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.”

That little life we had waited over five years for—she ended it as if it were nothing.

The last flicker of emotion I held for her vanished with her fading silhouette.

I waited at home for Claire Miller for two days, but instead, what came was her social media post.

The caption read: “I hope you’ll always be healthy and full of sunshine.”

The background was a honeymoon island resort.

Claire stood in the center of the photo, smiling brightly as Ryan Carter, the man who had supposedly disappeared, held her by the waist.

I couldn’t help but comment:

“Ms. Miller, please come back and sign the divorce papers, so you don’t delay your honeymoon with your new husband.”

Three seconds later, Claire’s furious voice exploded over the phone:

“Ethan Brooks, do you know that when I found Ryan at the Carter family’s old house, he almost jumped off the roof?”

“I finally persuaded him to go out for a little trip, just to stop him from taking his own life. And now he saw your comment, and his emotions are spiraling again.”

“You’re cruel, Ethan. If Ryan does something reckless because of your slander, I’ll never forgive you.”

I let out a bitter laugh.

She hadn’t even given me a chance to speak before condemning me as guilty.

On our wedding anniversary, after disappearing for a week, Claire finally showed up.

“Ethan, this watch was specially handcrafted by an artisan in the United States. It’s a limited edition,” she said, presenting an elegant luxury gift box with eager anticipation.

The style was unmistakably one Ryan loved—he had begged her for similar watches countless times before.

I didn’t reach for it. Claire’s face darkened with displeasure.

“I know you’re upset that I neglected you. Tonight, I’ll make it up to you. Don’t stay angry, alright?”

I narrowed my eyes at her expression and shook my head.

“Claire, let’s let each other go.”

“If you refuse to divorce, that’s fine. After two years of separation, I’ll take it to court.”

Her face finally twisted in frustration.

“I’m the head of the Miller Group, and I’ve lowered myself this much to apologize to you. That should be more than enough. If you keep this up, you’ll be the one regretting it.”

Suddenly, Ryan’s special ringtone blared.

I couldn’t help but laugh coldly.

“Go on, answer it. Your little husband must be threatening to jump or cut his wrists again without your kisses and cuddles.”

Claire’s face turned stormy.

“Ethan, stop being so bitter. If you want a divorce, fine—I’ll give it to you! Just don’t come crawling back begging for reconciliation.”

She shot me a furious glare, then slammed her name onto the divorce agreement.

With the divorce certificate in hand, I resigned from the company. When I left, quite a few veteran employees expressed their indignation on my behalf.

The next day, Claire’s secretary called—she had once again missed a project meeting.

For half a year, she had skipped crucial meetings, angering both domestic and international clients. With competitors rising, the Miller Group had lost a great deal of business.

After wrestling with myself for a long time, I finally dialed her number.

The call connected, but it wasn’t Claire—it was Ryan’s mocking voice.

“Ethan, don’t tell me you regret it and can’t bear the thought of divorce. Too bad—my sister and I are busy in the bedroom. We don’t have time for you.”

The call ended with a rough click.

Later, the housekeeper told me that ever since I moved out, Ryan had openly taken over our master bedroom. She had made one or two comments, and he promptly fired her.

This client was one I had spent three months persuading to come from New York City. If Claire continued this way, not only would my colleagues’ efforts be wasted, but the Miller Group’s revenue for the rest of the year would take a devastating hit.