Chapter 4My Older Husband and My Younger Husband

On the way home, I couldn't help but lecture him. "You need to come up with a plan. Tell everyone you have amnesia. Your assistant will help you with work. And stay out of the internet cafes." I glanced at the fake tattoos on his arm, a headache starting to form.

"I don't want to," he said stubbornly.

"..."

I took a deep breath. This kid was a walking rebellion.

"Do you have any idea how much the twenty-eight-year-old you has sacrificed for his career?"

"What's that got to do with me?" he said, unconcerned. "I'm not him. Stop using me as his replacement. I am who I am, a different kind of firework."

His cheesy line made my toes curl. This was going to be impossible. The twenty-eight-year-old Harvey was obedient to a fault; the eighteen-year-old was his polar opposite. How could ten years make such a difference?

When we got home, I parked the car. He stormed off without a second glance, not even waiting for me. I trailed behind him, but then he suddenly slowed down, and I easily caught up.

He glanced at my high heels. "You walk so slow."

"..."

Patience, I told myself. He's just a child.

"So, how are we splitting the assets?" he asked. "I'm so awesome, I must have a lot of money, right?"

He was in for a rude awakening. How much he got depended entirely on how generous I was feeling. If I wanted to be cruel, he'd get nothing. Our prenuptial agreement stated that in the event of a divorce, he would leave with nothing. That was the clause that had won over my parents, convincing them to entrust their daughter to him.

As we reached the door, he poked my shoulder. "Hello? Are you going to answer me? How much do I get?"

The next second, the door swung open from the inside. The housekeeper had been on leave for a month. There was no one home.

My heart started to pound. I looked up and met a pair of familiar eyes.

My jaw dropped. I looked back at the younger Harvey. He was now staring, wide-eyed, at the older one.

The air grew cold. The younger Harvey tensed, his expression guarded.

I was the first to speak. "Honey, you're back?"

The younger one snapped, "Who are you calling honey? I'm not your husband."

The older one's lips curved into a thin smile, his gaze shifting from the boy to me. "She was talking to me. And this is my house. It's perfectly normal for me to be here."

I felt another wave of awkwardness. "Let's just... go inside," I said, trying to sound casual.

Once inside, the question returned, more pressing than ever. Are we getting this divorce or not?

I looked from my young husband to my old one, and back again.