My Husband Forces Me 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."