Chapter 3My Older Husband and My Younger Husband

Harvey didn't come home all night.

His assistant called me in a panic. "Mrs. Wen, do you know where Mr. Wen is? I can't find him, and the board meeting is about to start."

I had sent Harvey a dozen texts, with no reply.

I took a deep breath. "I'll handle it. You all just wait for my signal."

The day was a blur of meetings and damage control. Still no word from Harvey.

Frustrated, I dropped my briefcase and started searching the internet cafes in our neighborhood, going from one to the next. I never thought I'd be playing the role of a worried mother so soon into my marriage.

When I finally found him, I almost didn't recognize him. His hair was bleached a shocking yellow, a silver chain hanging around his neck. His exposed arms were covered in tattoos. My heart leaped into my throat, terrified he had actually gotten inked. But then I realized there was no way he could have gotten that much work done so quickly. They had to be temporary.

He was glued to the screen, mouse clicking furiously. I recognized the game—he was playing a first-person shooter.

I reached over and pulled off his headphones. He whipped his head around, his face a mask of annoyance. "What the hell? Why did you follow me here?"

Everyone in the vicinity turned to stare.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" I asked, my voice cold.

"Why should I? You're not still trying to get back with me, are you? Because it's not happening. I'm not him. I'm never getting married. I don't believe in it."

His words struck me. I remembered that before me, Harvey had never been in a serious relationship, aside from a laughable middle school "romance." But hadn't he just told me yesterday that he had someone he liked?

"Come home with me. We need to talk about a few things concerning your career." This wasn't working. His lack of cooperation was becoming a serious problem.

His rebellious streak flared. "No way. I'm not going. What are you gonna do, hit me?"

So I slapped him across the face. Before he could react, I grabbed his ear and twisted.

He yelped in pain. "You crazy woman! You witch!"

I was usually so calm, so composed. But I had reached my breaking point. I treated him like I would my younger brother. I kicked him in the ass, and he went sprawling to the floor. His insults quickly turned to pleas for mercy.

"Grandma! This is domestic abuse!" he wailed, then added a pathetic threat. "If I wasn't against hitting women, I would have beaten you to a pulp by now!"

I slapped him again.

He clutched his face, stunned. "How did I end up with such a violent wife?"

The cafe owner came over to intervene. "Hey, ma'am, take it easy. It's normal for kids to want to play games."

"I'm not his mother," I said calmly. "I'm his wife."

The owner looked from me to Harvey, then whispered, "Ah, a sugar mama, huh?"

Harvey overheard. "Who are you calling a sugar baby?!" he shrieked. "Your whole family are sugar babies!"

Despite his ridiculous getup, he was still handsome. He couldn't win a fight against me, so he started arguing with the owner instead. "Open your eyes! Do I look like I need her money? Do I look poor to you? You don't think we're a good match?"

I grabbed his arm and dragged him out of there, dying of embarrassment.

Once outside, he shoved me away. "Get off me! You're so annoying!" He was like a bantam rooster—all squawk and no bite.

"Don't you want to get a divorce? Let's go home and discuss the terms."

He frowned. "What's there to discuss? We just sign the papers."

"If you want to walk away with nothing, not a single penny, then sure."

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fine. I'll go back with you." He wasn't about to be called a kept man.