Daughter Called Another Man “Dad”,So I Left

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Daughter Called Another Man “Dad”,So I Left

NovelShort Hoàn thành
HotRejectedBillionaireRevengeBetrayal

On the day of the twins' birthday, the CEO wife brought her first love home. Watching the two of them together, inseparable, Wilfred Dickerson finally decided to let go. "Hildegarde, I don't love you ...

Chương (10)

第1章

On the day of the twins' birthday, the CEO wife brought her first love home. Watching the two of them together, inseparable, Wilfred Dickerson finally decided to let go. "Hildegarde, I don't love you anymore. I'm setting you free." "Wilfred, can you please stop making a scene?" "I'm not making a scene. From now on, I just want to live for myself." Five years ago, Hildegarde Pruitt—the eldest daughter of one of Cloudhaven's most powerful families—had her heart shattered when her childhood sweetheart abandoned her for a marriage alliance overseas. In her despair, she agreed to an arranged marriage of her own. After the wedding, Wilfred gave up everything for her. He believed his devotion could melt her icy heart, that sincerity would be met with sincerity. But in the end, it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Hildegarde's heart had always belonged to the man who left her. Now, that man was back. Wilfred finally saw things clearly. He decided to give them both a dignified way out. That day, he carried his luggage in one hand and his daughter in the other, walking past Hildegarde and her first love without a word. Hildegarde barely glanced at him. Her voice was cool and detached. "Wilfred, if you walk out that door today, don't think you can come back so easily." "Don't worry, Hildegarde. I won't be coming back." "From here on out, our paths won't cross again." —— For the twins' birthday banquet, Hildegarde had invited nearly every prominent figure in Cloudhaven's business circles. At the head table, Hilary Pruitt clung to Patrick Lyons's arm, calling him "Daddy Patrick" with sugary affection. Patrick smiled and lifted the five-year-old onto his lap, planting a kiss on her chubby cheek. Then he turned to look at Wilfred, who stood off to the side like hired help, and smirked. "Now, Hilary, that's not quite right. Wilfred is your real father. When there are people around, you should call me Uncle Patrick. When we're alone, then you can call me Daddy Patrick." Laughter rippled through the banquet hall. All eyes turned to Wilfred, glinting with amusement. Hildegarde spared him a single glance, her gaze as cold as frost. "Wilfred, what are you standing there for?" "Patrick said he wanted those butter tarts you make. Why haven't you brought them out yet?" Wilfred slowly lifted his head. His eyes moved from Hilary to Hildegarde. Hildegarde Pruitt was the eldest daughter of the Pruitt family, one of Cloudhaven's five great houses. At only twenty-six, she helmed the Pruitt Group, with a net worth approaching ten billion dollars. Every man in Cloudhaven considered her the untouchable goddess of the business world. Five years ago, her childhood sweetheart Patrick Lyons had left to marry another woman abroad. The news had devastated her. She drowned herself in alcohol night after night. One evening, stumbling out of a bar, she was cornered by a group of thugs. They dragged her into an alley, and just as they were about to assault her, Wilfred—on his way home from work—intervened without hesitation. He fought them off and pulled her from their grasp. That night, whether out of gratitude or revenge against the man who'd abandoned her, they checked into a hotel and spent the night together. The next morning, Wilfred woke with his body aching. Hildegarde was already dressed, watching him with cold eyes. She gave him two choices. One: Go to Family Court with her and register their marriage. Become a live-in son-in-law for the Pruitt family. Two: She would accuse him of assault and personally see him put on trial. He chose the first option without hesitation. And just like that, for the next five years, he stumbled into life as the Pruitt family's live-in son-in-law. Hildegarde gave him twin daughters, as lovely as porcelain dolls. To repay her for bearing his children, Wilfred willingly stayed, taking on the role of househusband—cooking, cleaning, caring for the elderly and the young. For Hildegarde, for his two precious daughters, he poured his youth into the kitchen without a single complaint. Then, six months ago, Patrick ended his four-and-a-half-year marriage abroad and returned to Cloudhaven. From that point on, Hildegarde came home less and less. A week ago, she claimed she had a business trip. Instead, she took Patrick and Hilary to Phuket for a vacation. That day, Hildegarde forgot to restrict her social media post. She uploaded a photo of herself and Patrick holding Hilary on a sunlit beach—a perfect "family portrait." It was also their wedding anniversary. When Wilfred saw that photo, his heart shattered. "Mommy, Mommy! I don't want Daddy! I don't want Daddy! I want Daddy Patrick to be my daddy! Daddy is no good at anything. He's just a boring old hick!" Hilary's shrill voice cut through his thoughts. Hildegarde gazed at Patrick, her eyes soft with affection. She pinched Hilary's rosy cheek and cooed, "Alright, alright. Daddy Patrick can be your daddy. Mommy promises, okay?" Then she turned to Wilfred, and her expression went cold again. "Wilfred, what are you still doing here? Haven't you embarrassed yourself enough? Get to the kitchen and make Patrick's tarts!" Wilfred's heart felt like it was being carved up with a knife. Everything inside him turned to ash. Without a word, he walked back to the kitchen. He carefully removed the birthday cake he'd baked from the oven—his final gift to his daughters. Once he brought the cake out and celebrated one last birthday with them, he would leave this house forever. Then a small hand wrapped around his leg from behind. "Daddy!" Wilfred looked down. It was Penelope Dickerson. Hildegarde had given him twin daughters. The elder was Hilary; the younger was Penelope. Looking at Penelope's delicate face and her wide, innocent eyes, Wilfred fought back tears. He reached down and stroked her hair. "Tell Daddy—what's your birthday wish?" "I want to be with Daddy forever." "Daddy... are you going to divorce Mommy?" Penelope's big eyes brimmed with hurt. She was the younger twin, but she was remarkably bright. At three, she'd shown intelligence far beyond her years. By four, Wilfred had started teaching her calligraphy. After a year of practice, she could already read many characters. She must have found the divorce papers he'd hidden in his study drawer. Wilfred couldn't hold back any longer. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He knelt and pulled her into his arms. "Then let me ask you something. If Daddy really divorces Mommy, do you want to stay with Daddy, or with Mommy and your sister?" "I want Daddy!" Wilfred smiled. His battered heart finally found a sliver of comfort. He took Penelope's small hand in his. In that moment, his resolve solidified. If Hildegarde wanted to be with her childhood sweetheart, if Hilary wanted Patrick to be her father—fine. He would give them what they wanted. All he needed was Penelope. He pushed open the kitchen door, walked into the dining room, and set the cake on the table. "Hilary, this is the cake Daddy made for you." "I don't want it! I don't want it! I don't want Daddy's ugly cake! It's so ugly! I want the fancy cream cake Daddy Patrick is getting me—the one with lots and lots of chocolate!" Hilary shook her head furiously from Patrick's lap. "Of course, of course. Daddy Patrick will get it for you." Patrick held her close, his voice dripping with indulgence. Hildegarde sat beside them, a faint smile on her lips. In that moment, the three of them looked more like a real family than Wilfred ever had with them. "Hilary, you can't eat chocolate cake!" Penelope piped up, her voice soft but urgent. "Don't you remember what the doctor said? You and I are both allergic to chocolate. If you eat it, you'll get all red and bumpy!" "Oh, just a little bit won't hurt!" Patrick waved dismissively, still holding Hilary. But when his gaze shifted to Penelope, a flicker of distaste crossed his face. Penelope was perceptive. She didn't like Patrick, and he didn't like her. Hildegarde's expression remained icy. "Wilfred, take that cake away. Patrick already ordered a proper one. It'll be here soon." Wilfred didn't move. Instead, he picked up a knife and cut the cake in half. He held out one piece to Hilary. "Hilary, listen to Daddy. Your sister's right—you can't have chocolate cake. It'll make you sick." "No! No! No!" Hilary wailed. "Your cake is ugly! It's ugly just like you! I'm not eating your stupid cake! I'm waiting for Daddy Patrick's big chocolate cream cake!" "Wilfred, do you not understand plain English?!" Hildegarde shot to her feet. "Take your pathetic cake and get it out of here. My daughter doesn't want it!" "If she doesn't want it, then she doesn't have to eat it." Wilfred looked at Hilary, and a calm smile settled on his face. "Hilary, you just said you want Daddy Patrick to be your real daddy, right? If that's your birthday wish, then Daddy will make it come true." "From now on, Daddy Patrick is your daddy." He lifted his head and met Hildegarde's eyes. His gaze was steady, more peaceful than it had ever been. "Hildegarde, let's get a divorce. Starting today, Hilary stays with you. Penelope comes with me."

