Chapter 5

But I still nudged Esme toward him.

Tyson was sent to the hospital with great fanfare. It was clear that the Sloane Family took this “new son-in-law” very seriously. Everyone was there.

I also sat in the corridor waiting.

Esme came forward and the first words she said were to me, “Davis, Tyson…wants a title.”

I was stunned for a moment.

“I know this is unfair to you, but we haven’t had any children all these years. He’s the only man who made me pregnant, so he should get a little reward.”

She solemnly took my hand, “Don’t worry, we’re only doing a fake divorce. After the child is born, we’ll remarry.”

That was a lie.

I was no longer a child who could be fooled. But honestly, I never intended to keep this marriage.

Stepping back behind the scenes was just an excuse to calm the Sloane Family. What I truly wanted was to take all I had accumulated over the years and leave far away, leaving a stillborn child behind for the Sloane Family.

Esme and I got our divorce certificate in the morning.

In the afternoon, Tyson held a wedding with her and I was also among the guests.

The Sloane Family had originally feared I wouldn’t go. They did not expect me to accept happily.

This was the second time I saw Esme this drunk. The first time was at our own wedding.

She collapsed into her friends’ arms, just like when she married me, repeating over and over, “I like him, I really like him. I finally married him. Guys, do you know how happy I am?”

I stood opposite her with the flower on my chest, saying “groomsman.”

“Davis.” She staggered and grabbed my hand, placing it on her face.

It was burning hot.

“I’m drunk, Davis. Can you make me some hangover soup?”

Her friends handed her a whole bottle, already packaged. But she pushed it away,

“I want him to make it himself.”

During the most critical time in her career, she came home drunk every day. My good soups were all because she had trained me.

I poured a cup of plain hot water and handed it to her. “Esme, from now on… take care of yourself.”

She held the cup in a daze, her drunken eyes watching me walk away.

Her friends nudged her, “Hey, aren’t you going to chase him? After all, he’s your ex-husband.”

She smiled, “What ex-husband? Isn’t he my husband?”

I stood at the door and looked back.

She took a sip of water, her eyes full of confusion.

I slowly closed the door, holding a plane ticket for one hour later in my hand, along with proof that she was infertile.