Chapter 452 I Had No Choice
Thora froze, unsure what she'd said wrong. She desperately wanted to keep working with Anne, so she swallowed her curiosity and fell silent.
Anne noticed Thora's crestfallen expression and regretted her harsh tone. After all, Thora couldn't possibly understand the situation—she'd simply thought Anne and Willard were a perfect match.
"He and I..." Anne began, but stopped. She'd always been private about personal matters, especially this failed relationship.
"I wasn't angry at you," she said instead. "I'm sorry for my tone."
"No, no!" Thora waved her hands. "Ms. Waverly, you're absolutely right. I shouldn't have said anything."
Anne found herself reluctant to fire Thora. The woman was both professional and kind-hearted.
"Let me buy you lunch," Anne offered.
"I'd love that!" Thora brightened, having heard rumors that Anne was notoriously frugal—even charging full rates to her own parents for photoshoots. This invitation meant Anne must like her.
As they exited the restroom, Anne immediately spotted Willard waiting. The airport was warm, and he'd removed his suit jacket. In just a white shirt and black trousers—an ordinary outfit—he looked different. He'd let down his usually immaculate hair for his assistant role, with soft strands falling across his brow.
For a moment, the bright lights disoriented her, and Anne felt transported back to when she'd first fallen for him. She'd been in eighth grade while Willard was already working. On his days off, he'd pick her up wearing that same simple combination—white shirt and dark pants—carrying her favorite pear pastries.
Just like now, he walked toward her. But the gentle smile of those days had been replaced by worry and urgency. Yet some things remained the same—he still reached for her hand. Back then, to place sweets in her palm; now, to grip her wrist and pull her close.
"What took so long? Are you feeling ill?" His familiar voice snapped Anne back to reality.
What was she thinking? Time couldn't flow backward. Whatever she'd felt for him had long since faded.
"Willard," Anne said coldly, "I'll ask you one last time—will you divorce me or not?"
Thora's jaw nearly hit the floor. 'Willard? The Willard?' she screamed internally.
The bustling airport seemed to freeze around them as they stared at each other, emotions warring in the space between.
Then came Willard's voice, raw and shaking, "Ann... I won't."
Anne tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. "Then I'll file," she said flatly. "Now let go."
Willard had planned to be gentle, to respect her boundaries. He'd become her assistant to peacefully resolve their issues, to understand how she'd felt during those years of neglect.
But seeing her slip away again triggered something primal. Before anyone could react, he'd swept her into his arms and was striding toward the parking garage.
"Willard!" Anne struggled as curious onlookers pulled out phones, but he held her firmly until they reached his car. Quinton materialized, sliding into the driver's seat and raising the partition without a word.
In the confined space, Anne couldn't move without brushing against him. Fed up with his persistence, she slapped him hard across the face.
Willard didn't flinch, didn't even look surprised. "You can keep going until you feel better," he said quietly.
Anne snapped, "Why do you keep forcing me? You ignored me for years, now you claim you love me and won't leave me alone. Do you even see me as a person?"
His hands trembled as he reached for hers. "Ann, I've always taken you seriously. I thought I was giving you space to make the right choice, but I was wrong. Please—give me one more chance to make this right."
Anne shook her head. "If you really wanted to make amends, you'd set me free. This obsession is still about what you want."
For once, Willard—who'd never lost a verbal sparring match—found himself outmaneuvered. Anne had grown up, learned to hold her own. Part of him was proud.
"If divorce will make you happy," he said finally, releasing her hand and tapping the partition, "then we'll divorce. City Hall, Quinton."
Anne should have felt relieved, but his sudden capitulation left her momentarily stunned. Still, relief quickly followed.
They didn't speak for the rest of the drive. Anne busied herself answering Thora's frantic texts: [Ms. Waverly, how did Oscar turn into WILLARD?! Am I going to die for ordering him around? And wait—didn't the media say you two were happily married?]
Anne only reassured Thora that Willard wouldn't retaliate, leaving the other questions unanswered.
At City Hall, Anne hurried inside while Willard followed at a measured pace. A clerk greeted them with practiced efficiency, and soon they were seated with paperwork.
"Won't even sit near me for a few minutes?" Willard asked during a lull.
Anne reluctantly took a seat, not wanting to create more of a scene.
When the divorce papers were finalized, she examined them carefully. "With your connections, fake divorce papers wouldn't be difficult to produce, would they?"
Willard tossed his copy to her. "You're welcome to verify them."
Anne wasn't naive. In Seaside City, Willard's word was law. What could she possibly discover? She tucked both certificates away, planning to have Elissa investigate once she reached Maple Valley.
Willard watched her calculating gaze, guessing her thoughts, but said nothing as he left.