第2章

The room fell silent. Every eye turned to Wilfred. No one had expected this—not here, not now, not at his twin daughters' birthday party. Hildegarde certainly hadn't. In five years of marriage, Wilfred had always been meek, careful, obedient. He never dared step out of line. Yet here he was, demanding a divorce in front of everyone. Where had he found the nerve? Had he lost his mind? "Wilfred, are you trying to pick a fight with me?" "No. This isn't a fight. I mean every word." He shook his head. "Hildegarde, there's only ever been one man in your heart, and it isn't me. Hilary has never seen me as her father either." "For five years, you've taken her abroad every year. I know exactly what those trips are about." "I'm in the way. So I'm stepping aside." "Hilary, this is the last birthday I'll celebrate with you. Happy birthday." With that, Wilfred took his younger daughter Penelope by the hand. His voice softened. "Penelope, come with Daddy." "Okay." She nodded firmly. "Wilfred!" Hildegarde's composure shattered. She slammed her palm against the cake, sending it toppling. Her pale face flushed crimson. "You're making a scene in front of all these people! Are you trying to humiliate me?" "I'll say this once more. Get back here. Take Penelope and go upstairs." "This is your last chance!" Wilfred didn't stop. Didn't turn around. Holding Penelope's hand, he walked toward the door, dozens of stares following him. "Tomorrow. Two o'clock. Family Court." Outside, a light rain had begun to fall. Wilfred had brought an umbrella. He opened it, lifted Penelope into his arms, and carried her to the parking lot. He settled her into the car seat in the back, then paused. She'd been so quiet, so well-behaved through all of it. His heart ached. He kissed her forehead. "Penelope, Daddy's taking you away from Mommy and your sister. Do you blame me?" "No." Her voice was small but unwavering. "Mommy wants to be with Uncle Patrick. She doesn't want us anymore. If she doesn't want us, we don't want her either." "Alright. Daddy will take care of you from now on." Something tightened in his chest. He started the car and drove toward the Dickerson residence. At the Pruitt house, the guests shifted uncomfortably. "Hildegarde, don't be upset. Wilfred's clearly misunderstood something. Let me go explain—" Patrick set Hilary down and made to stand, but Hildegarde caught his arm. "Don't bother, Patrick." "Trust me. He won't go through with it. Without me, he's nothing." In Hildegarde's eyes, Wilfred had always been nothing more than a glorified housekeeper. For five years, all he'd done was cook, clean, and watch the children. He had no skills, no career, no standing. She refused to believe a man who depended entirely on her would actually dare leave. What would he eat? Where would he go? She was convinced he couldn't survive a single day on his own. "He'll come crawling back tonight." She lifted Hilary into her arms and turned to face the guests with an apologetic bow. "I'm sorry, everyone. Forgive the spectacle." "Oh, it's nothing, Ms. Pruitt. Couples argue. He'll be back before you know it." "Honestly, a woman of your caliber, your looks—married to him? What a waste." "If you ask me, you and Patrick are the real match." "Patrick! How about a toast with Ms. Pruitt? A lovers' cup!" "Yes, yes! A toast!" Patrick raised his glass, gazing at Hildegarde with practiced tenderness. "Hildegarde, you've put up with so much these past five years. Let me drink to you." "Thank you, Patrick. But I'm not feeling well. I'll pass." She shook her head. Her period had started, and she couldn't drink. Besides, she was still seething. Wilfred had humiliated her in front of everyone. She wanted nothing more than to drag him back and force him to his knees, to make him apologize in front of every guest. How dare he? A man who lived off her charity. A man who couldn't survive a week without her support. How dare he demand a divorce—and act so righteous about it? If anyone was going to file, it should have been her. Her gaze drifted toward the door. Wilfred, you'd better not come back. Because if you do, I'll make you regret it. The party ended early. Hildegarde declined Patrick's offer to stay and help. She bathed Hilary, then put her to bed. The truth was, she wasn't used to caring for children. For five years, Wilfred had handled nearly everything—both girls. She'd never even changed a diaper. By the time Hilary finally fell asleep, Hildegarde was exhausted. She had just laid down when— "Mommy, I'm itchy!" Hilary wriggled against her like a restless kitten, scratching at her face and arms. Hildegarde switched on the lamp. Her daughter's face was flushed red, and angry welts spread from her neck down to her chest. An allergic reaction. Just as Wilfred had said—both girls were allergic to chocolate. Severely. He'd always been meticulous about keeping anything with cocoa away from them. But the cake Patrick brought tonight had been loaded with it. Hildegarde pulled Hilary close. "Wilfred! Hilary's having a reaction!" Silence. Then she remembered. Wilfred was gone. He'd taken Penelope and left. She had no choice but to call the housekeeper. "Ma'am, what happened to the little miss?" The housekeeper's face went pale at the sight of Hilary's swollen skin. "Allergic reaction," Hildegarde said. "But how? Mr. Dickerson was always so careful about what they ate. He never let them near anything with cocoa." "Enough! Do you know where he kept the allergy medication?" Hildegarde's patience snapped. "I... I don't know." The housekeeper shook her head helplessly. "Mr. Dickerson always took care of the girls himself. He kept the medicine. I have no idea where it is."

