"Thank you, Miss Finch."

Wilfred let out a long breath, a confident smile returning to his face. "I promise, if I have time, I'll go visit Professor Finch."

"Alright. I'll let my grandmother know so she can make your favorite—sweet and sour ribs."

Margery smiled.

For a moment, Wilfred found himself staring, caught off guard by that smile. When he snapped out of it, he quickly looked away.

"Miss Finch, I'm heading to Family Court now. If everything goes smoothly, the divorce should be finalized today, so I probably won't need to trouble you with the lawsuit after all. But if something unexpected comes up, I'll give you a call."

"Okay, no problem. I'll get going then. See you around."

Sliding her sunglasses on and tossing her long golden hair, Margery returned to her sports car.

A smile slowly curved at the corner of her lips.

Ever since she'd heard from friends that Wilfred and Hildegarde were getting divorced, Margery had been quietly keeping tabs on him.

Seeing the man she'd secretly admired since childhood finally pulling himself together again—

It made her genuinely happy.

Wilfred, I can't wait to see you become that genius again. That boy who used to tug on my ponytail... My boy, put on your armor and rise again!

In the end, Hildegarde never showed up at Family Court.

Wilfred waited there all afternoon for nothing.

When pickup time at the preschool approached, he had no choice but to drive over and get Penelope.

"Daddy, Daddy, guess what?"

"Uncle Patrick got beat up!"

"A bunch of moms held him down and hit him!"

The moment she got in the car, Penelope launched into an animated retelling of the afternoon's events.

It turned out that after Patrick learned the honey bread Hilary brought had become a huge hit among the preschoolers, he rushed over with several more bags. The result?

The parents discovered he was behind the tainted treats and immediately tore into him.

They demanded compensation.

Patrick, unaccustomed to such treatment, started arguing back.

The argument escalated, and several parents gave him a thorough beating.

"Were you and Hilary okay?"

Wilfred didn't care what shape Patrick was in. Frankly, after he'd called Marjorie, he'd expected something like this.

"We're fine. I protected Hilary. I didn't let her get hurt."

Penelope said it matter-of-factly.

"Good girl."

He reached over and ruffled her hair, then drove her to get fried chicken.

Kids loved fried food—though of course, not too much of it.

After their meal, Wilfred took Penelope back to the Pruitt villa.

He still had some belongings there.

The drive was quiet.

Twenty minutes later, the car pulled into the parking spot in front of the villa's courtyard.

"Mr. Dickerson is back."

Marjorie, who was playing in the yard with Hilary, spotted him immediately.

Looking at Marjorie's exhausted face and his older daughter deliberately turning away, refusing to acknowledge him, Wilfred simply smiled. "You've had a rough time, Marjorie."

"Oh, Mr. Dickerson, it's so good you're back. These past few days without you, I've felt completely lost."

Marjorie sighed with relief.

Wilfred didn't dwell on her grievances. Taking Penelope's hand, he walked into the villa.

"Ow, Hildegarde, easy! That hurts... Those crazy women—if they hadn't been women, I wouldn't have held back. I wouldn't be in this state. Ow, ow..."

Before he even reached the door, Patrick's pitiful wailing echoed from inside.

Penelope covered her mouth, stifling a giggle.

Wilfred gave her a light tap on the head, then stepped inside.

In the living room, Patrick sat on the sofa while Hildegarde stood before him, dabbing iodine onto his wounds with a cotton swab.

When Patrick saw Wilfred, a flash of resentment crossed his eyes. Then he immediately leaned closer to Hildegarde, putting on a show of intimacy.

"Oh, Wilfred, you're back! I knew it—you couldn't stay away from our Hildegarde. Good to have you home. But hey, don't get the wrong idea. I got a little banged up, so she's just disinfecting my cuts. There's nothing going on between us, okay?"

Wilfred remained unmoved by Patrick's performance.

When Hildegarde saw Wilfred walk in with their daughter, a mocking smile tugged at her lips.

She lifted her chin, a victor's smugness flickering across her face.

She'd known all along—Wilfred couldn't leave her.

Throw a fit, make a little scene, and he'd come crawling back.

"Since you're here, don't just stand there. Go to your room and get Patrick a fresh set of clothes. His are ruined."

Wilfred ignored her. Holding Penelope's hand, he headed upstairs.

"What kind of attitude is that, Wilfred?"

"Who do you think you're giving that sour face to?"

Hildegarde's temper flared.

"Oh, Hildegarde, don't blame him. He's probably just jealous seeing me with you. Should I leave?"

Patrick put on a wounded expression.

That only made Hildegarde angrier.

"Forget him. We haven't done anything wrong. If he wants to sulk, let him!"

"A man this petty—I really regret marrying someone like him!"

A gleam flickered in Patrick's eyes.

An almost imperceptible smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

Wilfred returned to the bedroom and quickly packed his things.

There wasn't much, really.

A few changes of clothes, some materials he'd collected over the years on mathematics and racing, and Penelope's daily necessities.

All of it barely filled one suitcase.

