Help, My Tycoon Husband Refuses To Divorce

A military jeep thundered down the bustling bar street, its presence like a storm on the horizon. The jeep, adorned with a high-ranking officer's insignia and a distinctive license plate, commanded the attention of all it passed. It came to a jarring halt in front of the neon-lit Serendipity bar, its brakes screeching a piercing challenge to the surrounding nightlife.

The door of the jeep opened and then slammed shut with a force that reverberated through the silent evening, mimicking the sharp report of a gunshot. A man emerged, his camouflage uniform blending oddly with the urban setting. His stern expression and the firm set of his jaw added to his daunting presence as he stepped into the colorful chaos of the bar.

Inside, the neon lights cast an otherworldly glow on his face, the shadows playing across his features as he moved with a purposeful stride. The bar was alive with the vibrant beats of electrifying music and the murmur of drunken chatter-yet he seemed to carry a chilling silence around him, isolating him from the revelry.

At the bar counter, Ryland Flynn was engrossed in a flirtatious conversation with the bargirl. He looked up as the military man entered, the haze of alcohol clearing swiftly from his eyes. The imposing figure made a beeline for the elevator, and Ryland, sensing urgency, scrambled off his stool to intercept him.

"Mr. Mitchell... What brings you here to Serendipity tonight?" Ryland's voice faltered under the icy gaze of the man.

The man's eyes narrowed, his voice resonant and commanding as he demanded, "Where's Renee?"

"I... I believe she's at her home tonight," Ryland stammered, struggling to maintain his composure under the piercing scrutiny.

Without hesitation, the man pressed the elevator button for the top floor, his action sharp and decisive. "You have 30 seconds to alert her," he stated curtly.

Ryland's heart raced as panic gripped him. He knew that fabricating a story was pointless now. With trembling hands, he pulled out his phone and dialed Renee Carter's number right in front of the imposing figure looming over him. The phone buzzed unanswered after three persistent rings, prompting Ryland to switch to WhatsApp in a frantic rush. Opting for a voice message, he pressed the microphone icon and whispered urgently, "Renee, your husband is here to see you; he's on his way up in the elevator."

His attempt to keep his voice hushed failed miserably; the words echoed clearly in the tight space of the elevator.

An icy chuckle emanated from behind Ryland, sending shivers down his spine as the elevator dinged open. Sweat started to bead on his forehead, each drop a testament to his growing dread.

The man stepped out with a determined stride, heading straight for the VIP room. Ryland, caught in a web of fear, trailed meekly behind, his steps hesitant and his mind racing for solutions.

Stopping abruptly at the door, the man turned slightly. Ryland, mustering a sliver of courage, spoke up with a shaky voice. "Mr. Mitchell, I assure you, she isn't here."

"Last chance-open up, or I'll kick this door in myself."

"Please, believe me. She..." Ryland tried again, his voice faltering.

"Three," the man stated evenly, his tone leaving no room for argument as the countdown commenced.

"Fine," Ryland murmured, his voice a strained whisper as he fumbled with the room key, a sigh escaping him. His hands trembled slightly-caught in a bind, he dared not cross a member of the formidable Mitchell family.

As the door creaked open, the man's eyes narrowed, his expression hardened into the stern, unyielding mask of a seasoned military veteran.

Ryland stole a brief glance inside and sharply inhaled, quickly diverting his gaze to safeguard his own wellbeing, positioning himself squarely in the doorway, observing from a cautious distance.

Inside, Renee reclined languidly on the sofa, her figure draped in a vibrant red slip dress that made a bold statement, flanked by two young male escorts. Their bare torsos were adorned with the unmistakable traces of passion, scratches carved into their skin like echoes of their heated encounters.

The abrupt noise of the door's movement caused the escorts to stiffen, their muscles tensing as they beheld the daunting figure looming at the entrance.