第3章

Ever since the two girls were born, Wilfred had treated them like precious treasures, afraid they might melt if he so much as breathed on them. Everything related to the children—medicine, supplies, schedules—he kept under his personal care. No one else was allowed to touch any of it. Not even the housekeeper. "Fine, I'll call him." Hildegarde pulled out her phone and dialed Wilfred's number. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. "How dare he!" "Wilfred, you bastard! You actually blocked my number!" Rage flickered in Hildegarde's bright eyes. There was no mistake—she'd been blocked. Otherwise, it wouldn't have given that message. "That bastard. Does he think I can't take care of Hilary without him?" "Go find it! Search everywhere! I refuse to believe he hid the allergy medicine in the sky." Marjorie rushed to the adjoining room and began tearing through drawers and cabinets. Nothing. Hilary's condition was getting worse by the minute. Left with no choice, Hildegarde had Marjorie carry the child to the car and drove through the night to Children's Hospital. After a round of emergency treatment, Hilary's allergic reaction was finally under control. The little girl lay on the hospital bed, her small body looking pitiful. "Mommy, can you not tell Uncle Patrick I had an allergic reaction? Otherwise he won't buy me chocolate anymore." She paused, thinking. "Actually, it's Daddy's fault. He never lets me eat chocolate. If I'd eaten more of it, I wouldn't be allergic." Hildegarde slumped against the headboard, exhaustion carved into her face. Hearing her daughter mention "Daddy" brought Wilfred back to mind. Her chest felt like it was stuffed with a stone. "Wilfred, you bastard. You blocked my phone. Your daughter had an allergic reaction, and you didn't even care. Fine. You've got nerve!" "Go ahead—don't ever come back!" By the time Hilary's IV finished, it was already one in the morning. Hildegarde drove her daughter home, too exhausted to even shower. She collapsed onto the bed and sank into a dead sleep. At six a.m., she was jolted awake by her daughter's crying. Normally, Hildegarde slept until eight-thirty sharp. When she woke, her toothpaste and warm water would already be laid out—Wilfred always prepared them. But today, she was dragged from sleep at six. Her head felt like it was about to split open. "Marjorie, what's going on?" The housekeeper hurried in. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. The little miss woke up and started fussing. I've tried everything." Hildegarde clawed at her tangled hair like a woman possessed. Gone was any trace of the poised, commanding CEO. Her voice came out in a near-shout: "Make her stop!" "She's just a child! You can't even manage that? What exactly am I paying you for?" Marjorie felt wronged. The two girls had always been Wilfred's responsibility. Since coming to this household, she'd never once been asked to handle childcare. Of course she didn't know how. But seeing her employer on the verge of losing it, Marjorie swallowed her words. She scooped up Hilary and hurried downstairs. Hildegarde had mild insomnia. Once woken, she couldn't fall back asleep. She gave up and went downstairs. "Marjorie, make me breakfast. I want an egg and ham sandwich. The ham has to be imported from New Zealand, and the egg fried medium." "Me too, me too! I want a bacon cheese egg burger!" Hilary chimed in with her own order. Marjorie froze. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. All of Hildegarde and the girls' meals had always been Wilfred's domain. Marjorie had never so much as touched the kitchen. She had no idea how to make what they'd ordered. She'd never even heard of half of it. "Um, ma'am, miss... just give me a moment. I'll call Mr. Dickerson and ask how it's done." Marjorie's face burned with embarrassment. Hildegarde's brow furrowed. In that moment, she realized that without Wilfred, this entire household had fallen apart. She couldn't sleep. Now she couldn't even eat breakfast. But she would never admit he mattered. "Wilfred, if you've got the nerve, don't ever come back. You want a divorce? Fine. Let's divorce." "When you can't make it out there and come crawling back begging me to remarry you, I'll make you kneel at my feet and sing 'I Surrender' for twenty-four hours straight!" Achoo! Miles away at the Dickerson old house, Wilfred was woken by his internal clock—and immediately sneezed hard. He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and couldn't help a bitter smile. Five years in the Pruitt household. Every day, he'd woken at this hour to take care of the children, to take care of Hildegarde. Now it was second nature. Even without setting an alarm, his body woke him right on schedule. His phone rang. He picked it up and checked the screen. Marjorie. After a moment's hesitation, he answered. "Hello, Marjorie—" "Mr. Dickerson! Ma'am and the little miss are up, and they want some kind of egg and ham sandwich—the ham has to be imported from New Zealand, the egg fried medium—and the little miss wants a bacon cheese egg burger. I don't know how to make any of this!" Marjorie's voice cracked with panic. Wilfred had been the man of the Pruitt house, yet he'd always been approachable, never making things difficult for the staff. "Here's what we'll do," he said. "I'll send you the recipes right now. Just follow the steps. I'll also send you a list of Hilary's dietary needs and things to watch out for." "Marjorie, I'm leaving Hilary in your care from now on." "Alright, Mr. Dickerson. But... when are you coming back?" "I'm not coming back." "What?!" Marjorie thought she'd misheard. "Hildegarde and I are getting divorced," Wilfred said. "I won't be involved in Pruitt family matters anymore. Don't call this number again." He hung up before she could respond. "Did you reach Wilfred?" Hildegarde looked up at Marjorie, her expression cold and detached. Marjorie nodded. "Y-yes, I got through." "What did that bastard say? When is he crawling back?" "Mr. Dickerson said... he said he's divorcing you. He's never coming back." "Pfft—!" Hildegarde had just lifted her coffee to her lips. She spat it out in a spray, eyes wide as she stared at Marjorie. "That bastard said... he said he's not coming back?" "Yes, absolutely. That's exactly what Mr. Dickerson said. Ma'am, did you two have a fight?" Marjorie had been off yesterday for the girls' birthday party. She had no idea what had happened between them. "Mind your own business!" Hildegarde shot her a glare. Her fingers tightened around the coffee cup until her knuckles went white. "Not coming back? Hmph. I hope you mean it!" "Without me, Wilfred, do you really think you can survive?" When they were together, Wilfred had cupped her face in his hands more than once and told her she was the love of his life, that she was his everything. And now he wanted to leave her? Could he really let go?