Once in his car, he called Francis, who had just put Elissa to bed. Francis ignored the first call, but when his phone vibrated again with the same number, he answered irritably.
"What's wrong with you?" he snapped.
"You already know," Willard replied matter-of-factly.
Francis didn't need to guess. He'd recently postponed all commitments due to Elissa's pregnancy, announcing in their group chat that he was unavailable until after the birth. Willard had acknowledged this with a simple "OK" emoji. If he was calling now, it had to be about Anne.
"If it's not working, just divorce her and start fresh," Francis advised. "After what you did—"
"We did divorce," Willard interrupted.
The simple statement caught Francis off-guard. He'd believed that no matter how Anne pushed or how desperate Willard became, divorce was the one line Willard would never cross.
"Are you serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Francis listened carefully. Willard sounded too calm—unnaturally so.
"You seem... happy about it?"
"Not exactly." Willard rolled down the window, letting the wind rush in. His tone grew serious. "I need a favor."
"I'm not doing anything illegal," Francis refused immediately. He needed to accumulate good karma for Elissa and their child. His hands weren't entirely clean from their earlier years.
"It's nothing bad," Willard assured him. "Just..."
After hearing the request, Francis laughed coldly. "Have some decency. Keep this up, and I'll disown you as a friend."
"This is the only thing I'm asking," Willard insisted, his voice steady. "I'm doing this to ease her mind. Otherwise, I can't make amends. As long as we stayed married, she'd resent me, and nothing I did would matter."
Francis remained silent.
"It's a small favor," Willard pressed. "I'm not asking much. Besides, protecting my marriage is a virtuous act."
After a long pause, Francis decided to warn him, "Don't you think Elissa and Anne look alike?"
"Not at all," Willard answered without hesitation. He barely knew what Elissa looked like—she wasn't his wife, so why would he pay attention? Besides, if he stared too long, Francis would lose his mind.
"Why bring this up? Are you saying Elissa and Anne are close, so you can't help me?"
Francis rubbed his temple. Willard was clearly so fixated on Anne that he couldn't think straight.
"I suspect they're sisters," he said bluntly. "We're planning DNA tests."
The line went silent except for shallow breathing.
"They suspect it themselves," Francis continued. "You know Ollie isn't Elissa's biological father—she was adopted. So it's possible."
Now it was Willard's turn to fall silent.
Francis quickly added, "My advice? Don't do anything rash."
Willard groaned. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"
"I didn't know you were planning to forge documents," Francis replied innocently.
Willard was speechless.
Francis checked his watch. "I need to get back to my wife."
"Are you even my friend anymore?" Willard asked through gritted teeth.
"If I weren't, would I have told you such explosive information?" Francis felt neither sympathy nor guilt. "Keep doing shady things, and you'll eventually get caught," he teased.
Willard stared at the disconnected call, stunned. The car had already arrived at his residence, but he made no move to exit. Quinton watched through the rearview mirror but remained still in the driver's seat. This job was truly challenging.
Meanwhile, Anne returned to her studio. She'd considered posting about her "divorce happiness" on social media but decided against it until she verified the certificates' authenticity. Instead, she shared the news in a private group chat.
Elissa was asleep, so Hope saw it first and asked Jerry what was happening. Jerry had just learned himself.
"Francis is trying to build good karma for his wife and baby, so he's making me the bad guy," he explained.
Hope immediately understood—the divorce was fake. She settled into Jerry's lap.
Jerry raised an eyebrow. "Using your charms on me?"
Hope wrapped her arms around his neck. "Will you help?"
Jerry's mind had already wandered to various bedroom scenarios rather than Willard's fraudulent certificates.
"Yes," he agreed.
Hope frowned, but before she could speak, Jerry whispered something in her ear. She suddenly realized his "yes" meant helping her, not Willard. By the time this registered, she was already being pressed down onto the bed.
Anne waited for responses from Elissa and Hope but received none. Assuming they were with their husbands, she logged off Facebook and focused on work.
While giving Thora instructions, she noticed the woman's hesitant expression. In fact, Thora had seemed on the verge of speaking since they'd returned to the studio. Anne found it amusing.
Regardless of whether the divorce papers were genuine, Anne had mentally accepted the divorce and felt better.
"If you have questions, just ask," she offered.
Thora laughed nervously, still uncomfortable.
Anne volunteered some information about her relationship with Willard, omitting the painful unrequited love phase.
Thora chewed her thumbnail. "So you only married because of a sick relative? You had no choice?"
Willard had just reached the studio door. After sitting in his car thinking for a long time, he'd had Quinton drive him there. Regardless of how the divorce played out, he intended to continue as her assistant, staying close to find opportunities to make amends.
He arrived just in time to hear Thora's question.
Then came Anne's emphatic reply: "Exactly. We had no choice."
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