In sharp contrast, Renee exuded an air of nonchalant ease. Slowly opening her eyes, her lips curled into a taunting smirk upon sighting the man.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she regarded him through half-lidded eyes, her smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Relax, boys, it's not a police raid," she teased, her voice dripping with disdain. "Allow me to introduce him-this is my husband, the esteemed William Mitchell of the Mitchell family. You've surely heard of him, haven't you?"

As she spoke, her gaze flitted over to William, observing his stoic visage with a provocative sneer. "Mr. Mitchell, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit tonight? Aren't you supposed to be getting busy with your childhood sweetheart instead of wasting time here with us?"

William approached with deliberate steps, the chill of the night air clinging to his camouflage jacket, mirroring the icy reserve on his face. He seated himself on the sofa across from her, crossing his legs with a deliberate nonchalance.

Smirking insincerely, he waved a hand. "Don't mind me-carry on with whatever this is."

The two escorts were already visibly tense, their anxiety written all over their faces, and the mere mention of William's name sent shivers down their spines.

Renee, her head bowed slightly, felt a surge of anger well up within her. Yet, she masked it expertly behind a veil of serenity and commanded, "You heard him, didn't you? Now that Mr. Mitchell is in the mood, you'd better be at your best-disappointment isn't an option here."

She then raised her head, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark, and flashed a coquettish wink at William. "Mr. Mitchell, consider this an invaluable lesson. You treat the bed like a battlefield-my two companions, on the other hand, know how to make a woman feel cherished. After all, we aren't your foot soldiers. While I might endure your roughness, think of your beloved. She's far too delicate for such treatment, don't you think?"

William responded with nothing more than a frigid glance. Reclining against the back of the sofa, he struck a match with a sharp flick, lighting his cigarette. A veil of smoke soon enveloped him, masking his inscrutable expression.

Renee's irritation spiked at his detached demeanor; he looked almost wounded, though she couldn't fathom what could possibly dent his icy exterior.

Impatiently, she snapped at the escorts, "Well? What are you waiting for? At Mr. Mitchell's request, show him what you've got-who knows, he might actually pick up a thing or two."

With a defiant flair, Renee tugged at the straps of her slip dress, letting them slip down her shoulders.

The men jolted with surprise, their eyes darting involuntarily towards William, whose gaze was icy and unforgiving. Instinctively, they squeezed their eyes shut.

"Uh, Ms. Carter... maybe it's best if we go."

As they stooped to gather their scattered clothing from the floor, Renee fixed them with a frosty stare that rooted them in place.

"I've told you already. Disappointment isn't an option here," she stated, her voice sharp as the winter air.

Her attention turned back to William just in time to catch a camouflage jacket sailing through the air, draping over her with precision, obscuring her view. Before she could shrug off the jacket, she was abruptly swept up by two robust hands.

"William! What on earth are you doing?!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled under the fabric.

Blind to his expression, she could only sense the intense, ominous aura radiating from him. Effortlessly, he slung her over his shoulder, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his fingertips.

In a swift motion, he extinguished the cigarette on the back of one of the men, eliciting a sharp yelp. Simultaneously, his boot connected with the other man's knee, causing a stifled groan of agony to fill the room.

Ryland, who had been nervously lingering by the door, stepped forward in alarm. "Mr. Mitchell, please, let's resolve this peacefully," he pleaded, his voice quivering.

"Get out of my way!" William's command was a low rumble, more animal than human, that sent Ryland stumbling back in fear. Helplessly, he watched as William maneuvered Renee into the back of the jeep, her protests fading into the night.

The engine roared as the vehicle surged forward, a reflection of the driver's burning temper. As Renee collapsed onto the plush, crimson bedspread, the effects of the evening's alcohol started to fade.