第4章

For breakfast, Wilfred made his daughter Penelope's favorite—vegetable and egg noodles. She took after him when it came to taste. They both loved noodles. Hildegarde and Hilary, on the other hand, couldn't stand them. Back when they lived at the Pruitt estate, Hildegarde had forbidden him from cooking noodles. Once, when Penelope had begged for a bowl of his vegetable egg noodles, he'd secretly made one for her. But Hildegarde and her mother Rosemary Dickerson had walked in right as he set it down. The looks on their faces could have curdled milk. His mother-in-law had ignored Penelope's sobs and dumped the entire bowl straight into the trash. Then she'd jabbed a finger in his face and called it street-stall garbage, warning him never to make such low-class slop again. It would drag down the family's standards, she'd said. "Daddy, can you make me noodles every morning from now on?" Watching his daughter slurp down her breakfast, Wilfred smiled. "Of course. Whatever you want to eat, I'll make it." "Then after school, can you take me for fried chicken?" Penelope's eyes sparkled with longing. "Sure." After breakfast, Wilfred drove her to the preschool. At the gates, he spotted the Land Cruiser the Pruitt family's nanny drove. It was almost laughable, really. Hildegarde had bought the help a luxury SUV worth a small fortune—just for grocery runs and school pickups—while treating her own husband like an afterthought. He'd never been allowed to touch any of the family cars. In the end, his mother had taken pity on him and bought him a Range Rover so he wouldn't have to rely on rideshares. Hilary hopped out of the Land Cruiser, backpack bouncing. She skipped over to Penelope, waving a paper bag. "Look! Patrick—I mean, my new daddy—made me honey bread! It's got honey and matsutake mushrooms on top. It's sooo good!" Penelope pouted. "Daddy says kids shouldn't eat too many sweets. You'll get cavities." Hilary stuck out her tongue. "Hmph! I have a new daddy now. That old daddy can't tell me what to do anymore. I can eat whatever I want! Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh..." "My new daddy also says I should learn to share with other kids. So I'm gonna give treats to everyone—except you! Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh..." Penelope clutched her backpack straps, eyes reddening. "Hilary, if you keep acting like this, Daddy really won't want you anymore." "So what? I don't want him either! Who needs such a loser dad anyway? Patrick is my real daddy now." Hilary tossed her head and marched into the preschool, smug as could be. Penelope's jaw tightened. She snatched up a pebble from the roadside, glaring at her sister's retreating back. But in the end, she set it down. Daddy had told her—no matter what, Hilary was still her sister. Even if Hilary made her angry, she couldn't hurt her. From inside the car, Wilfred watched his two daughters. He sighed quietly. Hilary's behavior didn't wound him. He felt no grief, no disappointment—only a weary acceptance. What's gone is gone. Yesterday can't be held. Pruitt Group headquarters. Hildegarde had barely stepped into her office when she noticed a lunch box sitting on her desk, decorated with a little heart. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips. Of course. Wilfred was just throwing a tantrum. Once he cooled off, he'd come crawling back like he always did. And here was the proof—a homemade lunch, bright and early. Same as before. Same as always. That man couldn't survive without her. Her phone rang. Patrick's name flashed on the screen. "Hello? Patrick..." "Hildegarde, I made you a lunch. Left it on your desk—eat it while it's warm." His voice was honeyed. "You made this?" Her expression flickered. "Mmhm. Got up early and spent the whole morning on it. Even cut my finger with the knife." He chuckled ruefully. "Cooking really isn't a man's job. Honestly, I have to hand it to Wilfred—puttering around the kitchen every day like it's nothing. Must be nice to have such simple pleasures." Even now, he couldn't resist the dig. Hildegarde's face remained impassive. "Got it. I'm busy—I'll call you later." "Alright. Take care of yourself." She hung up and stared at the lunch box. Suddenly, she had no desire to open it. "Terence Baker," she called. Her secretary appeared at the door. "Yes, Ms. Pruitt?" "Has my husband come by today?" "No, ma'am. Mr. Dickerson hasn't been to the office." A flush of irritation crept up her cheeks. "I see. Take this lunch and eat it yourself. If my husband does show up, tell him I've already eaten—and he can take his container back with him." Terence collected the box and left. "Let's see how long you can keep this up." Hildegarde snorted and turned to her work—though her mind refused to settle. By late morning, her stomach was growling. She summoned Terence again. "Has my husband come by?" "No, ma'am. And that lunch box is still here, if you'd like it. I can heat it up." "Throw it out." She waved him away in annoyance. Once he was gone, she snatched up her phone and dialed Wilfred's number. The number you have dialed is not in service... "Bastard! You're still blocking my calls?!" Her patience finally snapped. Blocking her number. Not even bothering to bring her lunch. What the hell was he playing at? Did he actually mean to go through with the divorce? The thought sent an unexpected flutter of panic through her chest. She grabbed the office landline and tried again. This time, it connected. "Wilfred, just so you know, I've already eaten. Patrick made me the most wonderful lunch, so today you don't need to—" His voice cut through, flat and cold. "Hildegarde. I'm at the Family Court. Get over here. Let's finish this." She froze. Was he serious? He was actually at Family Court, waiting to finalize their divorce? Where did he get the nerve? Did he really think he could survive out there without her? "Wilfred, enough. You think threatening me with divorce is going to work? Without me, you're nothing. Without me, your whole family goes down with you." "Don't forget—without me, the Dickersons are nobody."

第5章

Hildegarde was utterly furious. Back then, the Dickersons had arranged the marriage with the Pruitts to ride their coattails, and over the years, the Pruitts had certainly taken care of them. Without the Pruitts, the Dickersons would be nothing. "Wilfred, do you have any idea? One word from me, and I can drag your entire family into the abyss." "I'm giving you one last chance. Get over here and apologize. For the sake of all those years you slaved away for the Pruitts, I might forgive you this once. Otherwise—" "Hildegarde!" Before she could finish, Wilfred cut her off coldly. "Don't threaten me with the Dickersons. I've done more than enough for that family over the years. I don't owe them anything." "If you want to drag them into the abyss, then do it." He hung up. "Wilfred, you bastard!" Her hysterical scream echoed through her office. ... Wilfred got back in the car. He released the parking brake, shifted into drive, and floored it. The SUV shot forward like a wild horse, an arrow loosed from its bowstring, merging into the flow of traffic. Behind him, a red Maserati quietly followed. Wilfred's speed was staggering. In the blink of an eye, the speedometer hit ninety and kept climbing. The scenery on both sides blurred into streaks. The black Range Rover cut through the road like a dark hurricane. Inside, Wilfred's face was expressionless, his eyes bright and fixed ahead. Adrenaline surged through him, peaking with every mile per hour. It had been so long since he'd driven like this. In that moment, a trace of who he used to be flickered back to life. "Holy shit, who the hell is that? That car's practically flying!" "Damn! Did you see that drift? Absolutely insane!" In a sports car Wilfred had just blown past, a group of trust-fund kids gawked at the Range Rover's taillights, whooping in disbelief. One of them—a girl with yellow hair and a nose ring—was trembling with excitement. "Find out who that is! I haven't seen anyone that cool in years!" "I want to race him!" A voice crackled through her wireless earpiece: "No need to look it up. That plate's easy to spot—it's Lawrence Dickerson's car." "Lawrence?" "What the hell? Since when did Lawrence drive like that? When we raced him on Mount Akina, he was nowhere near this fast!" "That little bastard was holding back on us." ... The black Range Rover tore along the mountain road, winding through curve after curve. Only the red Maserati managed to keep the taillights in sight. Inside the Maserati, Margery Finch sat behind the wheel—red coat, black sunglasses, devastatingly beautiful. A slow smile curved her lips. Her golden waves of hair danced in the wind, a strand caught playfully between her lips. Effortlessly sensual. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. The Wilfred she knew was back. Years ago, he'd been hailed as a prodigy. At twelve, he'd entered Seabrook Tech University's gifted program. Four consecutive years, he'd won gold at the International Fermat Mathematics Competition. At eighteen, he'd earned a top-tier FIA racing license. For three years after that, he'd competed in the Bramblebrook World Rally Championship, posting impressive results. Before twenty-two, Wilfred's life had been dazzling—flowers and applause at every turn. Then, at twenty-three, instead of pursuing his PhD abroad as planned, he'd suddenly chosen to marry into the Pruitt family. He'd abandoned his studies. Abandoned his career. Devoted himself entirely to being a husband and father. He'd vanished from the public eye. A rising star, extinguished without a sound. Screech! Tires shrieked against asphalt. White smoke billowed as the Range Rover lurched to a stop at the roadside. Margery's Maserati shot past, barely missing it. Why had he stopped so suddenly? She pulled over too, parking just ahead of his hood. Inside the Range Rover, Wilfred's phone was ringing. "Hello, is this Mr. Dickerson? I'm the homeroom teacher at your daughter's preschool." A sweet, gentle voice came through the speaker. Wilfred recognized Ms. Perry. "Yes, Ms. Perry. What's going on?" "Mr. Dickerson, I'm so glad I reached you. Here's the situation: your older daughter Hilary brought a bag of honey buns to school this morning. She shared them with her classmates, and now several children have food poisoning—vomiting, diarrhea, the works. The parents are all here demanding an explanation." Honey buns? Wilfred recalled that morning, when he'd dropped Penelope off. Hilary had been carrying a paper bag. If he had to guess, Patrick had prepared it for her. "Ms. Perry, here's the thing. I've divorced Hilary's mother. She has custody, so anything that happens with Hilary at school isn't my responsibility. You should call her mother. Or contact her new dad." "What??" On the other end, Lola Perry was stunned. She hadn't expected him to say that. But even after a divorce, shouldn't a parent still handle their child's problems? "Um, Mr. Dickerson, Hilary said the honey buns were prepared by you. So technically, you'd be the one responsible." Angry voices erupted in the background. "Ms. Perry, have you reached that kid's parents yet? My child is practically dehydrated from all the diarrhea! Someone needs to take responsibility!" "Exactly! What kind of parent lets their kid bring street food to school?" "Get the parents here now, or I'm calling the police!" Ms. Perry pleaded and cajoled, barely managing to quiet the crowd. "Mr. Dickerson, you can see how complicated this is. If you don't come, I can't resolve this." Wilfred frowned, hesitating for a moment. "Ms. Perry, could you put my younger daughter on the phone?" "Of course." A second later, Penelope's soft little voice came through: "Daddy." Wilfred's tone gentled. "Penelope, did you eat any of the honey buns your sister brought?" "No. She said her other daddy made them for her to share with her classmates. She wouldn't let me have any." A note of hurt lingered in her voice. Wilfred exhaled in relief. As long as Penelope was okay. "How's Hilary doing?" "She's crying."

