“Mr. Sherwood, I’m willing to marry you.”
Before making that call, Audrey Sinclair had already downed half a bottle of liquor. The strong kind.
The line stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then a man’s hoarse voice came through, low and rough, obviously dragged out of sleep, with irritation he didn’t even bother hiding.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Audrey actually hadn’t checked. She quickly glanced at her phone. It was already past two in the morning.
“Sorry. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
“Huh?”
“But I’m leaving for an overseas business trip tomorrow. I’ll be back in about a month. When I return, we’ll get the marriage license.”
“Okay.”
After the call ended, Audrey still sat there in a daze, like her soul hadn’t fully caught up.
Half a month ago, her aunt from the countryside had called, saying she wanted to set her up with someone. Her aunt said the man was Old Mrs. Whitmore’s grandson from next door. He’d always been a top student, got into a university in North City, and after graduating landed a job with amazing benefits—full insurance, housing fund, holiday perks, the whole package.
At the time, Audrey agreed on the surface, but deep down she was just trying to brush it off. Who would’ve thought that very same night, the man would call her himself. He said he honestly had no time for blind dates, and even less time for dating. If she was okay with it, he wanted to skip all that and go straight to marriage.
“Is this guy insane?”
That was the only thought in her head back then.
But the other side hadn’t given her much room to reject him. He only said she could think it over first, then hung up.
And the truth was, over the past half month, she hadn’t thought about it at all.
But tonight, she said yes.
She opened the trending topics again. It was still blowing up.
Famous actress Isabelle Whitfield was rumored to be pregnant, and the child’s father was said to be a married Best Actor. Right after Isabelle was shoved onto the trending list and torn apart online as “the other woman,” the second son of the Holloway family stepped forward to clear things up. Preston Holloway publicly stated that he was Isabelle Whitfield’s legitimate boyfriend, that the baby she was carrying was his, and that the two of them were about to get married.
With netizens still side-eyeing the whole thing and refusing to buy it, he even released a video.
It was footage from Isabelle Whitfield’s birthday party not long ago—Preston Holloway dropping to one knee and proposing to her.
That flipped the whole public narrative in an instant. Fans and random netizens alike started flooding the comments with blessings for Isabelle Whitfield.
And the number one trending topic was still there, glaring at everyone:
Isabelle Whitfield Is Getting Married Soon, Groom Is the Second Young Master of the Holloway Family.
Audrey Sinclair stared at that headline and felt nothing but irony.
If Isabelle Whitfield was Preston Holloway’s girlfriend, then what exactly had she been?
What about the eight years they’d spent together?
Call it stupidity, maybe. That was why she had to cut her losses now.
The only reason she’d agreed to marry Maxwell Sherwood was because of something he’d once said:
“I want to live with my wife the way most ordinary couples in this world do. We support each other, respect each other, and grow old together.”
It was simple, almost plain.
But that was the life Audrey had always wanted.
And Preston had never been willing to give it to her.
After forcing her emotions back into place, she started packing her things.
This villa belonged to Preston anyway. She needed to move out as soon as possible.
Because she had an early shift, Audrey got up after barely two hours of sleep.
When she went downstairs, she saw Preston stretched out on the sofa. His hair was a mess, his brows were tightly drawn together. He’d probably drunk too much last night and still felt awful.
She didn’t bother with him and went straight to the kitchen to make breakfast.
While the noodles were cooking, Preston came over reeking of alcohol. From behind, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“Ugh, my head hurts. Make me some hangover soup.”
Audrey frowned a little. “Go wait over there.”
His eyes stayed shut as he mumbled, “I just want to hold you for a bit.”
“You smell terrible.”