My Husband Is a Gary Stu

Back when Armand was still in the dark, he had mistakenly thought that Genevieve had voluntarily left with Jack. The four to five years had seemed like an eternity to him, but still, he persevered and waited for her all along.

Later on, he lived for her and the children. They were his hope that carried him through the days.

When Genevieve suffered a mental breakdown, he was far more distressed than anyone else. In order to keep her thriving, he accepted all the advice given by the psychiatrist.

Although she no longer remembered him and he had to spend a long time to have her fall in love with him, he still had no qualms about doing so.

“I get it,” Armand uttered slowly.

I wouldn't mind it even if she had once loved Jack. After all, he was the one who had been keeping her and the two kids company by his side in the past few years. Several times, she would've even died if not for him.

He knew of Jack's feelings toward Genevieve. Otherwise, he wouldn't have felt secure about entrusting her to him back then.

“Just let it be.” In everything she does, she has her reasons.

Worried about Timothy, Armand urged Steven to rest earlier while he drove to the man's mansion alone. The instant the housekeeper opened the door and saw him, her eyes lit up as though she had seen her savior.

“Please talk to Mr. Timothy. He has been drinking all day in the study.”

Armand handed his coat to the housekeeper before he went upstairs. When he opened the study door, the stench of alcohol hit him right in the face, making him frown.

The lights in the study were all turned off, and the room was pitch dark.

Groping for the light switch on the wall, Armand flicked it on, then turned on the ventilation system as well. The sight of Timothy sitting by the floor-to-ceiling windows with a bucket of ice and a mound of imported liquor bottles beside him came into view.

Marching over, Armand stated in a chilly voice, “I think you'd likely drink yourself to death before Johanna comes back.”

By that voice alone, Timothy was cognizant of the identity of the person in question.

Massaging his temples, he took another swig of liquor. His voice had seemingly been immersed in it, carrying a hint of hoarseness. “This isn't going to kill me. I know my own alcohol tolerance. Come and have a drink or two with me, Armand.”

There were wine glasses on the table, so Armand took one. Without putting on any airs, he plopped on the carpet beside Timothy.

Picking up a bottle of brandy, he poured some for himself before tilting his head back and polishing it off.

“It's been almost a month now. Even if I were in the wrong, how could she leave me for such a long time just for the sake of having a row with me?” Timothy leaned against the back of the couch, casting his eyes at the scenery outside the window wearily.

He was on the brink of losing his mind.

Ever since Johanna went missing, he couldn't sleep every night. Even when he dozed off, he would dream of her. Alas, she was no different from a specter, for he couldn't catch hold of her no matter what.

On top of that, utter regret haunted him.

If only I'd known, I would've told her to wait in the hospital and gone over personally to pick her up. I never expected that phone call to be the last interaction between us!