第6章

Penelope's voice was thick with indignation. "She kept insisting you made those honey buns, but you didn't! Uncle Patrick made them. She's blaming you for nothing!" "No, I'm not! I'm not blaming Daddy! Daddy made them, not Uncle Patrick—" Hilary's wailing burst through the phone. "Shut up! You're lying about Daddy! I'm gonna hit you—" "Ahhhhh!" Hilary's screams followed almost immediately. Clearly, Penelope was dispensing sisterly justice. Wilfred didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Sure, Penelope was born half an hour after her twin, but in terms of maturity, intelligence, and sheer combat ability, she completely outclassed Hilary. Since Penelope hadn't been bullied, he could relax. "Ms. Perry—" "Mr. Dickerson, please figure something out! I really can't handle this much longer!" The teacher's exasperated voice came back on the line. "Alright, I'll make some calls. Someone will be there shortly." Wilfred hung up and dialed Marjorie, the family's housekeeper. "Marjorie, I just got a call from the preschool. Ms. Perry says the honey buns Hilary brought were a huge hit with the kids. She's hoping you could send some more." "What honey buns?" Marjorie was completely lost. "The ones Hilary took to school this morning! Could you have someone deliver more? They're waiting." "Oh, oh, of course. I'll take care of it." After hanging up, Marjorie immediately thought of Patrick Lyons. Ms. Pruitt definitely wouldn't have prepared honey buns for the girls, and Mr. Dickerson hadn't either. That left Mr. Lyons. That man. Didn't he know the preschool had a strict no-outside-food policy? Always stirring up trouble! She dialed Patrick's number. "Mr. Lyons? This is Marjorie, the Pruitt family's housekeeper." "What is it?" His voice was flat, disinterested. "Well, this morning Miss Hilary brought some honey buns to school, and her teacher just called to say they were a hit with the children. She was hoping you could send more." "Really!" Patrick's heart leapt. He had made those honey buns—a calculated move to win Hilary's affection. He hadn't expected such spectacular results. Not only did Hilary like them, but all the other kids did too. He could picture it now: Hilary handing out the treats, surrounded by adoring classmates showering her with praise. She must be thrilled. And once she was happy, a few well-placed words to Hildegarde, and his marriage prospects would finally gain traction. "Got it. I'll buy more and deliver them myself." Back on Wilfred's end. After hanging up, a cold smile curved his lips. He wasn't taking the fall for this. If Patrick was so eager to play stepfather, let him clean up his own mess. Knock knock knock... Someone tapped lightly on the car window. Wilfred turned, startled. A blonde woman in sunglasses stood outside. He lowered the window. "Hi, can I help you?" She looked familiar, but he couldn't place her. "Hey, Mr. Dickerson. Don't recognize me?" Margery Finch tilted her head with a slight smile. "You're..." Still nothing. A flicker of disappointment crossed her eyes, though her expression remained composed. "Sorry, I should introduce myself. I'm Margery Finch." Margery Finch. Seabrook Horizon Law Group's top litigator. It clicked. No wonder she looked familiar. Horizon Law Group was the largest firm in Seabrook, and Margery was their star attorney. Rumor had it she'd never lost a case since she started practicing. "Nice to meet you, Attorney Finch." "Mr. Dickerson, I heard you're planning to divorce your wife. If you need legal representation, give me a call." Wilfred couldn't help but chuckle. "I never imagined a star attorney like yourself would be out drumming up business. But your rates are way out of my league these days." Margery tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her lips curving. "For you? I'd work pro bono." Pro bono? Wilfred blinked. "Ms. Finch, have we met before?" Her smile widened. "You really have a short memory, Mr. Dickerson. Don't you remember? When you were doing your graduate work at Seabrook University, your advisor was Professor Les Finch—my grandfather." "I met you at his house more than once." "That was you!" It all came flooding back. But... Margery had changed completely. Back then, she could be summed up in one phrase: disheveled bookworm. Every time he'd seen her at the professor's house, she'd been buried in textbooks, hair a mess, face bare. Now, years later, she hadn't just transformed—she'd metamorphosed entirely. "You remember now!" Margery removed her sunglasses, revealing a pair of striking eyes. With the glasses on, the effect had been muted. Without them, her features came together in something approaching dangerous beauty. "My grandfather's retired now, spending his days at home. He mentions you often—always with fondness." Her voice softened. "His health has been declining lately. If you have time, would you consider visiting him?" "Visit him, and I'll handle your divorce for free." Wilfred fell silent. Les Finch. Former dean of Seabrook Tech University's School of Mathematics. A world-renowned mathematician. And the guiding light of Wilfred's academic journey. An irreplaceable mentor. When Wilfred had entered the university's accelerated program as a teenager, Professor Finch had been one of his advisors. He'd been young, struggling with cafeteria food, and the old man had often brought him home for proper meals. He could still taste Mrs. Finch's mouth-watering chicken. The professor's face surfaced in his memory—that warm, weathered smile. Wilfred's head dropped. "I'm sorry. I can't. I... don't have the face to see him." Years ago, when he'd chosen to marry into the Pruitt family and abandon his studies, he'd told the professor himself. He could still remember the look in those eyes. Utter devastation. Margery stood outside the car, watching Wilfred's bowed head, the shame written across his features. Something tightened in her chest. "I know some of what happened with your marriage back then. I know it wasn't entirely your choice." "What I want to say is this: Wilfred, you're free now. If you still have dreams, chase them." "No one's going to hold you back anymore." "We're all waiting to see you rise again."

