days in a holding cell. Next to him, his father, Ziso Vale, sat perfectly upright, his face an unreadable mask of stone, completely detached from his son’s visible trembling.

Soren watched the defense table out of the corner of his eye.

The confident, untouchable aura the Vales usually carried was entirely gone, replaced by the quiet desperation of a legal team trying to patch up a sinking ship.

He had to give it to them. They really had fought ruthlessly.

However, after realizing that the viral public footage made a total acquittal impossible, their legal team had shifted their stance completely.

They aggressively fought to lessen the punishment, attempting to frame the incident as a temporary combat panic under extreme psychological stress rather than an intentional murder attempt.

They had nearly succeeded in steering the narrative toward a lighter sentence of probation and a temporary suspension.

Then, he had delivered the final, crushing blow.

Through Seria, Soren quietly submitted a secondary piece of evidence that no one had considered or had forgotten to: a digital copy of Ryan’s tactical recorder.

While the Vales had been entirely focused on silencing Soren and trying to claim his footage had been tampered with, they had completely overlooked Ryan, who had survived alongside him.

The secondary footage provided everything from Ryan’s perspective. It showed exactly how cruelly they had treated him throughout the raid, and more importantly, it captured the precise moment Garin threw Ryan into the Golden Gate with a maniacal smirk on his face.

That shattered the defense’s argument of a momentary panic, proving premeditated malice beyond a shadow of a doubt.

’This should be more than enough,’ Soren muttered inwardly as he turned his gaze back to the judge.

A few minutes passed.

The judge looked down at the final documents on his podium and cleared his throat.

The heavy silence inside the courtroom deepened as his voice cut through the air.

”In light of the cross-referenced digital evidence, this court finds the defense’s appeal for leniency based on psychological stress entirely invalid,” the judge declared, his gaze fixing coldly on the defense table. ”The defendant, Garin Vale, is found guilty on all counts of malicious endangerment, conspiracy to commit murder within a gate, and a tier-one violation of the National Awakened Code of Conduct.”

Garin flinched as if physically struck, his hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white.

”Therefore, this court issues the following immediate penalties,” the judge continued, reading from the final document. ”First, the permanent expulsion of Garin Vale from the Kalmira Elite Hunter Academy, with his academic records blacklisted nationwide. Second, the total revocation of his Awakened license, paired with a mandatory ten-year ban strictly forbidding him from registering as a hunter, joining any official faction, or entering any gate within the country’s jurisdiction.”

A suffocating weight seemed to drop onto Garin’s shoulders. A ten-year ban meant his youth as an Awakened was completely over.

”Third,” the judge concluded, looking directly at the pale boy, ”Garin Vale is sentenced to five years of confinement at Iron-Grid Penitentiary, a specialized high-security prison for Awakened criminals.”

The moment the sentence was pronounced, two heavily armored officers from the Awakened Criminal Department of the High Security Police stepped forward from the side doors. They carried heavy iron sealing cuffs.

”Father...” Garin whispered, his voice cracking with sudden terror as the guards grabbed his arms. The cold iron cuffs clanked loudly as they locked around his wrists, and the moment the metal closed, his internal energy channels were forcibly frozen. His aura vanished instantly. He was suddenly weaker than an ordinary commoner. ”Father, please! Do something! You can’t let them take me!”

Ziso Vale did not even look back.

He stood up slowly, adjusted the lapels of his pristine coat, and turned his back on his son without a single word or glance. To him, a tool that was not only broken but had also dragged the family name through the mud was no longer worth saving.

He walked out through the private exit, his mind already calculating how to salvage the family’s remaining corporate assets from the impending political fallout.

Garin was dragged out of the courtroom, weeping, his heels scraping against the polished floor until the heavy doors slammed shut behind him.

”Huf...”

In the front row, a collective wave of tension broke. Ryan let out a long, shaky breath and looked down at his lap.

”Finally,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the shifting crowd. ”It’s over.”

Soren and Miss Seria both nodded quietly, acknowledging the weight of the moment. The trial had gone perfectly, leaving no room for a second act from House Vale.

Turning to his left, Soren looked at the young woman sitting next to Miss Seria. She had a sharp, professional posture, her short white hair framing a calm and precise expression as she packed away her digital data-pads. She was the elite lawyer Miss Seria had hired to handle their entire case against the Vales.