When he came downstairs with the luggage, holding Penelope's hand, Hildegarde's eyes flashed with fury the moment she saw them.

She forgot all about treating Patrick's wounds.

"What is this supposed to mean, Wilfred?"

"Yeah, what's going on here?" Patrick chimed in. "Couples fight, but they make up in the same bed. Why are you packing like you're moving out?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

Wilfred looked at Hildegarde's face, twisted slightly with anger.

Once, he had loved that face desperately.

Loved her to the bone.

But now, he felt nothing.

"Don't misunderstand. Everything in here is my personal property. I haven't touched a single thing that belongs to the Pruitts or anything you've bought me over the years."

"And me! This Barbie doll—Daddy saved up to buy it for me."

Penelope poked her little head out, her voice soft but firm.

Hildegarde was livid.

"Are you serious about this, Wilfred?"

"Just because I'm close with Patrick, you're jealous, is that it? You're a man—can't you be a little less petty? Acting like this only makes me look down on you even more!"

Wilfred's gaze drifted to their wrists.

A luxury couple's watch set.

They were even wearing matching couple's watches, yet she still had the nerve to accuse him of being petty?

Of being jealous?

Hildegarde noticed Wilfred's gaze drift toward her wrist. Her face flushed, and she instinctively tugged her sleeve down. "Oh, right," she said, her tone flat. "I picked up a watch for you at the airport during my last business trip."

She rummaged through her handbag and pulled out a gift box.

Then tossed it on the floor like garbage.

The whole gesture reeked of charity—like she was throwing scraps to a beggar.

Wilfred looked down.

The box had popped open on impact. Inside lay a men's wristwatch.

Except...

It was obviously fake.

The crystal, the band—everything screamed cheap knockoff. You could probably find half a dozen just like it at any street vendor for a hundred bucks.

"Oh, Hildegarde, you're too good to him!" Patrick made a show of examining his own wrist. "Getting him a gift even on a business trip. Honestly, that watch looks way nicer than mine. This Larum I'm wearing is so uncomfortable."

Irritation flickered across Hildegarde's face at Patrick's theatrics, though she masked it quickly. "Just take the gift and go upstairs," she said coldly. "What happened before—I'm willing to forget it."

"Patrick and I need to go out for a bit. We can talk when I get back tonight."

"No. You misunderstand."

Wilfred didn't pick up the cheap watch. He met her eyes. "I didn't come back to make up with you. I came to get my things. And also—"

He produced a document folder and a designer diamond engagement ring.

"Hildegarde, here's the divorce agreement I drafted. Since you won't go to Family Court, we'll do this by mutual consent."

"You—"

Her brows shot up.

She genuinely hadn't expected him to be this stubborn. She'd already backed down, and he was still pushing?

"Wilfred, do you actually think I'm afraid to divorce you?"

"Then divorce me."

"Sign it, we file at the courthouse, and it's official."

"You... Fine. Fine. You want a divorce? You've got one."

Hildegarde was furious now.

He kept dangling divorce over her head like a threat. Did he really think Hildegarde Pruitt couldn't survive without Wilfred Dickerson?

She snatched up the agreement and skimmed it. A second later, her expression twisted. She slammed the papers onto the table.

"Wilfred, what the hell is this?"

"Why are you claiming so much of the assets?"

"You want Pruitt Group stock? In your dreams!"

"I built that company from nothing. What right do you have to my shares?"

Wilfred's face remained blank.

"Hildegarde, did you really think I spent all these years just puttering around the kitchen? When Pruitt Group went public, I bought three hundred lots of stock. I now personally hold fifteen percent of the company."

"I don't want anything from the Pruitt family. But that fifteen percent? That's mine, and I'm taking it."

"What?"

Hildegarde went pale. Patrick looked equally stunned.

Fifteen percent personal stake in Pruitt Group.

At the current share price of twelve dollars and eighty cents, fifteen percent came to... six hundred million dollars.

This useless man had that kind of money?

Hildegarde refused to believe it. She pulled out her phone and called her secretary, demanding verification.

The answer came back.

That fifteen percent was registered under Wilfred Dickerson's name.

"You... you..."

For once, Hildegarde Pruitt had absolutely nothing to say.

Hildegarde couldn't understand it. How could a man who spent his days puttering around the kitchen, hovering over his daughter, and orbiting her life possibly have such keen financial instincts?

How had he quietly become the Pruitt Group's second-largest shareholder, right after her, without anyone noticing?

She had forgotten that before their marriage, the man standing before her had been hailed by countless people as a prodigy—someone who could "perceive the seed before it sprouted and see the future before it arrived."

"Daddy's bullying Mommy! Daddy's a bad guy!"

Hilary came running in like a gust of wind, bracing herself with her small hands as she charged forward.

She rammed her head hard against Wilfred's thigh.

Her little cheeks puffed out like a balloon.

"Daddy, can't you be more considerate? Mommy works so hard, and you don't do anything at all. Now you want to take Mommy's money? That's wrong!"

"Daddy is a bad guy. I don't want you as my daddy anymore!"

"Get out of my house!"