第7章

"Thank you, Miss Finch." Wilfred let out a long breath, a confident smile returning to his face. "I promise, if I have time, I'll go visit Professor Finch." "Alright. I'll let my grandmother know so she can make your favorite—sweet and sour ribs." Margery smiled. For a moment, Wilfred found himself staring, caught off guard by that smile. When he snapped out of it, he quickly looked away. "Miss Finch, I'm heading to Family Court now. If everything goes smoothly, the divorce should be finalized today, so I probably won't need to trouble you with the lawsuit after all. But if something unexpected comes up, I'll give you a call." "Okay, no problem. I'll get going then. See you around." Sliding her sunglasses on and tossing her long golden hair, Margery returned to her sports car. A smile slowly curved at the corner of her lips. Ever since she'd heard from friends that Wilfred and Hildegarde were getting divorced, Margery had been quietly keeping tabs on him. Seeing the man she'd secretly admired since childhood finally pulling himself together again— It made her genuinely happy. Wilfred, I can't wait to see you become that genius again. That boy who used to tug on my ponytail... My boy, put on your armor and rise again! In the end, Hildegarde never showed up at Family Court. Wilfred waited there all afternoon for nothing. When pickup time at the preschool approached, he had no choice but to drive over and get Penelope. "Daddy, Daddy, guess what?" "Uncle Patrick got beat up!" "A bunch of moms held him down and hit him!" The moment she got in the car, Penelope launched into an animated retelling of the afternoon's events. It turned out that after Patrick learned the honey bread Hilary brought had become a huge hit among the preschoolers, he rushed over with several more bags. The result? The parents discovered he was behind the tainted treats and immediately tore into him. They demanded compensation. Patrick, unaccustomed to such treatment, started arguing back. The argument escalated, and several parents gave him a thorough beating. "Were you and Hilary okay?" Wilfred didn't care what shape Patrick was in. Frankly, after he'd called Marjorie, he'd expected something like this. "We're fine. I protected Hilary. I didn't let her get hurt." Penelope said it matter-of-factly. "Good girl." He reached over and ruffled her hair, then drove her to get fried chicken. Kids loved fried food—though of course, not too much of it. After their meal, Wilfred took Penelope back to the Pruitt villa. He still had some belongings there. The drive was quiet. Twenty minutes later, the car pulled into the parking spot in front of the villa's courtyard. "Mr. Dickerson is back." Marjorie, who was playing in the yard with Hilary, spotted him immediately. Looking at Marjorie's exhausted face and his older daughter deliberately turning away, refusing to acknowledge him, Wilfred simply smiled. "You've had a rough time, Marjorie." "Oh, Mr. Dickerson, it's so good you're back. These past few days without you, I've felt completely lost." Marjorie sighed with relief. Wilfred didn't dwell on her grievances. Taking Penelope's hand, he walked into the villa. "Ow, Hildegarde, easy! That hurts... Those crazy women—if they hadn't been women, I wouldn't have held back. I wouldn't be in this state. Ow, ow..." Before he even reached the door, Patrick's pitiful wailing echoed from inside. Penelope covered her mouth, stifling a giggle. Wilfred gave her a light tap on the head, then stepped inside. In the living room, Patrick sat on the sofa while Hildegarde stood before him, dabbing iodine onto his wounds with a cotton swab. When Patrick saw Wilfred, a flash of resentment crossed his eyes. Then he immediately leaned closer to Hildegarde, putting on a show of intimacy. "Oh, Wilfred, you're back! I knew it—you couldn't stay away from our Hildegarde. Good to have you home. But hey, don't get the wrong idea. I got a little banged up, so she's just disinfecting my cuts. There's nothing going on between us, okay?" Wilfred remained unmoved by Patrick's performance. When Hildegarde saw Wilfred walk in with their daughter, a mocking smile tugged at her lips. She lifted her chin, a victor's smugness flickering across her face. She'd known all along—Wilfred couldn't leave her. Throw a fit, make a little scene, and he'd come crawling back. "Since you're here, don't just stand there. Go to your room and get Patrick a fresh set of clothes. His are ruined." Wilfred ignored her. Holding Penelope's hand, he headed upstairs. "What kind of attitude is that, Wilfred?" "Who do you think you're giving that sour face to?" Hildegarde's temper flared. "Oh, Hildegarde, don't blame him. He's probably just jealous seeing me with you. Should I leave?" Patrick put on a wounded expression. That only made Hildegarde angrier. "Forget him. We haven't done anything wrong. If he wants to sulk, let him!" "A man this petty—I really regret marrying someone like him!" A gleam flickered in Patrick's eyes. An almost imperceptible smile curled at the corner of his mouth. Wilfred returned to the bedroom and quickly packed his things. There wasn't much, really. A few changes of clothes, some materials he'd collected over the years on mathematics and racing, and Penelope's daily necessities. All of it barely filled one suitcase. When he came downstairs with the luggage, holding Penelope's hand, Hildegarde's eyes flashed with fury the moment she saw them. She forgot all about treating Patrick's wounds. "What is this supposed to mean, Wilfred?" "Yeah, what's going on here?" Patrick chimed in. "Couples fight, but they make up in the same bed. Why are you packing like you're moving out?" "It doesn't mean anything." Wilfred looked at Hildegarde's face, twisted slightly with anger. Once, he had loved that face desperately. Loved her to the bone. But now, he felt nothing. "Don't misunderstand. Everything in here is my personal property. I haven't touched a single thing that belongs to the Pruitts or anything you've bought me over the years." "And me! This Barbie doll—Daddy saved up to buy it for me." Penelope poked her little head out, her voice soft but firm. Hildegarde was livid. "Are you serious about this, Wilfred?" "Just because I'm close with Patrick, you're jealous, is that it? You're a man—can't you be a little less petty? Acting like this only makes me look down on you even more!" Wilfred's gaze drifted to their wrists. A luxury couple's watch set.