Her eyes fluttered open, fixing on the ornate bed in the master bedroom-an emblem of union they had never truly shared since their marriage. The irony stung, blending seamlessly with her sorrow. Their three-year union was not a sexless one. The rare times William came home from his military duties, their encounters, though heated and passionate, were just fleeting moments of intimacy. Yet, their living arrangements spoke volumes-they maintained separate rooms, with this room remaining untouched by either.

But tonight, William's demeanor was unhinged, as he dragged her into this "sacred" space and threw her onto the bed without hesitation.

"William, what the hell are you thinking?" Renee gasped, her voice a mix of bewilderment and fear.

She barely managed to prop herself up when he loomed over her, his gaze wild and red-rimmed.

"Get ready, because I'm gonna fuck you until you're begging for more," he declared, his words seething through clenched teeth as he ruthlessly ripped her dress strap by strap.

"So, Renee, you were saying I was too rough, is that it?" he huffed, his breath hot against her ear, his teeth lightly grazing her earlobe in a chilling caress. "I'm gonna fuck you nice and easy tonight-make you feel every damn second of it."

Trapped beneath his weight, Renee writhed futilely, her struggles inadvertently drawing them even closer. As he tenderly grazed her earlobe with a punitive lick, his voice cut through the air, icy and stark.

"Remember, you're a married woman."

Just then, the shrill ring of his phone pierced the tense air. Although he wanted to dismiss it, the insistent buzzing from his pocket-just as he was about to undress-compelled him to reach for his phone with visible impatience. Recognizing the caller ID, his expression softened slightly.

With a wry, self-deprecating smirk, Renee peeked at his phone screen. Unsurprisingly, it was his childhood sweetheart calling.

Her voice dripped with irony as she retorted, "Seems you've forgotten you're a married man."

His eyes flickered to her, but before he could gauge her next move, Renee snatched his phone and answered the call with deliberate calm.

"Hello, Sylvia," she called out evenly.

There was a brief pause as Sylvia Payne processed the unexpected voice. "Renee... hi," she stammered, her words stumbling over the shock.

Upon catching William's resigned look, Renee's smile twisted into a sly grin. "Yeah, it's me. Sorry, but William and I are a little busy right now. You know how horny couples get after some time apart-it's like a damn craving that needs to be satisfied. He's got his mouth all over me, so I doubt he'll be able to answer his phone anytime soon."

Renee's words might have struck a nerve or instilled fear in Sylvia, who fell silent, stewing in her thoughts for a lengthy pause. Just as Renee braced herself for another onslaught of bold accusations, William intervened, snatching the phone from her hand. His kiss, fierce and claiming, then stole her breath away.

William wasn't one to make empty promises-he showed her exactly what gentleness could be. After what felt like an eternity of torment, Renee broke down in tears, pleading for mercy-only then did he finally relent.

Drained from the ordeal, she succumbed to sleep almost instantly. Throughout the night, she drifted in a half-conscious daze, vaguely aware of William leaving the bed.

By the time morning crept in, Renee awoke alone. She lay there on the vast bed that held both fresh and lingering memories, her mind adrift in contemplation. She turned towards the curtains, tightly drawn, blurring the lines between late morning rays and the onset of dusk.

A wave of weariness washed over her as she reached for her phone, her body still aching from the previous night's passions. That was when she saw it-a post from Sylvia on Instagram, unmistakably capturing William from behind, engrossed in cooking. The realization hit with the sharpness of a knife.

In a fit of rage, Renee hurled her phone against the wall. Despite the force, the device miraculously survived the impact.

"That fucking liar! That cheating piece of shit!" she snarled, fists clenched in anger.

Lifting the blanket, she tried to stand, but the lingering soreness made every movement a struggle. That scumbag had really done a number on her. Yet, he felt no pain at all-if anything, he was in high spirits as he happily went to cook for his lover.

Her anger simmered, fueled by each throbbing ache and the betrayal freshly unveiled.

Sylvia's post was a glaring provocation.