His eldest daughter's childish voice struck Wilfred like a hammer blow to the chest.

Every breath burned.

But he said nothing. He gently moved Hilary aside and reached out to touch the head of this daughter he had once adored beyond measure.

"Daddy isn't bullying Mommy. Daddy just wants to take what belongs to him."

"Wilfred, sure, you own fifteen percent of Pruitt Group shares. But investing behind Hildegarde's back? As spouses, hiding personal assets—that's on you!"

Patrick stepped up behind Hildegarde, one arm wrapping brazenly around her waist.

Hildegarde's brows drew together slightly, but she didn't push him away.

"Besides, even if those shares are in your name, you bought them after the wedding. That makes them marital property. You can't just walk off with them. Right, Hildegarde?"

Hildegarde remained silent, but her raised chin and arched eyebrows made it clear she agreed.

"Wilfred, with that many shares, that much money—do you really think you can handle it?"

Wilfred's gaze swept across the three people before him.

Looking at them now, they seemed more like a real family than he ever had.

How harmonious.

"Hildegarde..."

For the first time, he called her by her full name.

"Those fifteen percent are mine. Whether I can handle them or not isn't your concern."

"And I want those shares only to secure Penelope's future."

That was the truth. Wilfred had never intended to spend this money.

The fifteen percent was for Penelope.

A daughter deserved to be raised in comfort.

He refused to let anyone say that after coming to live with him, Penelope had gone from an heiress to a fallen phoenix.

Hildegarde's face turned to ice, her eyes filled with contempt. "How noble that sounds. You think I believe you? You invested in my company's stock behind my back. If I dig deep enough, I could easily argue that you stole insider information and manipulated Pruitt Group's stock price."

"You won't walk away with a single cent of that fifteen percent."

"Yeah! Not a single cent!" Hilary crossed her arms, her little lips jutting out in a pout.

After saying this, Hildegarde lifted her chin again, brows raised, wearing that signature look of cold control. "Wilfred, stop throwing tantrums."

"I don't want to—and I don't have time to—indulge your theatrics."

"If you're upset, take some time off. Use my supplementary card, go on vacation for a few days. Come back when you've calmed down."

Hildegarde felt she had given Wilfred more than enough of a way out.

If he had any sense, he would take the lifeline.

"Hildegarde, I'm sorry. I don't love you anymore."

Wilfred shook his head slowly.

He had loved this woman for five years. He had given up everything for her.

Revolving around her, around the children, around this family.

And what had it gotten him?

The moment her first love returned from abroad, she had cast him aside like a worn-out shoe.

He was done.

"Hildegarde, let's get divorced."

"You—"

Her breathing grew ragged. Her porcelain skin flushed red.

"Wilfred, do you actually think I can't live without you? That my life depends on you?"

"If you insist on going down this road, then fine—I'll grant your wish!"

"Just don't come crying to me later!"

Scratch, scratch, scratch...

Snatching up a pen, Hildegarde furiously scrawled her signature across the divorce agreement.

Crack!

She hurled the ballpoint pen at Wilfred's feet. It shattered on impact.

"Wilfred, I hope you don't regret this."

"I'd love to see how you survive without me."

Patrick watched the signed divorce papers, barely concealing his glee, though his voice dripped with mock sympathy. "Ah, Wilfred, I hate to say it, but you really are being unreasonable."

"Someone like you—marrying Hildegarde in this lifetime? That was karma from a past life."

"If it were me, getting to be with Hildegarde? I'd be laughing in my sleep."

Wilfred looked up at Patrick.

"Then you got your wish. I hope you two are happy together."

He had no interest in wasting words on a man like Patrick.

Crouching down, he took Hilary's small hand. "Hilary, Daddy's leaving now. If someday you miss me, tell Penelope. Daddy will come see you."

"Save your crocodile tears!"

Hildegarde scooped up Hilary, her face hard. "Hilary is my daughter. Don't pretend to be the good guy here. Without you, I'll make sure she's happier than ever."

"She'll never think of you!"

"And Penelope—if you miss Mommy, you can come home anytime."

"That's right, I won't miss Daddy. I have Patrick-Daddy, and that's enough." Hilary pouted in agreement.

"Daddy..."

Just then, Penelope's voice rang out. Her small face was already streaked with tears. "Daddy, let's go. I don't want to watch them bully you anymore!"

"Mommy!"

In that moment, the little face was filled with determination. "Mommy, Daddy will take good care of me. Mommy, you have stomach problems. Without Daddy here, remember to take your medicine when it hurts..."

"You always sleep in and need Daddy to squeeze toothpaste for you. After Daddy's gone, you'll have to learn to do it yourself."

"And Daddy says you shouldn't eat cold food. So eat less of it from now on."

When she finished, Penelope took Wilfred's hand. "Daddy, let's go."

"Okay."

Penelope's maturity was heartbreaking. Wilfred nodded slightly, lifted her into his arms, and held her small body tight.

Walking out through the Pruitt family's front gate, he paused at the threshold. Without looking back, he said, "Next week. Family Court."

"Don't miss this appointment."