Go home? Ryan Carter glanced at his husband, who was immersed in the plot of paying off debts and saving his father-in-law for him: “We have to attend a press conference this weekend, let’s talk about it then.”

After hanging up the call, Ryan Carter looked out the window, his expression suddenly changing. “This place…”

The lights were dazzling, the music thunderous—this was a very famous nightclub, with songs, drinks, and beauties.

Ethan Bolton smiled as he pulled him out of the car, casually slipping a few bills to the doorman.

Watching his husband’s practiced ease, Ryan Carter gradually clenched his fists. As a CEO, Ethan Bolton often came home late, but he would always let him know in advance where he was going. Yet those destinations had never included this nightclub.

Chapter 7: The CEO’s Million-Dollar Bride (7)┃The weather’s getting cold, it’s time for the Wang family to go bankrupt.

The main act of the night’s show hadn’t started yet. On stage, a warm-up rock singer with little dreadlocks was singing with total abandon.

The true night owls hadn’t come out yet, but the hedonistic office workers were already staggering to their seats. Businessmen in suits and ties shed their outer skins, rolled up their shirt sleeves, and tousled their meticulously styled hair, transforming into wild partygoers.

A scantily clad pole dancer, freshly made up and ready to go on stage, happened to meet Ryan Carter’s gaze and puckered her red lips to blow him a kiss.

The young and handsome President Carter was in no mood to respond to the dancer’s enthusiasm. His face was as cold as ice as he raised his hand and asked the AI assistant, “How many times this year has Ethan Bolton not come home before ten o’clock?”

The AI quickly searched its database. For records the owner considered “unimportant,” it only kept a month’s worth of data.

[On the 3rd of last month, played golf with a client, came home at 11:32 p.m.; on the 16th of last month, played video games with Mr. Martinez, came home at dawn; on the 28th of last month, went to the mountaintop to watch the aurora, at night…]

Only then did Ryan Carter realize that he hadn’t cared about where Ethan Bolton went for a long time. He himself was busy and often came home late, so he naturally assumed Ethan Bolton was the same. Whenever he said he had social engagements, he just said okay, not even bothering to listen to the casually made-up excuses.

Many of the excuses were terrible—who plays golf in the middle of the night, and what mountaintop has an aurora?

A heart that had been kept warm in marriage for seven years suddenly plunged into an icy pit, freezing and aching.

“Call a few pretty ones over,” Ethan Bolton ordered loudly, but his gaze never left his little wife’s pale face. He pulled him into his arms. “What, scared?” he said, slipping his hand into Ryan Carter’s shirt as he spoke.

“President Bolton, you’re here.”

“Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Two flamboyantly dressed young men walked over with drinks, their big eyes lined with heavy eyeliner fluttering flirtatiously at Ethan Bolton. The pungent scent of cheap perfume hit, making Ryan Carter sneeze repeatedly.

“Don’t touch me!” Ryan Carter grabbed that warm hand and yanked it away hard. Just thinking that this hand had touched these drink boys made him feel nauseous.

Ethan Bolton insisted on teasing him, wrapping an arm around him and grinning, “You’re my wife—if I don’t touch you, who should I touch? Heh, don’t forget, you’re here to pay off your father’s debt. If you don’t behave, be careful I…”

Before he could finish, he noticed his little wife’s eyes really turning red, and he froze. His chest ached inexplicably, and he panicked a little instinctively.

“Why are you crying? Okay, gege won’t tease you anymore, alright?” he coaxed softly, leaning in to kiss his face, only to be pushed away hard by Ryan Carter.

“Well, well, Brother Bolton, since when did you start going for the spicy stuff?” A well-dressed man, arm-in-arm with a woman in a red dress, staggered over, laughing. “Aren’t you afraid of your little wife at home?”

“What little wife?” the woman in red asked curiously.

“Babe, you’re new here so you don’t know. This President Bolton is famous for being afraid of his wife. He never lets the ‘drink princesses’ get close when he comes here, says his wife can smell perfume on him, hahahaha… hic!” The man was halfway through his laugh when he suddenly choked, staring in terror at the beauty in President Bolton’s arms. “S-s-sister-in-law!”

Perfume?

Ryan Carter paused, thinking back carefully. Every time Ethan Bolton came home, he did carry all sorts of outside scents—sweat, alcohol, sea breeze, grass—but never anyone else’s perfume.

He slowly leaned back into his husband’s arms, immediately enveloped by a faint woody and leathery scent—the Hermes Terre d’Hermès he’d given Ethan Bolton, the fragrance of a mature, steady man.

Ryan Carter raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Martinez, what a coincidence.”

This President Martinez was the very buddy Ethan Bolton always mentioned—the one who supposedly accompanied him to internet cafes in the middle of the night and to mountaintops to watch the aurora.

“Ahaha…” Mr. Martinez laughed awkwardly.

Ethan Bolton watched their interaction coldly, his arm around his little wife suddenly tightening. “So you really are colluding with the Wang family!”

“Huh?” Ryan Carter couldn’t keep up with his husband’s train of thought.

“The weather’s getting cold. It’s time for the Wang family to go bankrupt.” The CEO took a slow sip of his drink, his tone icy.

“What, what, what?” The innocent Mr. Martinez was dumbfounded.

On the way home, Ryan Carter didn’t say a word. When he entered and saw that pale yellow bottle of Hermes cologne on the key cabinet in the foyer, his urge for domestic violence finally subsided a little.