At that moment, a hesitant knock rapped at the door, followed by the maid's timid voice filtering through. "Mrs. Mitchell, are you up? Mr. Mitchell had me prepare something to help with your hangover."

Renee seethed with annoyance. Now that he was out cavorting with his mistress, why even bother sending the maid? She inhaled sharply, trying to quell the rising storm within her.

"I'm much better now, thank you. No need for that," Renee called out, her voice strained.

Yet, the maid lingered at the doorway, her tone soft and persistent. "Mrs. Mitchell, Mr. Mitchell also specifically prepared a pill for you. Would you like to come out and take it?"

Confused and a bit curious, Renee cracked open the door and peered out. "What pill?" she asked, her brow furrowed in suspicion.

"You know, for after last night..." The maid trailed off delicately.

That was the last straw. Renee's control snapped like a rope stretched too tight for too long.

She was teetering dangerously on the edge of an outburst.

Over the past three years of their marriage, Renee had diligently taken a contraceptive pill after each of their intimate encounters. The thought of starting a family hadn't yet appealed to her; she wasn't ready to embrace motherhood.

The routine was simple when she managed it herself, but it felt different, almost intrusive, when William had the pills delivered to her.

"I'm not taking it!" Renee declared defiantly, her voice thick with resolve. "Tell that scumbag that if I get pregnant, I'll have the baby! Let's see how he deals with that!"

Her words echoed sharply as she slammed the door with a resounding thud, the sound reverberating off the walls.

The moment the maid stepped out, she started digging through the room for the pills she bought before, her remark earlier nothing more than a bitter jab.

Exhausted, she collapsed onto the plush bed, her body twisting and turning as she tried to find comfort in the soft linens. As sleep tugged at her consciousness, her mind seethed with curses aimed at William. She pondered his unexpected return from military service. Could his sudden appearance be tied to some trouble involving Sylvia?

Indeed, Renee's suspicions weren't unfounded. William's return had everything to do with Sylvia. The moment he was discharged, he'd tried reaching out to Renee, only to be met with silence. His inquiries led him to discover her recent escapades, including the escorts she'd taken to keeping company. In a mix of rage and desperation, he had stormed the bar where she frequented, dragged her away, and then rushed to attend to Sylvia.

Meanwhile, at the hospital, Sylvia sat uncomfortably as the doctor concluded his examination.

"Ma'am, aside from some mild anemia, you're perfectly fine. By the way, is this gentleman your husband?"

The question caught Sylvia off guard, a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

Leaning slightly forward, William questioned, "Doctor, should she be taking any extra precautions? Does she need to avoid any specific foods?"

He neither confirmed nor denied, preserving Sylvia's dignity.

"Just avoid seafood, particularly crabs. Beyond that, she's free to enjoy whatever she likes. Be grateful she's not constantly battling nausea. She's dealing with morning sickness-consider yourself lucky she can still eat without throwing up."

"Got it. Thanks for your help, doctor." William's response was polite, tinged with a sense of relief.

William stole a glance at Sylvia after leaving the doctor's office. She was cradling her belly gently, her expression radiant with the glowing joy unique to a first-time mother.

He sighed, a whisper barely audible escaping his lips. "Sylvia."

"William, I think... I can feel the baby's heartbeat." Sylvia's voice trembled with wonder, her eyes gleaming as they met his.

He paused, the weight of his next words pressing down on him. "Sylvia, you should consider terminating the pregnancy."

"No!" Her voice cracked, a visceral refusal. Tears instantly welled in her eyes as she implored him, "William, I want this baby. Please, let me keep it. Don't force me to give it up. I can raise this child by myself if I have to..."

"And you think you can make this decision to keep the child without my agreement?"

The cold, sharp voice of Renee sliced through their conversation. Both Sylvia and William turned to see her at the corner of the corridor, arms folded, her presence like a specter at a feast. Her stance and piercing gaze left no doubt about her stance-she was, after all, William's lawful wife, and her words carried the weight of her position.