Back when I founded this private hospital, it was all to help Irene become the top cardiologist in the country.

I poured in the most investment, the most publicity.

Now, she truly was our hospital’s chief physician—everyone fawned over her. And her most favored protégé, Henry, had ridden that wave to success right alongside her.

Yet I, the hospital’s largest shareholder, had become the one they trample underfoot.

Maybe it was because they all thought I was hopelessly in love with Irene. That this hospital only became what it was today because of her. That I wouldn’t dare make her angry. That both I and the hospital couldn’t afford to lose her.

They forgot— it was my hospital that made her who she was. Without her, I could still raise countless top-tier specialists.

Henry had replied to every supportive comment with a smiling cat emoji and to Irene, he sent a kissing sticker.

The doorbell rang. It was a courier.

The delivery guy handed me a signed divorce agreement and a bag.

I asked, “What’s this?”

He stammered, “A guy asked me to give this to you. He said you’re old, got erectile dysfunction and keep picking fights 'cause you're bitter. He said he’s generous enough to not take it personally. He’s helping you please your wife, so you don’t have to thank him.”

Inside the bag were lubricant and a box of Viagra.

I calmly told the courier to throw away the things Henry had sent to provoke me. Then I closed the door.

I took out the divorce agreement and carefully signed my name.

My phone buzzed a few times—it was a message from the hospital’s HR director.

[Mr. Carter, maybe you should reconsider? It’s one thing to deal with others, but how can you send Miss Wells and Henry to Africa?]

[I understand you're grieving the loss of your children and upset with Miss Wells, but please don’t let personal grudges interfere with work. These dirty tactics won’t just ruin two brilliant doctors—they’ll cost countless patients their lives.]

I replied flatly. [You make a good point. I forgot to deal with you. You’re fired. A third-party firm will be taking over your role.]

Right after that, I called the external management company and gave direct orders.

“Take full control of HR and logistics at my hospital. Anyone who speaks up for Irene or Henry, send them all to Africa.”

“If they refuse to go, have them repay their training and development costs in full.”

I gently caressed the urns holding my children’s ashes, speaking each word with steady resolve.

All those doctors supporting Henry in the comment section were once underprivileged students whom I personally funded with real money.

It was I who gave them the opportunity to study abroad and become what they are today.

And yet now, one by one, they only knew how to flatter Irene and Henry. They’d completely forgotten who it was that nurtured them into the skilled doctors they became.

No wonder they all trailed after Irene without question. Every single one of them were blind, ungrateful wolves. And wolves like that made lousy doctors.

They had to suffer more hardships to learn what compassion in medicine really meant.

After hanging up, I noticed Irene had called me over a dozen times.

In the end—probably driven by fury— she even resent a friend request.

The message she attached. [Pick up the phone.]

Just then, a new call came in.

I answered.

The moment I answered, her furious voice exploded through the phone.

“Are you insane? I’m about to be evaluated for a senior title and Henry is about to be made permanent, but you actually reported us to be transferred to the African branch?”

“Leo, I know you’re grieving over the children, but that was fate!”

“Our kids were born with a condition—even a god couldn’t have saved them. It was written in their destiny that they wouldn’t live long. It wasn’t me and it damn sure wasn’t Henry who killed them!”

“I’ve told you this a thousand times, but you insist on targeting Henry over and over. I stopped you from checking the surveillance footage because I didn’t want you to lose your mind again! I never imagined you’d start slandering Henry with disgusting rumors—let alone abuse your power to send him to Africa!”

Her usually cold and composed voice was now trembling with anger, each breath ragged and heavy.

I simply asked her, “You rushed off in such a hurry—was it really for a flying-in surgery?”

“Was Henry’s social media post truly because some drunk patient’s family forced you all to play a game?”

“Or did you just want to get away fast... so you could go on a Disneyland date with your precious little protégé?”

On the other end, her breathing abruptly stopped.

There was a brief silence—two seconds at most— then her voice softened, carefully composed.

“What nonsense are you talking about? That’s not true. Are you… having one of your delusions again?”

And then, Henry’s voice came through, clear and casual. “Irene, the fireworks are about to start. It’s rare for you to relax like this—I don’t want you in a bad mood because of me. Once we’re back, I’ll personally apologize to Mr. Carter. Even if I have to kneel, it’s fine.”

The call was cut off immediately.

She must have hung up in such a hurry—afraid of missing the beautiful fireworks, no doubt.

I held my children’s urns in my arms, tears falling uncontrollably.

“Daddy will never let them get away with this,” I whispered.

Eventually, I cried myself into unconsciousness.

The next day, when I woke up, my eyes were so swollen I could barely open them.

I put on a pair of sunglasses and went downstairs— only to see a familiar figure moving busily outside.

Irene was carrying a bowl of porridge. She froze for a moment when she saw me, but quickly put on a casual smile.

“You’re up? I made you breakfast. Eat a little, okay?”

“I figured you’d overthink everything after yesterday. I didn’t even rest—I flew back overnight.”

I opened my mouth to tell her there was no need, but then I saw a tall figure rush out of the bathroom, wearing my pajamas.

He walked straight over and wrapped his arms around Irene, saying teasingly,

“Irene, you really give off that married-woman vibe. My dream marriage is waking up to see my wife making me breakfast.”

My gaze darkened.

Irene had always treated her skillful hands like precious treasures. Cooking? Out of the question.