第8章

They were even wearing matching couple's watches, yet she still had the nerve to accuse him of being petty? Of being jealous? Hildegarde noticed Wilfred's gaze drift toward her wrist. Her face flushed, and she instinctively tugged her sleeve down. "Oh, right," she said, her tone flat. "I picked up a watch for you at the airport during my last business trip." She rummaged through her handbag and pulled out a gift box. Then tossed it on the floor like garbage. The whole gesture reeked of charity—like she was throwing scraps to a beggar. Wilfred looked down. The box had popped open on impact. Inside lay a men's wristwatch. Except... It was obviously fake. The crystal, the band—everything screamed cheap knockoff. You could probably find half a dozen just like it at any street vendor for a hundred bucks. "Oh, Hildegarde, you're too good to him!" Patrick made a show of examining his own wrist. "Getting him a gift even on a business trip. Honestly, that watch looks way nicer than mine. This Larum I'm wearing is so uncomfortable." Irritation flickered across Hildegarde's face at Patrick's theatrics, though she masked it quickly. "Just take the gift and go upstairs," she said coldly. "What happened before—I'm willing to forget it." "Patrick and I need to go out for a bit. We can talk when I get back tonight." "No. You misunderstand." Wilfred didn't pick up the cheap watch. He met her eyes. "I didn't come back to make up with you. I came to get my things. And also—" He produced a document folder and a designer diamond engagement ring. "Hildegarde, here's the divorce agreement I drafted. Since you won't go to Family Court, we'll do this by mutual consent." "You—" Her brows shot up. She genuinely hadn't expected him to be this stubborn. She'd already backed down, and he was still pushing? "Wilfred, do you actually think I'm afraid to divorce you?" "Then divorce me." "Sign it, we file at the courthouse, and it's official." "You... Fine. Fine. You want a divorce? You've got one." Hildegarde was furious now. He kept dangling divorce over her head like a threat. Did he really think Hildegarde Pruitt couldn't survive without Wilfred Dickerson? She snatched up the agreement and skimmed it. A second later, her expression twisted. She slammed the papers onto the table. "Wilfred, what the hell is this?" "Why are you claiming so much of the assets?" "You want Pruitt Group stock? In your dreams!" "I built that company from nothing. What right do you have to my shares?" Wilfred's face remained blank. "Hildegarde, did you really think I spent all these years just puttering around the kitchen? When Pruitt Group went public, I bought three hundred lots of stock. I now personally hold fifteen percent of the company." "I don't want anything from the Pruitt family. But that fifteen percent? That's mine, and I'm taking it." "What?" Hildegarde went pale. Patrick looked equally stunned. Fifteen percent personal stake in Pruitt Group. At the current share price of twelve dollars and eighty cents, fifteen percent came to... six hundred million dollars. This useless man had that kind of money? Hildegarde refused to believe it. She pulled out her phone and called her secretary, demanding verification. The answer came back. That fifteen percent was registered under Wilfred Dickerson's name. "You... you..." For once, Hildegarde Pruitt had absolutely nothing to say.

第9章

Hildegarde couldn't understand it. How could a man who spent his days puttering around the kitchen, hovering over his daughter, and orbiting her life possibly have such keen financial instincts? How had he quietly become the Pruitt Group's second-largest shareholder, right after her, without anyone noticing? She had forgotten that before their marriage, the man standing before her had been hailed by countless people as a prodigy—someone who could "perceive the seed before it sprouted and see the future before it arrived." "Daddy's bullying Mommy! Daddy's a bad guy!" Hilary came running in like a gust of wind, bracing herself with her small hands as she charged forward. She rammed her head hard against Wilfred's thigh. Her little cheeks puffed out like a balloon. "Daddy, can't you be more considerate? Mommy works so hard, and you don't do anything at all. Now you want to take Mommy's money? That's wrong!" "Daddy is a bad guy. I don't want you as my daddy anymore!" "Get out of my house!" His eldest daughter's childish voice struck Wilfred like a hammer blow to the chest. Every breath burned. But he said nothing. He gently moved Hilary aside and reached out to touch the head of this daughter he had once adored beyond measure. "Daddy isn't bullying Mommy. Daddy just wants to take what belongs to him." "Wilfred, sure, you own fifteen percent of Pruitt Group shares. But investing behind Hildegarde's back? As spouses, hiding personal assets—that's on you!" Patrick stepped up behind Hildegarde, one arm wrapping brazenly around her waist. Hildegarde's brows drew together slightly, but she didn't push him away. "Besides, even if those shares are in your name, you bought them after the wedding. That makes them marital property. You can't just walk off with them. Right, Hildegarde?" Hildegarde remained silent, but her raised chin and arched eyebrows made it clear she agreed. "Wilfred, with that many shares, that much money—do you really think you can handle it?" Wilfred's gaze swept across the three people before him. Looking at them now, they seemed more like a real family than he ever had. How harmonious. "Hildegarde..." For the first time, he called her by her full name. "Those fifteen percent are mine. Whether I can handle them or not isn't your concern." "And I want those shares only to secure Penelope's future." That was the truth. Wilfred had never intended to spend this money. The fifteen percent was for Penelope. A daughter deserved to be raised in comfort. He refused to let anyone say that after coming to live with him, Penelope had gone from an heiress to a fallen phoenix. Hildegarde's face turned to ice, her eyes filled with contempt. "How noble that sounds. You think I believe you? You invested in my company's stock behind my back. If I dig deep enough, I could easily argue that you stole insider information and manipulated Pruitt Group's stock price." "You won't walk away with a single cent of that fifteen percent." "Yeah! Not a single cent!" Hilary crossed her arms, her little lips jutting out in a pout. After saying this, Hildegarde lifted her chin again, brows raised, wearing that signature look of cold control. "Wilfred, stop throwing tantrums." "I don't want to—and I don't have time to—indulge your theatrics." "If you're upset, take some time off. Use my supplementary card, go on vacation for a few days. Come back when you've calmed down." Hildegarde felt she had given Wilfred more than enough of a way out. If he had any sense, he would take the lifeline. "Hildegarde, I'm sorry. I don't love you anymore." Wilfred shook his head slowly. He had loved this woman for five years. He had given up everything for her. Revolving around her, around the children, around this family. And what had it gotten him? The moment her first love returned from abroad, she had cast him aside like a worn-out shoe. He was done. "Hildegarde, let's get divorced." "You—" Her breathing grew ragged. Her porcelain skin flushed red. "Wilfred, do you actually think I can't live without you? That my life depends on you?" "If you insist on going down this road, then fine—I'll grant your wish!" "Just don't come crying to me later!" Scratch, scratch, scratch... Snatching up a pen, Hildegarde furiously scrawled her signature across the divorce agreement. Crack! She hurled the ballpoint pen at Wilfred's feet. It shattered on impact. "Wilfred, I hope you don't regret this." "I'd love to see how you survive without me." Patrick watched the signed divorce papers, barely concealing his glee, though his voice dripped with mock sympathy. "Ah, Wilfred, I hate to say it, but you really are being unreasonable." "Someone like you—marrying Hildegarde in this lifetime? That was karma from a past life." "If it were me, getting to be with Hildegarde? I'd be laughing in my sleep." Wilfred looked up at Patrick. "Then you got your wish. I hope you two are happy together." He had no interest in wasting words on a man like Patrick. Crouching down, he took Hilary's small hand. "Hilary, Daddy's leaving now. If someday you miss me, tell Penelope. Daddy will come see you." "Save your crocodile tears!" Hildegarde scooped up Hilary, her face hard. "Hilary is my daughter. Don't pretend to be the good guy here. Without you, I'll make sure she's happier than ever." "She'll never think of you!" "And Penelope—if you miss Mommy, you can come home anytime." "That's right, I won't miss Daddy. I have Patrick-Daddy, and that's enough." Hilary pouted in agreement. "Daddy..." Just then, Penelope's voice rang out. Her small face was already streaked with tears. "Daddy, let's go. I don't want to watch them bully you anymore!" "Mommy!" In that moment, the little face was filled with determination. "Mommy, Daddy will take good care of me. Mommy, you have stomach problems. Without Daddy here, remember to take your medicine when it hurts..." "You always sleep in and need Daddy to squeeze toothpaste for you. After Daddy's gone, you'll have to learn to do it yourself." "And Daddy says you shouldn't eat cold food. So eat less of it from now on." When she finished, Penelope took Wilfred's hand. "Daddy, let's go." "Okay." Penelope's maturity was heartbreaking. Wilfred nodded slightly, lifted her into his arms, and held her small body tight. Walking out through the Pruitt family's front gate, he paused at the threshold. Without looking back, he said, "Next week. Family Court." "Don't miss this appointment."

