“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.”

“Do I?” He lowered his head and sniffed himself, then gave in. “Fine. I’ll go upstairs and take a shower first.”

Audrey turned back to the kitchen, reached up to the top shelf of the cabinet, and took down a box. Inside were the ingredients she’d prepared in advance for his hangover soup. He was always out at business dinners, always drinking too much. Over the years, it had done a number on his liver and stomach. She’d gone out of her way to ask an old traditional physician for advice, then adjusted the recipe around Preston’s condition, making this soup specifically for him.

The whole thing took forever to simmer, and someone had to stay in the kitchen the entire time to watch it.

As Audrey Sinclair stirred the spoon in the pot, she let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh. She had been cooking for him for eight years. She could warm his stomach, sure, but never his heart.

Whatever. Let this be the last time she put her heart into it. A final full stop for those eight years she had wasted on this relationship.

By the time Preston Holloway came downstairs after his shower, Audrey had already ladled the hangover soup into a bowl and set it in front of him. He sat there rubbing his forehead with one hand, slowly stirring the hot soup with the other. As for what had happened the night before, he looked like he had zero intention of explaining anything.

"Congratulations," Audrey said first.

Preston looked up. His handsome face showed a flicker of confusion. "For what?"

"For proposing to Isabelle Whitfield on her birthday year after year without fail," Audrey said evenly. "And this time, she finally said yes."

She had always known Preston loved Isabelle. From middle school until now—fifteen years, just like that. Every year on Isabelle's birthday, he proposed to her. Even during the eight years he had been dating Audrey, that never once stopped.

Did she not care?

How could that be possible?

But she loved Preston. Loved him so much she had lowered herself again and again, till there was barely anything left of her pride.

Preston frowned. "You saw the news?"

Audrey only looked at him and said nothing.

Preston gave a small nod, acting as if it were no big deal at all. "Isabelle and I are only doing a fake marriage. Once this media mess dies down, we'll get divorced."

"A fake marriage?" Audrey gave a speechless little laugh. "Then are you two getting a marriage license? Having a wedding?"

"Of course. Otherwise my family would never agree."

"Exactly," Audrey said. "So how is that fake?"

"A fake marriage is still a fake marriage. You don't need to know that much." Preston drank a few more mouthfuls of the hangover soup, then stood up and started toward the stairs.

"The stuff between you and her? I don't want in," Audrey said, her voice calm but tight. "But the stuff between you and me—we do need to clear that up."

Preston turned to look at her. "Clear up what?"

Audrey Sinclair took a deep breath. "Let's break up."

Preston Holloway instantly blew up. "Are you seriously not getting it? Isabelle and I are fake married. Fake married. We'll divorce after a while. Why are you making such a huge scene? This has nothing to do with you from start to finish. Just act like you don't know and move on. Do you really have to force your way into this for attention?"

Attention?

Did she even still have any place in his life?

Audrey lowered her eyes, her fingers curling slightly at her side. "It doesn't matter whether you and Isabelle Whitfield are really married or fake married. I'm still breaking up with you."

"Audrey Sinclair!"

"I'm tired." She slowly shut her eyes, her voice light but worn to the bone. "I've loved you for eight years. I've used up everything I had. That's it."

"Fine. Break up, then. Just don't come crying back when you regret it."

Preston didn't go upstairs. He grabbed his coat, his face dark and stormy, then slammed the door and left in a fury.

And just like that, it was over.

Audrey stood there for a moment, and an odd sense of relief washed over her, like a boulder that had been crushing her chest for years had finally rolled away.

She was an OB-GYN at Yunchuan Hospital. Early the next morning, she arrived at her office as usual. While seeing patients, she listened to Nurse Phoebe Granger ramble on about the latest gossip.

"So whose baby is Isabelle Whitfield actually carrying?" Phoebe said, lowering her voice but with eyes full of excitement. "One minute people say it's that Best Actor Li's, the next minute they say it's the second young master of the Holloway family. Wow, seriously. But if it were me, I'd pick Mr. Holloway in a heartbeat. Rich, crazy handsome, total jackpot."

She clicked her tongue and kept going, clearly in gossip mode now. "And I heard this second Mr. Holloway has been hopelessly in love with Isabelle for fifteen years. Fifteen years, okay? Even the universe would be moved by that."

Audrey didn't want to hear one more word.

Her expression stayed flat as she handed Phoebe a chart. "Take the patient upstairs for the examination."

Only after Phoebe left with the pregnant woman did the room finally go quiet.

But that peace lasted less than a minute.

Her phone rang again.

The name on the screen made her chest tighten.

She picked up, and Preston's voice came through, direct as ever, like what happened last night meant absolutely nothing.

"Get things ready. Isabelle is coming to your hospital tomorrow for a prenatal checkup."