Forgotten Love: Mr. President, Mrs. Fordham Has Rejected You!-Chapter 217: Only Widowed, Never Divorced

Suicide note...

Aiden Fordham was trembling all over, uncontrollably stepping back two paces.

Suddenly, he rushed forward frantically, reaching out to grab the letter.

Hugh Whitman withdrew his hand, clutching it in his palm.

With a "clack," a lighter ignited in his other hand.

The eerie blue flame licked the air.

"Give it to me!" Aiden roared, his voice trembling.

Hugh Whitman shouted sternly:

"This is what I found in the hotel study the day you left Mardale. Her love for you has surpassed the bounds of life, and yet, what did you do to her?"

"Aiden Fordham! Don’t let this marriage become a painful shackle on her for life!"

"Sign the papers!"

Aiden’s face was as pale as paper, his gaze fixed on the "suicide note."

Hugh Whitman suddenly suppressed his anger, calmly saying,

"Aiden Fordham, if you still care for her, set her free."

This sentence once again pierced Aiden’s heart.

Finally, he slowly said, "Tomorrow, I’ll have someone deliver the signed agreement."

"Signing requires Grandfather’s approval first."

Hugh Whitman gave him a deep look, "I hope you mean what you say."

He handed the "suicide note" she had written in Mardale to him.

Aiden, trembling, opened it.

It bore her unique, sharp handwriting.

With just one glance, his heart shattered, pain suffocating him.

She really... almost stayed buried with him in Mardale.

And he was still doubting her loyalty.

Even if the child she carried wasn’t his, he had no right... to force her to take abortion pills.

He could no longer stand, his legs weak, collapsing heavily to the ground.

Endless guilt and heartache surged like a tsunami, tearing his seemingly sturdy body to pieces.

His body trembled violently, he covered his face with both hands, tears streaming down.

Crying like a helpless child.

His Stella, he lost her once again.

Claire peered out, witnessing this scene, and gestured to Damian Hawthorne.

[Should we give him a candy?]

Damian’s gaze deepened, "He won’t eat it, it hurts his teeth."

...

By evening, the temperature dropped sharply, cold winds rustled the woods.

In the Sterling Family’s backyard garden, Vivi Sterling sat before an easel, holding a paintbrush, outlining with each stroke.

Her gaze occasionally lifted from the easel, lightly brushing past the man on the distant rock, before quickly returning to the canvas.

Her focused and earnest demeanor made Hugh Whitman somewhat mesmerized.

Except...

This cold, hard rock, he had been sitting on it for a full hour.

His rear was nearly numb from the pressure.

To maintain his flawless 360-degree handsome profile, he was pushing his limits.

After another fifteen minutes, he couldn’t stand it any longer.

"Eldest Miss Sterling, are you finished painting yet?"

Hugh Whitman frowned, his tone carrying a hint of impatience, "If you keep painting, I’ll charge you model fees."

Vivi Sterling heard this, her lips curved into a beautiful arc.

"Just two more strokes."

Saying this, she deftly added the final strokes to the canvas.

"All done, masterpiece complete."

Hugh, hearing this, excitedly leapt from the rock, quickly running over.

But as soon as he saw the contents of the painting, his handsome face immediately fell.

In the painting, the swing, garden, and rock behind him were precisely replicated, becoming a beautiful landscape painting.

Exclusively without his figure.

"Vivi Sterling, are you playing with me?" Hugh Whitman’s voice squeezed through his teeth.

Vivi Sterling leisurely packed her painting tools, not even raising her eyelids.

"I only asked you to sit there, never said I had to paint you."

"You!" Hugh clenched his fists in anger, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.

Seeing his stance like he’s ready to fight, Vivi Sterling raised her brows.

"What, want to hit someone?"

"Vivi Sterling, I’ve noticed you’re getting more and more arrogant." He said through gritted teeth.

Vivi Sterling finally looked up at him, her smile radiant and bright.

"What else?"

She gently stroked her little belly, speaking slowly, "Is it that you don’t want the child anymore?"

"Threatening me?"

Before the words settled, Hugh Whitman extended his long arm, pulling her domineeringly into his embrace, lowering his head to kiss.

"Mmph!" Vivi Sterling was startled, pushing him away in panic, "You’re crazy! This is the Sterling Family’s backyard garden, not the Whitman Family’s!"

Everywhere were cameras and servants, his courage was too bold; he wanted to plaster the Whitman name on the entrance’s 4A paper?

Hugh Whitman licked his lips, a mischievous smile appearing.

"Don’t worry, come with me."

He took her hand, pulling her insistently towards the back door.

Opening the inconspicuous little door, they passed a small path, walking about two hundred meters, stopping before another luxurious villa gate.

Hugh Whitman raised his hand, pressing his fingerprint on the lock.

With a "beep," the door opened.

