2

When he woke up, he was in the hospital. The young assistant lawyer stood helplessly by the bedside: “Mr. Wood, the case has been decided. You need to let it go. Your health is the most important thing.” Horace came to his senses from the lingering pain in his heart, ignoring the needle stuck in his hand, and sat up abruptly, quickly rummaging through his backpack. “Please take a look at this agreement. Is it valid?” His voice trembled as he handed over the documents he had pulled out. The other party quickly gave a definitive response: “Mr. Wood, your wife has already signed this divorce agreement. All you need to do is sign it and submit it, and you will receive the divorce certificate in a month.” This morning, he had knelt before Amanda with this document in hand. Perhaps she was too rushed to leave, or perhaps she didn’t believe he would divorce her. She assumed the agreement was fake and signed it without even looking at it. But she would never have guessed that everything he said was true. Horace couldn’t wait a moment longer. He pulled out the needle and rushed to the Family Court to submit the documents. After completing the procedures, he went to the beach one last time. In the cool, light rain, he knelt down straight: “Mom, from now on, I will go to a place by the sea and stay with you forever.” But the only response was the cold sea breeze. After kneeling for an unknown amount of time, he wiped away his tears and dialed a phone number: “Hello, I want to... schedule a fake death rescue.” His broken voice was filled with resolve: “In a month’s time, the cause of death will be ‘homicide,’ and I will arrange the location. All you need to do is prepare a new identity for me, rescue me, and send me abroad.” Yes, he wasn’t just getting a divorce. In a month’s time, he would personally seek justice and leave Amanda with a surprise she would never forget. By the time Horace had finished everything and returned to the villa, it was already late. The living room was lit, and Amanda was holding a bowl of chicken soup, feeding Godfrey spoonful by spoonful. “Amanda, I posted that apology letter online.” He said, taking the woman's hand: “Horace has been slandering me. Being cyberbullied will teach him a lesson. You're not allowed to interfere.” Amanda hesitated for a moment but eventually agreed, “Alright, he deserves punishment for his mistake.” Horace suddenly recalled the online abuse. They said that his mother deserved to die, called him a worthless caregiver, not even worth a single finger of Master’s... His heart ached sharply, and he walked into the living room with a blank expression. “Where did you go?” Seeing his pale face, Amanda paused, her tone softening for no apparent reason: “The wound on your forehead... how did you get that?” Horace ignored her. Godfery, noticing the situation, changed the subject: “You're back, Horace. Good timing. I brought you some gifts，just come and take a look.” " Amanda cleared her throat, her expression hesitant: “Horace, Godfery has been unconscious for too long, and his body hasn't recovered yet. He'll stay here for now. You need to take good care of him. He's lactose intolerant, can't eat cold food, and must sleep until ten o'clock in the morning every day, also fruits must be juiced...” Every word felt like a knife stabbing Horace's heart. He couldn't believe it and laughed coldly: “What, you want me to take care of him?” “Stop it, Horace. What's done is done. Let's not dwell on it. You worked as a caregiver at the Young Family, so I trust you...” She stopped herself from saying more. On one side of the dining table, there were 267 items listed regarding the care of the Master. On the floor lay scattered luxury brand bags, a Bulgari watch with obvious scratches, an Hermès keychain given as a gift, and a pair of Dior leather shoes that had clearly been worn... It turned out that the so-called gifts were nothing more than a pile of discarded junk. Horace suddenly recalled that many years ago, when Amanda's best friend had merely referred to him as a “male caregiver,” she had flown into a rage and had someone halt the other party's multi-million-dollar project that very night. “Horace is my husband. Anyone who dares to belittle or bully him is slapping my face!” But now, she was slapping her own face, forcing him to become a personal caregiver for his enemy. What deep love, what vows—they were so fragile. He would never believe in them again. Horace forced back the moisture in his eyes. In the final thirty days, he would endure everything... But who could have imagined that on the very first night he moved in, Godfery began to suffer from nightmares. When he rushed into the master bedroom barefoot, Amanda had just finished her shower. “Amanda, I can’t sleep alone.” His tone was domineering as he climbed into bed beside her: “The guest room mattress is too hard. I want you to sleep with me.” Amanda heard this, and her delicate crescent-shaped eyebrows furrowed slightly. Horace knew she felt sorry for him... So sorry that she didn’t care Horace was still there—she immediately hugged Godfery back and patted his back soothingly. She looked at the left side of the double bed: “Horace, Godfery hasn’t suffered hardships since he was a child. Look...” Could you please stay in another room for now?" At that moment, Horace saw a fleeting look of defiance on Godfery's face. He sneered, picked up the pillow, and got out of bed. “Since Mr. Morries likes it, this bed is yours.” Yes, not only this master bedroom, but this bed, along with this woman, he wanted none of it.