She Became Rich After Divorce by Georgina Lane

Chapter 229: Omari’s Past (Part One)

On February 23, 2014, nearing the end of the year, a cold front blew in from the northwest and made its way through the flat plains. Akloit had been experiencing light rain for half a month straight with daytime temperatures only reaching three degrees Celsius.

A bright black Porsche Cayenne drove through the rain and stopped in front of an old residential building located in an alleyway that had been around for many years. The surrounding area was filled with low- rise buildings.

The alleyway was so narrow that once the car entered it, it took up the entire space. The tires rolled over cobblestones and black sewage water mixed with rainwater jumped out and flowed into a drain along with gravity.

The air was filled with a foul smell of groundwater that resembled rotting dead mice or stinky eggs.

Sitting inside her luxury car, Laurel wrinkled her nose in disgust and covered it with her handkerchief before taking out limited edition Chanel perfume from her purse to spray herself. She said disdainfully, “Can people even live here? I’ve seen pig farms more upscale than this! I can’t believe there are still such backward places like this in Akloit; they’re really holding back city development.”

The middle-aged man driving looked to be around forty years old. He wore a black suit paired with matching trousers and his hair was neatly combed despite his ruggedly handsome face showing signs of aging. It was clear he must have been quite handsome when he was younger.

“Laurel, watch your words,” he warned sternly. “What do you mean by saying people can’t live here?”

This was Akloit’s slum area which may only occupy one-tenth of Akloit’s land but houses forty percent of its population.

The small shabby houses were packed tightly together like sardines; each small window represented one household where families lived cramped lives like hardworking ants struggling to make ends meet. Most residents were migrant workers who came from remote mountainous areas to work at nearby factories or ports selling their labor for survival.

Laurel sneered as she spoke; she wasn’t even being harsh enough on these homes which couldn’t compare to even doghouses prepared for her beloved pets.

low-class

flashed briefly with cold resentment as she clenched her fists tightly wondering why on earth her husband chose

chess artistry, flower arrangement, tea ceremonies but

her. If it weren’t for the sudden death of that woman, her husband would never have brought their

other words, he had cheated on her in just their second year of marriage. And

run-down, made up of the earliest

or eight households crammed together sharing one faucet and

finished working in the morning were returning home

billowed out from the stove as she squatted down before it blowing fiercely at its mouthpiece with pursed

an oversized yellow floral cotton-padded jacket paired with black cotton pants; this posture made her

up outside their courtyard gate; envy immediately flashed across her square face even though

everything about everyone living around here,

all about cooking when she saw someone get out of such an expensive car right outside where they

door opened, revealing a woman who looked about the same age as herself but much slimmer and

two-piece Chanel-style clothing paired with white high-heeled shoes while carrying an LV embroidered handbag along with curly hair adorned by lustrous pearl earrings, she was exquisite and noble. Beside her stood an elegant man dressed smartly in his suit exuding both sharpness and dominance. His shiny black leather shoes were tapping rhythmically against ground

Angel West living

Angel? The sickly lady?

stared dumbfoundedly at the man in front of her, her greedy eyes fixed on him. He was obviously a big shot, and

sounded from behind them. It belonged to a teenage boy who seemed to be going through