Vivi Sterling looked surprised.

"Isn’t this Mr. Anderson’s house? I remember he’s been doing business abroad for years."

"Yes, I bought it." Hugh Whitman’s tone was very calm, like he had bought a cabbage.

In fact, he had bought it two years ago, always staying close by her.

The villa was very clean, even the air had a faint scent of freshener, evidently someone cleaned it regularly.

As soon as the door closed, Hugh Whitman pressed her against the wall, his tall body completely enveloping her, hands propped on either side, firmly enclosing her in his embrace.

"Vivi."

He lowered his head, his hot breath brushing her ear.

"I want all three."

Vivi Sterling’s heart skipped a beat, slightly dazed, "What three?"

"You, the child, I want them all."

His domineering kiss fell again, with undeniable force, wanting to merge her entirely into his own being.

Just as both nearly lost control, about to act impulsively, Hugh Whitman suddenly stopped.

He released her, resting his forehead against hers, his chest rising and falling violently, his voice raspy.

"Vivi, can you love me?"

Vivi Sterling’s cheeks flushed, breathing rapidly.

She looked up, seriously meeting his deep eyes, emotions she couldn’t understand were in them.

"Hugh Whitman, do you believe in fate?"

She spoke, her voice still trembling.

"If I bear a boy, I’ll give you a chance. If it’s a girl, then we are destined but not fated."

"Let it all be at heaven’s will."

Indeed, she admitted, she was moved by this man.

He seemed like a ray in her dark life, making her want to draw near.

But she, always left space for Zane Zimmerman, she couldn’t promise anyone she might love him in the future?

Hugh Whitman froze momentarily, then heavily nodded.

"Alright."

The next moment, he suddenly bent down, lifting her horizontally, striding toward the room.

"Ah! Let me down, what are you doing?" She exclaimed in fright, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck.

He lowered his head, looking at the person in his arms, grinning roguishly.

"Strengthening the bond with my child."

...

At night, the atmosphere in the Fordham Family chapel was cold and heavy.

Aiden Fordham, bare-chested, knelt straight on the icy floor tiles.

Under the dim light, his broad back was crisscrossed with new and old scars, the scene extremely gruesome.

The heavy wooden door was pushed open from outside, making a long "squeak" sound.

Steven Fordham walked in, followed by the butler, his face somber as he entered.

"You little brat, what are you up to now?"

The old man’s voice was ice-cold, carrying a thunderous fury, echoing in the spacious ancestral hall.

Aiden Fordham did not turn around.

He simply held up the spiked whip that had previously lashed him over his head, a gesture of utmost respect.

"Grandfather, I wish to ask you a favor."

His voice was hoarse but very calm. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

Steven Fordham seemed to have heard the joke of the century, his lips curling into an extremely mocking arc.

"A favor?"

He angrily paced back and forth with his hands behind his back.

"You are so capable, your abilities could reach the heavens, yet you’ve decided on your own to prepare abortion pills. What help do you still need from me?"

Aiden Fordham continued to hold up the whip, his voice carrying a serious tone beyond doubt.

"I beg Grandfather to add a new rule to the Fordham Family Ancestral Teachings."

"Fordham men may only become widowed, never divorced."

He would never divorce her, his wife will only ever be Stella Grant...

Steven Fordham’s footsteps stopped, his body nearly bursting with laughter.

He pointed at Aiden Fordham’s back, his hand trembling.

"Calling you a bastard is flattery! You’re playing mind games with me now?"

"Do you think The Whitmans are fools? That they could be fooled by such a simple trick?"

Aiden Fordham stood straighter, each word he uttered carried weight.

"No matter where she is, I will find her and beg her to come back."

His voice was filled with an unyielding determination.

"If her health truly suffers, if she can never bear children again."

His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed with difficulty.

"I will never have children."

"I only want her."

"Please, Grandfather, fulfill me."

The ancestral hall instantly fell into silence.

Steven Fordham did not expect him to dare make such a vow.

Looking at his grandson kneeling on the floor, at the scars covering his body, the resolute oath told him that this time, this little bastard was truly determined.

Steven Fordham glared sharply at him, ultimately just letting out a cold snort.

"Kneel properly and continue to reflect."

"Little bastard."

Having said that, he turned around and strode out.

Apparently, he had no choice but to sacrifice his old face.

He must go to the Whitman Family personally to apologize and negotiate once more.

...

In the morning, the island’s sunshine was so dazzling it was overwhelming. The climate here was mild and pleasant, completely devoid of winter’s shadow, seeming like a place cut off from the world.

Stella Grant stood on the wooden floor of the balcony, the sea breeze blowing her oversized patient gown, making her appear even more frail.

She had lost a significant amount of weight.

Today, she felt better, but when she looked down, her abdomen remained flat, lacking the appearance of a pregnant woman.

