My Ex-Husband Asked My Hand for Remarriage

I looked up in alarm—and locked eyes with a gaze as bright as the stars.

“Aidan?!” I gasped.

He quickly let go of me, his face turning crimson under the mask.

“Miss Milton, what are you doing in a place like this...?”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” My voice trembled with disbelief.

He scratched the back of his head, revealing a charming little canine tooth as he smiled sheepishly.

“There was a mole in our operation here. I faked my death during the landslide to smoke him out.”

“You know how to pull stunts like that?” I was genuinely surprised.

But his smile dimmed in an instant. “Did I... disappoint you? Have you always thought I was just a fool?”

A sudden ache stabbed my heart.

I grabbed his hand urgently and said, “Listen! You must come back before the 8th—for the wedding.”

He froze, and his gaze darkened. “Of course. I’ll be there—for your wedding.”

“You idiot,” I stomped my foot in frustration, “I meant I want to marry you—”

“Boss! The mole’s on the run!” A shout came from the alley entrance.

Aidan quickly stepped back. “This place isn’t safe, Miss Milton. Go back for now. I promise—I’ll be there for the wedding.”

Then, without another word, he disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway.

I stood there, stunned, emotions surging in waves.

In my past life, he was the one I paid the least attention to among the eight “sons” my father raised.

Everyone said he was all brawn and no brain, spending his time in clubs and racetracks.

Unlike Wyatt, always calm and composed in tailored suits, gold-rimmed glasses framing his perfect strategies.

But now I realized—those “minor roles” and “dirty work” had always gone to Aidan.

The most dangerous dealings, the messiest connections—how could anyone manage those without real skill?

On the way back, I had a new digital wedding invitation made and sent it to him.

It wasn’t until the middle of the night that my phone lit up with a message.

[Miss Milton, you wrote the groom’s name wrong. Please fix it.]

The typing indicator blinked for a long time before he added.

[Don’t worry. I’ll definitely be at the wedding.]

I couldn’t help but laugh softly.

There was no way he’d believe me now. I’d explain everything in person when he returned.

Meanwhile, my phone buzzed nonstop with messages from Wyatt.

[Olivia deserves your apology.]

[Stop being so childish.]

I opened the thread and, without hesitation, deleted his contact.

Knowing Aidan was alive—and far more capable than anyone ever gave him credit for—filled me with a renewed sense of clarity.

I began preparing for the wedding in earnest.

That day, I pushed open the glass door of a bridal boutique—and was instantly hit by the overwhelming stench of cheap perfume.

“Wyatt~ do I look good in this?” Olivia’s sugary-sweet voice rang, making my skin crawl.

She was wearing my wedding dress—the custom gown my mother had commissioned for me—twirling in front of the mirror, admiring herself.

Wyatt stood beside her, gazing at her with gentle eyes. “Olivia, you look beautiful in anything.”

“Stop it~ You’re such a charmer, Wyatt~” She giggled, spinning again as her cheap perfume thickened the air.

I forced myself to swallow the fury rising in my chest and walked toward them.

The moment Wyatt saw me, his face stiffened.

He instinctively stepped in front of Olivia, his voice laced with forced calm. “Aubrey, don’t misunderstand. Olivia’s health isn’t good. She might not make it to see the wedding. She just wanted to experience what it felt like to wear a wedding dress—”

Olivia started coughing delicately.

I cut him off, my voice was like ice. “Take. It. Off.”

Her eyes immediately welled with tears. “I’m sorry, Miss Milton... I was just... so jealous of you.”