"If they didn't want to accept me, then why are they putting on an act, pretending like we share a deep bond two years later?" Josie practically shouted that out loud through tears.

She unleashed her emotions without holding back, gripping the bottle tightly, and gulping down the alcohol. The liquid overflowed from the corners of her mouth. Under the moonlight, she appeared to be in exceptional pain.

"Jo!" Dexter stopped her. "You can't drink alcohol like that. Slow down."

He grabbed her arm and took the half-empty wine bottle from her.

Josie appeared disheveled and miserable, with strands of hair sticking to the corners of her mouth.

In a slightly tipsy state, she gazed at Dexter, her eyes filled with confusion. "Mark's health is deteriorating, and he's dying. They only think of me and even my child when he's in this hopeless state. Their minds are filled with nothing but personal gain."

Dexter simply listened in silence, his gaze soft and tranquil. He raised his hand, gently tucking away the strands of hair that stuck to her face. "I understand, Jo. You suffered a lot."

She was usually fine with enduring it all. After all, she had been doing it for so many years and had already grown accustomed to it.

Yet, for reasons unknown, a simple word of comfort from Dexter stirred up turmoil within her. Unable to control herself, she burst into tears, clinging to him while sobbing inconsolably.

Dexter remained silent, stroking her hair and reassuring her, even though he believed the Olsens wouldn't stoop that low. At the very least, he thought Mark and Claudia were sincere to her; their affection toward her was not an act.

However, he didn't say that and simply held her, offering comfort.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Josie grew tired from crying, and her sobs gradually subsided. The alcohol, however, got the better of her and caused her to cling to him.

Dexter asked, heartbroken, "Do you want to go back?"

She nodded. "I'm tired."

"Then come down."

"No, carry me on your back," she demanded.

He chuckled and hoisted her onto his back, heading toward the residence. The servants stationed along the way exchanged glances, but none dared to comment.

Josie wasn't entirely drunk. She rested her head on his shoulder, counting the streetlights that passed by, and mumbled under her breath, "Dexter, when was the last time you carried me like this?" Dexter thought about it and answered in a gentle tone, "Two years ago, I guess."

"But what I miss the most is when we first met. Everything was wonderful when our feelings were just beginning to blossom."

He naturally knew when she was referring to, and was momentarily lost in thought.

"I seem to have everything now, yet I have nothing at all. Dexter, I miss the old Josie who had nothing," she continued.

Strands of hair danced across Dexter's forehead, and his gaze, while cold, held a depth of emotion. He, too, missed the old Josie, yet he cherished every version of her-be it the present or the past. "Jo, I promise you, you can be anyone you wish to be. It's okay even if you don't return."

She tightened her grip around his neck. "Really?"

"Of course."

The next day, Josie woke up to her head throbbing with pain. As she gradually regained her clarity, she moved her arm and hit something hard on the side.

Wide awake, she turned to find Dexter sleeping next to her. His eyelashes were long as his eyes fluttered open, gazing at Josie, who wore an expression of surprise.

Instead of getting annoyed for being disturbed, he got up and headed to the kitchen, handing her a bowl of warm hangover remedy. "You'll feel better after drinking this." Josie observed him in astonishment. It all felt so natural, as if the two of them had never divorced.

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