Waking Up Before It's Too Late

To Willa Fowler, I'm not her husband, but rather, a non-performing asset that awaits her handling.

When I fall sick and ask her for help, she grows impatient with me.

"This is a low-tier problem that you should be dealing with on your own. There's no need to report to me about it."

When I burst into tears from an emotional breakdown, she berates me, "If you lose control of your emotions, you'll just show everyone else the vulnerability in our alliance. Next time, I'll have the PR team teach you how to manage your emotions."

Even when I call her for help after getting into a car crash, she doesn't hesitate to hang up on me.

"Everything concerning you isn't important enough for me to suspend the hundred-billion-dollar transaction I'm performing right now."

I spend seven days in the ICU getting my life saved afterward.

On the first day of getting home, I witness Willa bending down to gently coax another young man into taking his medication.

She opens her mouth in an attempt to explain the situation to me.

But I just chuckle bitterly before handing over the paperwork I've already prepared in advance to her.

This time, I sound exactly like her.

"Ms. Fowler, regarding our marriage project, after a comprehension evaluation, the return on the investment is deemed too low. Therefore, I'd like to officially propose a termination on this project.

"This is the divorce agreement. Please leave your signature here."

Tristan's POV

It was then that Willa Fowler suddenly got up and glanced at the divorce agreement without picking it up.

"Where have you been in the past two months? Taylor said you weren't answering any calls or messages. You'd better check in with me first if you're going to disappear like that again, Tristan."

She didn't show any concern at all. Instead, she immediately started berating me without knowing the facts.

Truthfully, in all the time I had known her, this was the first time I felt annoyed and weary of looking at Willa's face.

I didn't force her to accept the divorce agreement. I merely set it down on the coffee table and stated, "You can just sign it if you have no objections, Ms. Fowler."

I glanced at the young man in the wheelchair beside me. As I was too weak to even muster the energy for an angry confrontation, I just walked around him, intending to head upstairs to get some rest.

It seemed like my quiet response was too out of character, as Willa suddenly explained herself.

"Simon is my friend's younger brother. They asked me to look after him, so I had him move in here to make things easier. I told you all this in a text, but you must have missed it—wait, what's wrong with your hand?"

I followed Willa's gaze downward as she shifted the topic, noting that my right hand was exposed now that the divorce agreement wasn't there to cover it.

It looked gaunt, with two layers of gauze wrapped around the wrist and bruises on the back of the hand from the IV needles used during the emergency treatment.

"Have you fallen ill, Tristan Quinn?" Willa seemed to think she had found the root of my strange reaction.

She addressed me directly by my full name, sounding more like a superior reprimanding a subordinate than a concerned spouse. "You shouldn't be making impulsive decisions when you're in such a state, Tristan Quinn! You'd better take this divorce agreement back!"

Having been accustomed to this treatment, I hesitated briefly but continued up to the second floor without looking back.

I couldn't even manage to shut the door before my strength gave out. I leaned against the wall and slumped to the ground, overcome by intense dizziness.

I could hear Simon Jensen's frail voice drifting up from the lower floor. "Is Tristan upset with me, Willa? You should probably send me back to my place. I'll be fine on my own. It'll probably be a bit inconvenient, but I can handle it on my own."

Willa leaned over and consoled Simon, "How could that be? You should just stay here and relax, Simon. He's always been like that, so he'll get over it in a few days. You should take your medicine now. I have a glass of water here and some candy ready so that it won't taste bitter for you, Simon."

I noticed that Willa was speaking softly, with a kind of gentleness I had never experienced. I could picture her face at that very moment—the warmth and attention I had pleaded for countless times, now lavishly offered to some other stranger.

I suddenly felt a piercing sensation of nausea rising from my stomach. I reflexively covered my mouth and retched, but I couldn't throw anything up. I could only feel the bitter burn of bile in my esophagus.

I realized then that Willa wasn't inherently cold—she just didn't love me enough to care for me.

I wanted to laugh at my own folly and innocence. I couldn't believe I still harbored such pathetic illusions about this marriage even after coming back from the brink of death.

I could hear Willa's voice—gentle yet heartless—drifting from downstairs, each word driving a fresh sting into my open, bleeding wounds.

It was then that my phone suddenly buzzed on the floor where it had fallen. I couldn't make out who was calling me, but I still answered it with a shaky hand.

I heard a woman's voice, languid and sultry, teasing me from the other end. "You hardly ever text me now that you're married, Tristan. What's the matter? You looking to start something on the side with me?"

I let out a couple of coughs and said weakly, "I'm not looking for an affair since I'm getting a divorce anyway. I'm looking for a sugar baby, so tell me your price."