My wife’s childhood sweetheart suffered from depression.

To make up for his lack of family warmth, my wife often brought him home and cared for him closely.

They even hugged each other and slept in the same bed, under the excuse of “cuddle therapy.”

Just because of one question from him—

“When your baby is born, will you still treat me this well?”

—she didn’t hesitate to terminate the child that had just begun to form in her womb.

Furious, I rushed home to confront her, but she simply said:

“Ryan’s well-being is more important than anything.”

During this business trip, my wife once again brought her childhood sweetheart home to spend the night.

I pulled out the divorce agreement I had already prepared.

A woman with no sense of boundaries like this was unworthy of being my wife.

The next morning, just after I woke up, I received a barrage of calls from Claire Miller.

“Divorce? Just because of something so trivial? You actually went to a lawyer to file for divorce?”

I replied flatly, “Yes, exactly because of this.”

“Ryan just wants to stay here a few nights and feel some warmth of a family. Can’t you even tolerate that?”

“If it were just words before, fine, but now you’ve taken it to a lawyer? Ethan Brooks, do you ever stop?”

Claire’s tone carried clear impatience.

“Once we’re divorced, you can bring home whoever you want to sleep over.”

With that, I hung up the phone.

The ringtone kept buzzing.

When I still refused to answer, Claire sent me a string of messages:

“At worst, I’ll have him move into the downstairs guest room. That should be fine, right?”

“Ryan’s illness is so severe now. The doctor said he could attempt suicide at any time. Do you really have to throw a tantrum at such a critical moment?”

Message after message came in—at first trying to soothe me, later turning into irritation and impatience.

“Ethan, can’t you stop being so petty? I’ve already compromised for you. What more do you want?”

A compromise?

Having Ryan stay in the guest room is a compromise, but letting him sleep in our marital bed while I’m away is supposed to be acceptable?

I sneered. Just then another message came in:

“Ethan, you’re nothing but the Brooks family’s live-in son-in-law. Without me, you’re nothing. Even your tantrums should have limits.”

Reading that last message, I let out a hollow laugh.

Back when the Miller family was splitting their inheritance, it was about to fall into the hands of an illegitimate child.

I willingly married into the family and agreed to have a child so that Claire could remain in the Miller family registry and secure her status as heir.

Because of that, the Brooks family in New York City cut ties with me, even refusing to attend our wedding.

To help Claire firmly establish herself as CEO of the Miller Group, I endured being forced to drink at the U.S. Department of Commerce until I suffered stomach bleeding.

The patents the company needed—I traveled to the United States repeatedly, waiting outside a professor’s research lab at Columbia University until he was finally persuaded.

But all those efforts were casually credited to Claire’s so-called brilliance by outsiders who didn’t know the truth.

My own contributions were dismissed as mere benefits from the Miller family’s reputation.

I never cared about such gossip, but Claire was furious when she heard it.

She summoned everyone in the company who mocked me—those who could be fired were fired, the rest demoted or docked pay.

It wasn’t until every employee greeted me respectfully as “Mr. Brooks” that she was satisfied.

I worried she was making too many enemies, hurting her authority.

But she didn’t care at all.

“I want everyone in the company to know,” she said, “that if I stand where I am today, it’s because of you, Ethan—you’re the greatest contributor of all.”

Back then, as long as Claire Miller understood me, I felt everything was worth it.

But now, her words—“Without the Miller family, you’re nothing”—stabbed into my heart like a blade.

Ever since Ryan Carter returned from the United States, the Claire who once had eyes only for me seemed to have become a different person.

Later, I learned the truth from a trusted business partner.

Years ago, when the Miller and Carter families were close, Ryan went abroad early with his father.

Later, the Carter family suffered an accident overseas, leaving only Ryan alive.

When he returned to the U.S., he was said to have developed severe depression and needed long-term hospitalization.

From then on, whenever Ryan had an episode, Claire would bring him home to care for him.

I voiced my discontent, but she brushed it off as me making a fuss.

And strangely, each time I went on a business trip, Ryan just happened to relapse.

At first, I forced myself to ignore these coincidences—until that day I came home from a trip.

Pushing open the bedroom door, I found Ryan tightly holding Claire in his arms on our marital bed.

Claire looked up at me, her eyes calm and utterly unapologetic.

“I only see Ryan as a younger brother. He was ill, and I was comforting him.”

Not even the effort to make an excuse.

In that moment, I finally understood—she had never cared about my feelings.

When I returned later, Claire had already gone out.

As I stepped into the bedroom, Ryan jumped up from the bed, still wearing a new pair of briefs Claire had bought for me.

“Ethan, I’m sorry. After my parents died, the only warmth I’ve ever felt is when I’m with Claire.

This morning, when she got a call from the lawyer, she cried and rushed to the firm. She still cares about you, deep down.”