Back when we were still together, I once asked her to simply hand me a plate. She immediately gave me a cold glare and snapped, “Are you insane? Why are you wasting my hands on something like that?”

But now that my heart had gone cold toward her, she’s suddenly changed.

Irene quickly stepped out of Henry’s embrace, her tone flustered.

“You’re a grown man. Stop acting like a child.”

Then she turned to me and tried to explain, “It was raining when we landed. We got drenched. I told Henry to go home and change, but he insisted on coming here first to apologize. That’s why I gave him your clothes to wear.”

Henry stuck out his tongue playfully and said to me, “Mr. Carter, I came to say sorry! Yesterday was really just a joke! If it’ll help ease your mind, I’ll go on a blind date this weekend and get married right away. I promise I won’t get in the way of your relationship anymore!”

“Henry! Don’t joke around like that!” Irene called out, her voice sharp.

Then, noticing the mocking smile tugging at my lips, she quickly added, “What I meant is—Leo has always been gentle and kind. I’m sure he’s already forgiven you. There’s no need for you to rush into a marriage.”

“Right, Leo? Let’s just put yesterday behind us and pretend it never happened. Okay?”

My children’s bones weren’t even cold, yet she had been wrapped in tender whispers beneath a sky of fireworks with her little puppy.

And now, she wanted me to just… drop it?

Of course. I could.

I gave her a slow, mocking smile. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

After all, they’d be heading to Africa soon enough.

Whatever their relationship really was, wherever they went last night, whatever they did, I didn’t care in the slightest.

Hearing my response, Irene seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

“It’s good you’re being reasonable. I’ve rescheduled all my surgeries—I’ll stay with you for the next few days. Once your mood is better, once the seventh day after the kids’ passing has passed, I’ll go back to work.”

I nodded calmly. “Alright.”

She was the mother of our children— She should’ve been by their urns, keeping vigil through their seventh day.

But in Henry’s eyes, a flicker of irritation flashed. His gaze shifted and suddenly he grabbed the bowl from Irene’s hands and walked toward me.

“Mr. Carter, you have to try this seafood porridge Miss Wells made. Last time we went to the beach together, I told her it tasted amazing—and she said she’d learn to make it for me. I just had some and it tastes exactly like the one we had that day.”

Irene glanced at me, flustered.

She always said her hands were meant to save lives—not for chores or cooking. She never touched any of it.

But starting last month, she began stepping into the kitchen after work.

The place was a mess every time.

That was when the children were gravely ill and I was already exhausted, hanging by a thread.

I had thought she was doing it for me— that she felt sorry watching me worn out, that she wanted to shoulder just a little of my burden.

While I quietly cleaned up her kitchen disasters, I felt both bitter and touched, secretly hoping she might cook again—for me, for our children.

It turned out, she was just trying to recreate Henry’s seafood porridge.

The moment that familiar, pungent smell of fish reached my nose— the one I hated most— my skin instantly prickled with red welts.

I clutched my mouth and stepped back sharply, my voice cold. "I'm allergic to seafood. Take it away."

Suddenly, Henry's hand jerked— the steaming porridge spilled all over his thigh.

He let out a scream, then tumbled down the stairs.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter! I didn’t know… Miss Wells—it hurts, it hurts so bad…”

"Leo! Are you insane?" Irene shouted, her voice shrill with fury. "Henry didn’t know you were allergic—did you really have to push him down the stairs?"

"I didn’t!" I forced down the nausea, trying to defend myself.

"Still denying it? What, you think Henry dumped boiling porridge on himself for fun?"

Her eyes, once so calm and distant, now burned with disgust.

"You—look at you now. You're no different than a rabid dog."

She bent down, gently lifting Henry into her arms and helping him toward the door.

"This is my last warning: take my and Henry’s names off that transfer list— If you don’t, we’re definitely getting divorced!"

But the divorce papers were already signed. I had no interest in her threats.

Just then, a call came in from the third-party management company.

They informed me that they had officially taken over the hospital's HR and logistics. The transfer list to the Africa branch was finalized and issued.

I was pleased with their speed and efficiency. My only instruction to them: pull the surgery room footage from the day the twins went under.

I hadn’t been able to get it before because Irene had blocked me at every turn.

Everyone in HR sided with her. The moment I brought up checking the footage, they all had excuses to avoid it.

Now, no one could stop me.

The management team went to check the surveillance footage. A few minutes later, they called back, their tone apologetic.

“The footage from that day has already been deleted.”

My grip on the phone turned white with tension. I didn’t need to guess who deleted it.

To protect her precious protégé, she really was capable of anything.

“But don’t worry,” the person added, “Our tech team will try to recover the data.”

I exhaled in relief and gave a clear directive. “If you can recover it, everyone gets double bonuses.”

The moment the reassignment list was released, my phone exploded with calls.

The same doctors who once told me, “Mr. Carter, thank you for giving me the chance to become a doctor,” were now flooding me with curses and angry messages.

[Leo, you can't catch your cheating wife, so you're taking it out on us. Don't think you can use me as a scapegoat. I'm going to expose everything you've done to the media. I won't pay a cent and I'm definitely not going to Africa.]

[Mr. Carter, please have mercy. I'm about to get married and I still have a mortgage to pay. This is between you and Dr. Wells—please don’t drag us into it.]

[You pathetic cuckold, just wait. Once Dr. Wells divorces you and my buddy takes your place, let’s see how long you can keep acting like you're king of the hill.]

I pulled up each of their records one by one—and handed them over to the management company.