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."