My Husband Is a Gary Stu

Timothy gestured with his hand, indicating for Xylia to step back, preventing any accidental collision. “Love is a matter of shared
agreement. During our time together, I offered ample resources and handled our breakup with thoughtfulness. I acceded to your
every request. Thus, stop playing the victim card and say you wasted your best years on me,” he stated firmly.
“Xylia, one must be aware of the times,” he said, a cold gleam flickering in his charming eyes. “You cannot afford to bear the
consequences of displeasing me.”
The man's demeanor left Xylia trembling with fear. She remained rooted to the spot, stunned, even as the car drove away.
Timothy was well aware of Johanna's delicate health condition, and he had full confidence in her loyalty. Yet, witnessing her in
such close proximity to other men caused him a sense of unease.
He instructed his secretary to head to Maple Forest.
After pressing the doorbell, Timothy waited for a few moments. Once Johanna opened the door, he inquired without preamble,
“How are you acquainted with the general manager of Ingenuity Entertainment? Why were you shopping for clothes for him?”
Johanna was momentarily taken aback, mulling over his words. Her brows furrowed as she questioned, “Did you follow me?”
“I didn't,” Timothy denied, his tone resolute. “A reporter had been shadowing Mr. Foxx, and they managed to capture photos of
the two of you shopping for clothes in the store. I subsequently acquired the negatives.”
“Jojo, why did you help him buy clothes?” Timothy pressed on. “No matter what your explanation is, I'll trust you.”
Timothy gestured with his hand, indicating for Xylia to step back, preventing any accidental collision. “Love is a matter of shared
agreement. During our time together, I offered ample resources and handled our breakup with thoughtfulness. I acceded to your
every request. Thus, stop playing the victim card and say you wasted your best years on me,” he stated firmly.
Johanna's lips parted, yet she swiftly sealed them shut. After a brief pause, she adopted a casual tone as she replied, “I bought
him clothes because I felt like it. There's nothing more to elaborate on.”
Timothy exclaimed in astonishment, “What do you mean? You like him?”

“Can't I?”
“Absolutely not! We're not even divorced yet!” Timothy's voice thundered, his expression growing significantly darker. “How can
you be attracted to another man? This constitutes infidelity within our marriage!”
Johanna crossed her arms and regarded him, her gaze carrying a gentle yet detached quality. “I've broached the topic of divorce,
but you were unwilling,” she stated calmly.
“So this is my fault?”
Johanna neither gave a definitive yes nor a firm no. Instead, she responded, “The scenarios depicted in those photos will likely
repeat themselves countless times in the future. If you don't wish to see them, you should divorce me sooner rather than later.”
Before Timothy's arrival, he had maintained an unwavering faith in her, anticipating her explanation. Unexpectedly, she proved
unrelenting, metaphorically driving a knife into his heart.
He fixed a penetrating gaze on Johanna, whose countenance remained composed, devoid of any playful demeanor.
Overwhelmed by anger, Timothy found himself speechless for a prolonged period. Ultimately, he was the first to avert his gaze,
storming away in a fit of indignation.
Upon departing from the apartment, Timothy made a beeline for his car, instructing his secretary to vacate the driver's seat.
Upon catching sight of his demeanor, the secretary deduced that he had engaged in an uncomfortable exchange with Johanna.
Approaching him, the secretary intervened, “Mr. Jensen, operating a vehicle while under the influence could result in legal
trouble. Allow me to drive you home...”
“I've lost my wife, so what do I have to fear from being detained!” Timothy's frustration was palpable as he shoved his secretary
aside and forcefully shut the car door.
As the car sped away, the secretary swiftly retrieved his phone, dialing for additional support.

With the hour now past midnight, the streets were desolate and chilly, while the bar bustled with life. Timothy had secured a
private room, where he indulged in a succession of hard liquor shots.
The door to the private room remained slightly open, allowing the thunderous music from the dance floor to filter in.
Nevertheless, within him, all that existed was a deep-seated silence.
A while later, Timothy pressed the call button to summon the waiter. His voice, rendered hoarse from alcohol, croaked out, “Step
outside and use a megaphone. Whoever can make me laugh, I'll give them ten thousand for each chuckle.”
In less than ten minutes, the private room that Timothy occupied became packed to the brim, teeming with a lively crowd.
Everyone eagerly gathered around him, sharing jokes, narrating amusing anecdotes, and contorting their faces into ludicrous
expressions, all in an earnest attempt to elicit laughter from him. Nonetheless, Timothy remained unaffected, his brows knit and
his visage devoid of emotion.