Divorce, Please: The Young Master Does Not Love Me

Chapter 597: Chapter 595: Help Me

For the first time, hearing the two words "best friends" felt so sarcastic to Mika Summers. Her voice was low, laced with exhaustion. "Jasmine, if you really consider me your best friend, then let me go right now."

However, Jasmine Warren had little patience. She shoved Mika Summers aside and roared, "Mika Summers, would you just snap out of it?"

Jasmine Warren’s roar left Mika Summers completely stunned.

She stared at Jasmine as if she were a complete stranger.

Inside the hotel, Tristan Grayson was halfway through a conversation with Avery and the others when he felt an unbearable, feverish heat spreading through him. Pushing through the discomfort, he excused himself and went to find Mika Summers.

But when he got there, he didn’t see Mika Summers.

Chelsea York was eating a pastry. Seeing Tristan Grayson staring blankly at the empty seat beside her, she smiled and quickly said, "Tristan, are you looking for your wife? She went out."

"She went out?"

"Mhm, it seemed like a Miss Warren wanted to see her."

Tristan Grayson nodded, and with a frown, he started walking toward the hotel entrance.

He took maybe four or five steps before he couldn’t go on. His vision began to spin, and the feverish heat in his body grew more intense.

If he had only felt a hint of it while talking to Avery and the others earlier, it had now reached an unbearable point.

His throat was painfully dry, and his eyes were completely bloodshot.

He’d had less than two drinks in total tonight. His tolerance for alcohol wasn’t that low. Besides, even if he were drunk, he shouldn’t be feeling like this.

’Then the only possibility is...’

Propping himself up, he stood his ground and pulled his phone from his pocket. He called Ian Shaw, explained his current situation, and told him to find Mika Summers and bring her to him immediately.

After hanging up, Tristan Grayson rapped a knuckle against his heavy head and waved over a male waiter. "Take me to a room to rest."

"Yes, sir."

Ian Shaw had been tailing Aria Joyce all evening. When she saw him answer a call and run off, abandoning her, she finally smiled, tilted her head back, and downed all the wine on the table.

She turned and walked toward the nearby elevator.

When she got out of the elevator, she went straight to room 409.

She opened the door and had been sitting on the sofa for less than a minute when the door was opened from the outside. A male waiter was helping Tristan Grayson inside.

The waiter took Tristan Grayson to the bedroom. When he came out, he nodded to Aria Joyce, and without a word, discreetly let himself out, closing the door securely behind him.

Aria Joyce sat on the sofa, taking a moment to calm her tumultuous emotions. Only then did she gather her courage and walk toward the bedroom.

In the bedroom, on the large bed, Tristan Grayson was breathing heavily, tugging at his tie. His normally fair, handsome face was now flushed deep red.

This version of Tristan was even more captivating than usual, making her heart flutter.

She walked to the bedside, removed Tristan’s tie for him, and reached out to touch his feverish, handsome face. Her voice choked with tender emotion as she spoke. "Tristan, don’t blame me. I’m only doing this because I love you so much."

Tristan’s hand shot out, grabbing Aria Joyce’s arm tightly. In one motion, he flipped over and pinned her beneath him. "Wife," he rasped out slowly, "I feel awful! Help me!"

"Okay, I’ll help you. I’ll help you right now..." Aria Joyce hadn’t expected him to do that so suddenly. She blushed, speaking softly and cautiously.

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