I glanced at the wrinkled bedsheets—two pillows clearly indented.

Ryan kept rambling, but I couldn’t help sneering at his manipulative act.

“Drop the pretense, Ryan. Isn’t our divorce exactly what you want? If you feel like laughing, go ahead—holding it back must be painful.”

Years had passed since the Carter family’s downfall, and Ryan had fallen from a spoiled heir to just another wage earner.

Meanwhile, his childhood playmate Claire had risen to become the real power behind the Miller Group.

That disparity in status left Ryan scheming for any way to stay close to her.

He looked wounded.

“Ethan, I’ve always seen you as an older brother. I didn’t realize that’s how you thought of me.

There’s nothing inappropriate between Claire and me. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

Leave?

We’d quarreled so many times, and every time Ryan promised the same thing.

But when had he ever actually gone?

“Fine,” I said with a mocking smile. “If you truly disappear from our lives, I won’t bring up divorce again.”

His expression froze for a moment, then he forced himself to speak with a pained dignity:

“Alright, Ethan. Just don’t divorce because of me. I’ll leave right now.”

I watched him go and turned back to packing my luggage.

Not long after, Claire returned. The moment she saw me, her eyes lit up with joy, mixed with faint grievance.

“Ethan, you’re back.”

“What I said yesterday was in the heat of the moment. Don’t take it to heart.

I was just so afraid of losing you that I spoke recklessly.”

She moved toward me, as she had done countless times before when ending an argument, trying to embrace me.

I stepped back, slipped off my wedding ring, and held it out to her.

“Claire Miller, I’m tired. Let’s get a divorce. This time, I mean it.”

The grievance on Claire Miller’s face vanished instantly, replaced by frustration and irritation.

“Ethan Brooks, I’ve already apologized—what more do you want?”

“I only treat Ryan like a younger brother. To get divorced over such a ridiculous misunderstanding? If this spreads, the Miller Group will become a laughingstock.”

“Misunderstanding?” I sneered.

I yanked a pair of men’s briefs from under the pillow and tossed them in front of Claire.

“Is this what you call a misunderstanding?”

Claire’s expression turned panicked. Her lips trembled as she tried to explain, but no words came out.

Suppressing the fury boiling inside me, I spoke coldly:

“I’d really like to hear your explanation. Your husband is away on a business trip, and you let another man sleep in our master bedroom?”

“Claire, tell me—what kind of misunderstanding is this?”

“Or is it that your so-called little brother had another episode, and you needed to personally help him change his underwear in our bedroom?”

My words dripped with sarcasm, and Claire’s face flushed, turning from pale to ashen.

Humiliated, she lashed out, slapping me hard across the face.

The sting burned instantly; she had struck with all her strength.

“I’m sorry, Ethan—I lost control.”

She looked at the swelling on my cheek with a flicker of guilt before lowering her hand.

Since Ryan returned from the U.S., Claire and I had only grown further apart.

At first, I had tried to accept him—her brother was my brother, I told myself.

So when she worried about Ryan’s condition, I was more concerned than anyone.

I searched everywhere for top psychiatrists—first in the South, then in the North, and when none in the country worked, I sought specialists in the United States.

Even during my business trips, I made time to visit doctors abroad.

And yet, when I returned home, I found Ryan lying in my bed, wearing my pajamas, with my wife in his arms.

And I was the fool left on the outside.

I wiped the blood-red mark at the corner of my mouth, fixing my eyes on the stunned Claire.

“Claire, for the sake of what we once had, let’s part ways peacefully.”

Regaining her composure, she looked at me coldly.

“Ethan, after all these years together, do you really not trust me?”

“You hold hands, hug, caress—doing everything lovers do. Sorry, but I’m not playing this game with you two.”

Her forced composure only deepened the chill in my heart.

Before I could say more, her phone rang, its shrill tone unmistakable—the ringtone she reserved only for Ryan’s emergency calls.

Claire immediately answered.

“What is it, Doctor? Is Ryan unwell again?”

“Ms. Miller, it’s bad. Ryan has disappeared. His phone is off, and he’s removed his tracking bracelet.”

The doctor’s voice trembled with urgency.

Claire’s face blanched with panic.

“Ethan, Ryan’s in trouble—I don’t have time for your tantrums right now.”

Watching her rush out in a frenzy, a wave of helplessness crushed me.

Just like every other time—the moment that ringtone sounded.

Whether it was three in the morning, in the middle of a meeting, or even during our most intimate moments—

Claire would abandon everything to run to Ryan.

Sometimes she even brought him to the office, just to keep an eye on him.

Privately, employees had already begun calling him “little boss.” Claire never denied it—she even introduced him warmly to the whole company.

She had even gone so far as to secretly terminate our barely-formed pregnancy, just to focus on caring for Ryan.

“We can have another baby later. Right now, Ryan’s health comes first.”