”Thank you for your hard work, Miss Anna,” Soren said politely.

The lawyer gave a faint, professional nod of acknowledgment, adjusting the strap of her briefcase. ”It was my duty, Mr. Soren. Besides, with the evidence you provided, House Vale’s legal team never stood a chance.”

”We appreciate your thoroughness,” Soren replied with a polite nod.

”I will handle the final paperwork with the clerks,” the counselor added, extending a parting hand toward Miss Seria. ”Have a good afternoon, everyone.”

With the case officially closed, the group stood and began making their way out of the courtroom.

As they exited into the main corridors of the Kalmira City District Court, a small cluster of local reporters and journalists attempted to move toward them, raising recorders and shouting rapid questions about the verdict. However, the officers from the Kalmira City Police Department immediately formed a wall, blocking the press and directing them away to keep the paths clear.

Once they reached the broad stone steps outside the courthouse, away from the immediate rush of the building, Seria stopped and turned to Soren, adjusting her lightcoat against the afternoon breeze.

”Well, now that the circus is officially over, how about lunch?” she invited smoothly. ”My treat.”

Soren paused briefly, considering the offer, before shaking his head. ”I’ll have to apologize, Miss Seria. I promised Ethea I’d head back for lunch.”

Seria’s brows rose slightly in amusement, a small smile playing on her lips. ”As devoted as ever, huh?”

However, she didn’t press the matter further. It was clear his mind was already elsewhere, and keeping him any longer would just be a waste of time. Stepping back toward her vehicle, she offered a casual wave of her hand.

”Alright, get going then. Don’t keep her waiting too long,” she added with a light chuckle.

Ryan stepped forward next, offering a deep, respectful bow. ”Thank you for everything, Sir. Truly.”

Soren placed a hand briefly on Ryan’s shoulder, nodding quietly. ”Don’t mention it. Get some rest, Ryan. We still have that training session we talked about later.”

Ryan’s eyes brightened slightly, and he nodded with determination. ”Yes, sir! I’ll be ready whenever you call. See you later.”

”See you later,” Soren replied.

Ryan offered a quick parting nod before turning to follow after Seria as they headed toward a waiting private vehicle.

Soren stood on the steps for a brief moment, watching them depart into the city traffic. Once they disappeared around the corner, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked the screen, and quietly pulled up a ride-hailing app to call a taxi.

Just then, his hand froze over the screen.

He sensed a presence approaching him from behind.

”...”

He turned around smoothly, his expression slipping back into indifference. His brow rose faintly at the sight of the man.

It was Ziso Vale.

Despite having just witnessed his own son being dragged away to prison, he looked perfectly immaculate. His posture was rigid, and his expensive, tailored coat didn’t have a single crease.

He stopped a few paces away, his piercing gaze locking onto Soren. There was no anger, no grief, and no visible malice in his eyes. There was only the cold, calculating focus of a businessman evaluating an unexpected variable.

”Mr. Soren,” Ziso spoke first, his voice deep, smooth, and entirely steady.

”Mr. Vale,” Soren responded, his tone perfectly flat, showing neither fear nor hostility.

Ziso stepped closer, extending his right hand.

Soren looked down at the hand for a fraction of a second before extending his own.

Their palms met, and they exchanged a firm, brief handshake. To any passing observer or distant photographer, it looked like nothing more than a polite, civilized interaction between two men concluding a formal legal matter, not the prelude to a deadly blood feud.

”You handled yourself remarkably well in there,” Ziso said, releasing the grip and casually resting his hands at his sides. ”To completely dismantle a defense prepared by some of the highest-paid legal minds in the city... it is quite impressive for a young man of your rank.”

”You flatter me, Sir.” Soren smiled faintly. ”It was the evidence itself that did the heavy lifting, and the lawyer Miss Anna handled the rest.”

Ziso let out a short, quiet chuckle, though his eyes remained completely cold. ”Perhaps. But you were the one who gave it to them.”

”...”

Soren remained silent, offering no reaction to the statement. His face returned to its usual mask of calm indifference, simply watching the older man.

’...What is he plotting?’