The call disconnected, and Mrs. Gable shot a sympathetic, helpless look at Alaric Foster, who sat nearby.
"Sir, you heard Mrs. Foster yourself. What do we do now?"
It was all Sylvia Shaw's fault.
Before that woman showed up, the master and his wife had been perfectly happy taking care of Stella together.
Ever since that woman appeared, tension had poisoned their marriage.
Surely the couple wouldn't actually end up divorcing just because of her existence.
Alaric sat there with his head bowed, Ivy Sawyer's words echoing crystal clear in his ears.
She wasn't coming back.
She didn't even want her luggage.
How had she become so utterly heartless?
How could she say she was letting go of him and Stella just like that?
Unwilling to accept it, Alaric looked up at Mrs. Gable. "Call her again."
Mrs. Gable looked troubled. "What would I even say?"
"Tell her I drank too much, tripped, and fell. Tell her to come take care of me."
Mrs. Gable was speechless.
Was it really a good idea to lie like this?
Unable to hold back, she offered her own advice.
"Sir, why don't you call her yourself? Just tell her you don't want a divorce, that you miss her, and ask her to come home."
Mrs. Gable understood Ivy well enough to know the girl wasn't unreasonable and had an incredibly forgiving nature.
If he just swallowed his pride, she definitely wouldn't hold a grudge.
But Alaric was far too stubborn.
And he refused to bruise his ego.
If he wanted Ivy back, he was the one who had to make the first move.
Alaric's handsome face tightened, his gaze turning icy as he completely brushed off Mrs. Gable's advice.
"Just do as I said."
Call Ivy himself? Did she think he had no dignity left?




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