My Ex-Wife Wants Me Back

“I’m fine, Dad,” I said, forcing a smile through the pain. “Just get me a new set of bodyguards.”

“Oh, and one more thing—Eleanor is alive. I’m going to marry her.”

After my father left in shock, I hobbled over to the window with the support of a crutch.

In the garden below, I spotted Hazel leaning in close to Dylan, whispering something that made his ears flush red.

That soft, tender smile on her face—she had never once smiled at me like that.

...

The day before the wedding, Eleanor finally returned, travel-worn and covered with traces of dirt and dust.

She carefully pulled out a smooth jade pendant from her coat and offered it to me with both hands.

“A wedding gift... from me to you, Young Master.”

“The bride is finally back,” I said, deliberately raising my voice as I took the jade with a smile.

Eleanor froze, and her eyes widen. A flush quickly crept into her cheeks, and her lips trembled, but no words came out.

Later, my assistant whispered to me that Hazel hadn’t shown her face in days.

I sneered. She was probably waiting for me to beg—waiting for me to apologize, crawl to her feet, and plead for her to return to marry me.

Too bad her little scheme fell flat.

That night, my phone buzzed.

Dylan sent me a video.

It showed him and Hazel entangled on a bed, half-dressed, clearly intoxicated—or pretending to be.

Seconds later, the video was unsent.

“Pathetic.” I let out a cold chuckle and shut off the screen.

How laughable. They still thought they could manipulate me.

From the window, I saw Eleanor standing under the night sky, alone.

She looked up toward my window, smiled, and waved.

Her expression was calm, warm, and unwavering.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt truly at peace.

On the morning of the wedding, my phone rang.

“If you apologize to Dylan right now, I’ll come and marry you,” Hazel said, still speaking with that haughty tone of hers.

“No need.” I hung up without hesitation, lips curving into a cool smile.

At the wedding venue, the guests whispered among themselves.

“Why isn’t Miss Hazel here yet?”

“Did she get cold feet?”

I ignored the murmurs and took Eleanor’s hand, guiding her down the aisle.

She was extra gentle, taking care not to press against the bruises I hadn’t yet fully recovered from.

“Let’s all raise a toast to Miss Eleanor and the Jacobs family’s eldest son!” the emcee’s voice rang through the grand banquet hall.

Just then, the doors burst open with a loud bang.

Hazel finally showed up—disheveled, pale as a ghost. The bouquet in her hands slipped to the floor with a soft thud.

I turned slightly and met her stunned gaze.

Then, without hesitation, I pulled Eleanor close and kissed her.