The fetus was still underdeveloped, and the mother was malnourished.

The caregivers changed the menu daily, preparing nutritious meals, but she had little appetite, leaving the bowl with only a few bites taken.

This secluded island was actually a national rehabilitation hospital.

The security was suffocatingly tight.

Not far away, one could even see sentries standing rigidly at their posts, along with towering guard towers and searchlights.

Knock knock.

The sound of knocking interrupted her thoughts.

Hugh Whitman walked in.

Having hurried back last night, he now wore a fresh white shirt and black pants, his form tall and upright, shoulders wide and legs long, the shirt perfectly fitting his muscular build.

Behind him were three formally dressed middle-aged men, each carrying a solemn expression and a powerful aura.

Hugh Whitman approached her side, his gaze carrying an imperceptible concern, his voice low and serious.

"Sierra, this is Chief, along with Academician Summers and Dr. Cole."

"Hello," Stella Grant nodded politely towards them.

The man named Chief had meticulously combed hair, despite wearing an exceedingly formal Zhongshan suit, his attitude was surprisingly sincere.

"Miss Grant, it’s a pleasure to meet you here."

His voice was loud, carrying the kind of penetrating power that comes from living in high positions for a long time.

"We’ve long heard of your great reputation, Miss Grant, and finally seeing you. If Hugh hadn’t brought you here, us old folks probably wouldn’t have had the chance to meet you."

Listening to these impeccably courteous words, Stella Grant had a general sense of the man’s identity.

Moreover, she had new speculations about her brother’s identity as well.

"Thank you for taking care of me these past days."

She responded softly and gestured for them to sit on the guest sofa on the west side of the ward.

Once seated, Chief did not beat around the bush, directly addressing the matter.

"I believe Miss Grant has heard of the virus in Nation A. Countless medical staff are fighting on the front line, yet it is brutal and cruel."

"We have promptly established the relevant research group, but... progress has been challenging, with no breakthroughs whatsoever."

He sighed, his gaze becoming immensely serious as he looked directly at Stella Grant.

"Therefore, we wish to humbly invite Miss Grant to be our research group’s chief consultant, providing technical guidance."

Stella Grant remained silent for a moment.

Her fingertips involuntarily curled around the corner of her patient gown.

Hugh Whitman’s gaze stayed on her throughout, not speaking, yet conveying silent support with his eyes.

After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice not loud but each word clear.

"I have a preliminary understanding of this virus."

"It’s a mutated virus that causes the body to fester and organs to fail. I have an idea of what the source is."

She paused, dropping a bombshell.

"It’s not incurable."

"If you can provide the relevant ingredients, under unexpected circumstances, the formula for detoxification can be developed within half a month, and the antidote prepared."

"What?"

"Really?!"

The three visitors stood up from the sofa in an instant, their faces filled with indescribable delight and excitement, like people who had wandered in darkness for long had finally seen dawn.

"That’s wonderful! Wonderful!" Chief’s voice trembled a bit, "If the detoxification compound could be completed, it would certainly save countless lives and benefit mankind!"

Humanity has hope again.

Stella Grant, observing their excitement, calmly added.

"I have one condition, no, two."

"I hope this research outcome can be shared unconditionally with all countries in need, placing humanitarian purposes as the highest priority, and published as non-profit."

Chief immediately responded, decisively.

"Miss Grant, rest assured! I promise you with my character, no one would dare use this outcome for profit!"

Stella Grant nodded, expressing her second condition.

"I hope you can invite my mentor here."

Upon hearing this, Chief became even more excited than upon hearing about the antidote, his eyes sparkling.

"The elder... the elder is willing to take part?"

"If we could bring the elder to the island, it would truly be an honor for us! An honor for the nation!"

Thus, the matter was settled. Her mentor had been waiting for her at Bluebird, but she couldn’t return there now.

The laboratory at Bluebird had already started its work, and if it could merge with the island’s research team, it would surely be twice as effective.

Stella Grant agreed to serve as the project’s technical advisor, commencing work the moment her mentor arrived on the island.

Saving a life is more meritorious than building a seven-tiered pagoda.

She looked down, gently placing her hand on her flat abdomen.

Consider it... accumulating some good karma for her unborn child.

Save one more life whenever possible.

Hopefully, in this world, there will be no more pain or suffering.

After Hugh Whitman escorted the three elder gentlemen away, he brought a paper bag inside.

Indeed, inside was the signed divorce agreement from Aiden Fordham; it had been delivered last night.

Hugh Whitman took it out, intending to have Stella Grant sign it, and planned to finalize their divorce certificate before the end of the year.

Damn!

The signature of Aiden Fordham was nowhere to be found.

Instead, there was a new line beside the divorce agreement: "Stella, I’m sorry, I’ll wait for you to come home."

The grandson was playing sly?