My Ex-Husband Begged Me to Take Him Back

By the time the jet landed, it was already the next morning. Dylan was fast asleep, his body slouched against the leather seat, unaware of the landing.

Justin slowly tapped him on the shoulder and softly said, "Mr. Brooks, sir – we have landed."

Dylan stirred, his eyelids fluttering open in confusion. He looked around in surprise. He was supposed to be in the hotel. What was he doing in the private jet?

"Where are we?" he asked, perplexed.

Justin blinked in confusion. "Erm… sir, you ordered us to fly back home urgently. We just landed. Did you forget?"

Dylan frowned deeply, his mind racing to catch up with the situation. He tried to recall what had led him here. The last thing he remembered was that strange, haunting vision of Ava lying in a pool of blood. Now that he had calmed down and the panic subsided, he regretted his decision.

"Why would I want to come back?" Dylan snapped, his irritation flaring. "We had one last meeting with Mr. Thompson. You know how crucial that deal is!"

Dylan's sudden outburst took Justin aback. "But, sir… you insisted we fly back immediately," he explained, confused as to why Dylan had forgotten everything. "After hearing that Madam had been rushed to the hospital, you seemed deeply disturbed. You didn't want to wait."

Dylan grimaced, rubbing his forehead. His stomach churned at the memory of the nightmare he had.

It was weird.

He had never cared about her before. But something about that dream, about seeing her hurt, had triggered a panic he couldn't quite explain. His instinct to return home had been impulsive.

That was something he had never done. The thought of losing the deal irked him. He wanted to lash out his anger at Justin for not stopping him, for not reminding him of his priorities. But he couldn't bring himself to unleash it.

Something was gnawing at him, a strange unease at the thought of Ava lying in that hospital bed.

"She was hospitalized after consuming peanut butter – a lot," Justin recounted cautiously, thinking his boss had forgotten everything.

Dylan's expression remained stony. 'That woman knows how to get my attention,' he muttered under his breath, his mouth contorting.

"But she is fine now," Justin added quickly. "The latest update is that she has been discharged from the hospital."

"Okay, I get it." Dylan waved dismissively, rising from his seat with a flick of impatience. "Take me home." He walked out of the jet, his mind racing.

'Let's see what she is up to this time,' he muttered in his mind. 

Dylan arrived home in no time. The middle-aged maid welcomed him with a polite bow. "You have arrived, Mr. Brooks."

Dylan barely acknowledged her, his eyes scanning the spacious hall. Normally, Ava would be there, waiting to greet him with that same meek look on her face. But today, there was no sign of her.

It was unusual.

'Is she upset?' The question flickered through his mind before he could stop it. He scowled at himself. 'Who cares?'

He tried to shrug off the nagging sense of unease that had been gnawing at him.

"Where is she, Martha?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Uh… Madam has gone to her father's place directly from the hospital," Martha explained. "She said she would be staying there for a few days."

Dylan whipped his head toward her, taken aback. In the past year, Ava rarely visited her father, let alone spending the night there.

"Let her rest there for a while," Martha suggested kindly, but Dylan's jaw tightened. He didn't like the idea of Ava being away from home—away from him.

Dylan furiously stormed into his room and slammed the door shut behind him. As he yanked off his suit jacket, he instinctively stretched his hand out, expecting someone to take it, to hang it up like always.

But Ava wasn't there to catch it. The jacket slipped from his fingers and crumpled onto the floor.

Dylan froze, staring at the fallen jacket, a rush of frustration and something else swelling inside him. He clenched his fists, realizing for the first time just how much her absence weighed on him. The house felt too quiet, too empty without her.

His face twisted in a scowl as he picked up the jacket himself and hung it on the hanger. In the meantime, he recalled claiming in his nightmare that he had started to love her. Was it true?

A sharp frustration surged through him. "What am I thinking?" he muttered under his breath, feeling a sting of annoyance at his own unusual thoughts.

Dylan reminded himself to stay focused on his plan. He could not afford to be distracted. He loosened his tie and reached for the glass of water on the side table, but it was empty.

"Martha!" Dylan bellowed.

Martha hurried into the room and stood by the doorstep with her head bowed, trembling in fear under his furious gaze.

"Why is the glass empty?" Dylan demanded, holding it out.

"I-I'm sorry," Martha stuttered. "Madam was the one who always took care of everything. I-I forgot to fill it. I'll bring water right away!" She turned and scurried off.

Dylan's grimace deepened as he tightened his grip around the glass. He could see how he had grown dependent on Ava, and he wasn't aware of it. He didn't like it.

Slamming the glass down, he went to take a shower.

After some time, he came out of the bathroom, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. His eyes moved to the bed automatically. Normally, his clothes would be laid out, perfectly ironed, waiting for him. But now, the space was empty.

Ava had always done those things for him, quietly and without him ever noticing. Now that she wasn't there, the absence of her care was glaringly obvious.

His frustration boiled over. He tossed the towel aside in a rage, realizing he had been more dependent on her than he had ever thought.

'You want my attention, don't you?' he thought angrily, gritting his teeth. He reached for his phone, dialing her number. The phone rang, but no one answered. His brow furrowed as irritation turned to disbelief.

The thought of Ava, who once practically clung to him, now refusing to answer his calls, sent a wave of indignation through him.

"What the hell is wrong with her?" he spat, looking at the phone. "Is she ignoring me now?"