Chapter 846: Chapter 846



Zoey’s voice tightened with frustration. “Let her take him? That’s my grandson! You need to get him back for me!”

“I know. The divorce isn’t finalized yet. Don’t worry. I won’t let her keep him.” He hung up with a sharp click, turning to Cara and pinning her against the bed. “Still not satisfied?”

Cara smirked, her nails teasingly scratching across Crowell’s chest. “Are you really going through with this divorce?”

“Yes. Didn’t I promise you before? Once I divorce her, I’ll marry you.”

Crowell reached for her, but Cara smoothly evaded his grasp, propping herself up on the bed as she looked at him with a cool expression. “But my parents said, if I marry you, you can’t have any children.”

Crowell froze, confusion flashing across his face. “What do you mean?”

“Give your child to your wife.”

Without a second thought, Crowell snapped, “No way, my parents would never agree.”

“Then let’s forget about us. My parents didn’t raise me to be someone else’s stepmother.”

Crowell blinked, momentarily stunned. Cara’s words were unwavering, grounded in her true desires.

Trying to smooth things over, Crowell leaned forward, attempting to reassure her. “Cara, my parents will take care of the child. It won’t affect us.”

“Either you leave the child with your ex-wife, or you deal with it.”

“Deal with it?” Crowell swallowed hard, his voice laced with confusion and concern. “How?”

Cara leaned in, whispering something that made Crowell’s eyes widen in shock. His entire body stiffened as he stood up straight. “Are you crazy? That’s my son!”

Cara’s response was quick and biting. “Have you ever cared for him a day in your life? You never bothered with him before, and now that you’re marrying me, you suddenly remember he’s your son?”

Crowell fell silent, his eyes avoiding Cara’s.

Cara, sensing his hesitation, pressed on. “I can also give you a son.”

Crowell sat on the edge of the bed, stunned, his emotions churning inside him, unable to settle.

Seeing his indecision, Cara sat on his lap, her hands resting lightly on his chest.

“Crowell, I get it—you don’t love me.”

“I love you.”

“Then be a man and take care of this.”

With a strained breath, he nodded. “Alright.”

Dulce hadn’t asked about Michael in quite some time.

It was a bright, peaceful afternoon in early spring when she sat alone in a café, taking a rare break from her demanding job.

The work was relentless—long hours spent on calculations, experiments, and countless attempts to get things right, each failure adding weight to her already exhausted mind and body.

From the children’s area came the sound of laughter, and Dulce glanced over, her gaze landing on Crowell. He was walking out of the store, holding Fiona’s son by the hand.

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