第10章

"Hmph, this man is so dramatic! He has no real skills, yet he acts like such a diva. Without you, Hildegarde, even if he were sitting on a mountain of gold, he'd burn through it eventually." Patrick sneered. "Hildegarde, the divorce is for the best. A man who only brings you negativity doesn't deserve you. From now on, I'll take Wilfred's place and look after you and Hilary." As he spoke, Patrick studied Hildegarde's face—only to find it flushed red, her delicate fists clenched tight. She looked absolutely furious. "Hildegarde, are you angry?" "Don't tell me you actually miss him?" Patrick's expression darkened. "If you can't let him go, then go sweet-talk him. Coax him back and live your happy little life. I'll just disappear from both your lives so I don't interfere with your blissful marriage!" His voice dripped with bitterness. The jealousy was unmistakable. Hildegarde glanced at Patrick, and her icy expression melted into one of indulgent affection. She took his hand with a smile. "Patrick, what nonsense are you saying? How could he ever compare to you?" "You're my best friend!" "Besides, me coax him? Who does he think he is?" "Relax. He won't actually divorce me. This is all just a ploy to get my attention. Where else would he go if he left me?" Hildegarde's lips curled into a cold smile. Even now, she refused to believe Wilfred would actually go through with it. This man had loved her for five years. For her sake, he'd abandoned his studies, given up his dreams—even turned down an invitation to join the most prestigious mathematics institute in the United States. She was his everything. Monday morning. Clear skies. After dropping Penelope off at school, Wilfred drove to Family Court and waited for Hildegarde outside. A light drizzle began to fall. At quarter past ten, a black Porsche Panamera pulled up in front of the building. Patrick and Hildegarde stepped out together. Walking side by side, inseparable—they looked every bit the couple in love. As if staking his claim, Patrick wrapped his arm around Hildegarde's waist right in front of Wilfred. "Wilfred, you're here early." Patrick's tone was thick with mockery. Hildegarde looked at Wilfred, her eyes full of contempt. "Wilfred, I wonder how long you can keep up this act. You wanted a divorce, didn't you? Why aren't you going inside? Having second thoughts?" Wilfred met her gaze calmly. After everything he'd been through, his heart was still as water. Her words no longer had the power to send his thoughts spiraling. "ID and marriage certificate—you brought them?" "Wilfred, you're really going through with this?!" Hildegarde's eyes went wide, anger slowly building in them. Wilfred simply turned and walked toward the entrance. "Stop right there!" A flash of panic crossed Hildegarde's face. She hurried after him and grabbed his hand. "Wilfred, I'll say this one last time. Come home with me now, and I'll pretend none of this ever happened." "It's not too late to turn back." Wilfred glanced over at Patrick, who stood nearby with a smug, challenging look on his face. Then he gently removed Hildegarde's hand from his. "Let's go. You never loved me anyway. Staying together would only mean more suffering for both of us." "I'm setting you free." "You—!" "...Fine. If you want a divorce, let's get divorced." "Wilfred, I hope you don't regret this." She spat the words out and stormed into the building. The process was straightforward. With the divorce agreement already prepared, there was no need for mediation. The cooling-off period had been waived. Within the hour, their marriage certificate had been split in two and replaced with divorce papers. The moment Wilfred stepped outside, the drizzle stopped. The sun broke through the clouds. Patrick rushed over, beaming. "Congratulations, Hildegarde! A brand new life awaits." He reached for her hand, but she shook him off before he could touch her. Irritation flickered across her face, her eyes cold as frost. "Wilfred, even if you don't care about yourself, what about your daughter? Taking Penelope away from the Pruitt family will ruin her." "Hilary's birthday—she had an allergic reaction, didn't she?" Wilfred's expression turned cold. "You knew?" Hildegarde's face twisted with fury. "So you knew all along! You blocked my number just to watch me suffer, is that it?" "Do you have any idea how dangerous that night was?" "The doctor said if we'd been even a little later, Hilary could have gone into respiratory failure. She could have suffocated to death." "Hildegarde..." Wilfred spoke her full name again. He looked at her and shook his head. "I didn't block your number. It was the other way around. The day you took Hilary to Phuket happened to be our wedding anniversary. I called you over a dozen times. You never picked up. The system flagged my number as spam and blacklisted it automatically." "You're the one who blocked me." Hildegarde froze. It came back to her now. That day, she'd been rushing to catch a flight to Phuket to take care of Patrick, who had a cold. She hadn't had the patience to answer Wilfred's calls. Wilfred watched the embarrassment creep across her face. "Stop giving Hilary chocolate products. And start taking your responsibilities as a mother seriously." "Don't make the child pay for your selfishness." He turned to leave, but Hildegarde grabbed the car door, her eyes blazing. "Wilfred, you clearly still care about Hilary. You can't bear to leave her. Walking away now is the most irresponsible thing you could do." "I'll say it one last time. Come home with me, and I'll act like none of this—" "I'm not going back to the Pruitt house." Wilfred's voice was flat. Slam. He shut the door, ignoring her grip. When that door closed, it shut out five years of loving her. "Hildegarde, do you know what else happened the day you flew to Phuket to be with Patrick? It wasn't just our anniversary. That night, my appendix ruptured." "I dragged myself to the hospital alone, in agony. But during the surgery, the doctors couldn't reach you. No one was there to sign the consent form. My appendix perforated. I nearly died on the operating table." "That was the day I gave up on you completely." Hildegarde stood frozen outside the car. Appendix surgery?