My Ex-Wife Wants Me Back

The person yanked me into a dark alley, a warm palm clamping tightly over my mouth.

I looked up in shock—straight into a pair of bright, star-like eyes.

“Eleanor?!” I gasped.

She quickly let go, her face flushing red beneath the brim of her baseball cap.

“Y-Young Master... what are you doing here, of all places?”

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

She scratched her head awkwardly, revealing that familiar little tiger tooth in her smile.

“There was a mole in the local project. The mudslide gave me the perfect chance to fake my death and flush them out.”

“You know how to pull off a stunt like that?” I raised an eyebrow.

But her smile faltered, dimming instantly. “Did I disappoint you again? You’ve always thought I was useless, didn’t you?”

A sharp pang twisted in my chest.

I grabbed her wrist tightly. “Listen to me—you must come back before the 8th. Before the wedding.”

Her body tensed. Her eyes lost their light. “...Fine. I’ll be there. For your wedding.”

“You idiot,” I snapped, stomping my foot in frustration. “I meant I want to marry—”

“Boss! The mole’s on the move!” a voice shouted from the distance.

Eleanor backed away quickly, flustered. “Y-Young Master, this place isn’t safe. You should go. But don’t worry—I’ll be at the wedding.”

Her silhouette vanished down the alley before I could stop her.

I stood rooted to the spot, thoughts churning wildly.

In my previous life, she was the one I paid the least attention to among the eight candidates.

Everyone said she was simple-minded, always messing around in clubs and outdoor circles. She was nothing like Hazel—graceful, polished, and sharp in negotiations. But now I realized, it was always Eleanor who handled the most troublesome clients, the most tangled deals.

Back then, I didn’t see it. But thinking about it now—those so-called “minor tasks” she was given, they were full of landmines. Without sharp instincts and incredible people skills, how could she have navigated them so flawlessly?

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

It wasn’t until the middle of the night that my phone finally lit up with her reply.

[Young Master, the bride's name is incorrect. Please update it.]

The "typing..." bubble flickered for a long time. Then another message came through.

[Don’t worry. I’ll definitely come to the wedding.]

I couldn’t help but smile.

She wouldn’t believe anything I said right now anyway. I’d just have to wait until she came back—and tell her everything in person.

My phone buzzed again.

Message after message from Hazel popped up.

[Dylan deserves an apology.]

[Stop being so childish.]

I opened the chat and blocked her without hesitation.

Just knowing Eleanor was still alive—and far more capable than I ever imagined—filled me with a joy I hadn’t felt in years.

I began making serious preparations for the wedding.

One afternoon, I stepped into a luxury tailor shop—and immediately heard a voice I recognized.

“Hazel, how do I look in this?” Dylan stepped out of the fitting room.

He was wearing my custom wedding tuxedo. The sleeves were casually rolled up to reveal his slender wrists.

Hazel was adjusting his collar, her voice light with laughter. “The waist is tailored perfectly.”

“You’ve got such great taste, Hazel.” Dylan lowered his head shyly—but his fingers deliberately traced the satin trim on the pocket.

I forced down my fury and walked over.

Hazel froze when she saw me. She quickly shifted to block Dylan from view, her voice softening.

“Andrew... Dylan’s heart hasn’t been doing well. The doctor said it could be serious, and he just wanted to try it on—”

Dylan coughed weakly and clutched the hem of her shirt like a wounded bird.

“Take. It. Off.” I said coldly.

Dylan's face pale. “M-Sir Andrew, I didn’t mean to—please don’t blame Hazel...”