Help, My Tycoon Husband Refuses To Divorce

high-ranking officer's insignia and a distinctive license plate, commanded the attention of all it passed. It came to a jar

the sharp report of a gunshot. A man emerged, his camouflage uniform blending oddly with the urban setting. His stern e

moved with a purposeful stride. The bar was alive with the vibrant beats of electrifying music and the murm

up as the military man entered, the haze of alcohol clearing swiftly from his eyes. The imposing figure

o Serendipity tonight?" Ryland's voice

oice resonant and commanding a

" Ryland stammered, struggling to maintain

on for the top floor, his action sharp and decisive.

umber 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 fran

ailed miserably; the words echoed clea

wn his spine as the elevator dinged open. Sweat started to bea

for the VIP room. Ryland, caught in a web of fear, trailed meek

Ryland, mustering a sliver of courage, spoke up with a s

up, or I'll kick t

e..." Ryland tried agai

his tone leaving no room for arg

the room key, a sigh escaping him. His hands trembled slightly-caught i

wed, his expression hardened into the stern, u

iverting his gaze to safeguard his own wellbeing, positioning him

e a bold statement, flanked by two young male escorts. Their bare torsos were adorned with the unmis

escorts to stiffen, their muscles tensing as they b

lant ease. Slowly opening her eyes, her lips cur

er mouth. "Relax, boys, it's not a police raid," she teased, her voice dripping with disdain. "Allow me to introduce h

e sneer. "Mr. Mitchell, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit tonight? Aren't you sup

o his camouflage jacket, mirroring the icy reserve on his face. He seated himse

ed a hand. "Don't mind me-ca