I Want a Divorce Every Day, But the Superstar Says No-Chapter 47: Forced to Make a Choice

Landon Family’s Old Residence.

When Durrell Landon hurried over, Quiana Sutton had long since left, leaving behind ruins scattered everywhere and bodyguards on the ground moaning incessantly.

Charles Foote was shocked to hear about Quiana’s attack on the Landon Family while on the road. He knew well that Quiana was defiant and wouldn’t easily submit, but he never expected her to take such a rebellious act against the Landon Family.

The only relief he found was that nobody was seriously injured; a fatal incident would be difficult to resolve.

No matter what, he still did not wish for Durrell Landon to have a complete falling out with his grandfather.

Durrell Landon walked step by step over the scattered ruins, disregarding all the wounded bodyguards, and approached the old man, speaking blandly:

"Grandfather, where is Quiana?"

The old man, seeing Durrell Landon’s calm demeanor and complete lack of concern, was nearly furious enough to spit blood.

With the help of the butler, he struggled to stand up: "Durrell Landon, you open your mouth and ask about that woman? Haven’t you seen what has become of the old residence?"

Durrell Landon glanced briefly, noting the destruction was somewhat astonishing; he seemed to have underestimated that girl’s prowess.

Retracting his gaze, he looked directly at the old man, a cold arc forming on his lips: "I saw it, Grandfather. Didn’t I warn you not to go looking for Quiana lightly?"

The old man gazed at Durrell Landon before him, his mind a whirl of complex love and hatred.

"Does this mean I can understand that you have chosen that girl?"

Durrell Landon spoke coldly: "If that’s what Grandfather wants to think, I can’t help it."

Durrell Landon’s attitude unexpectedly reminded him of his most promising son.

Equally defiant, equally unruly, equally remarkable, yet also enjoying contradicting him.

A torrent of wrath surged with the memories, "Durrell Landon, are you truly opposing your grandfather for this woman?"

"If Grandfather forces me, then I think I would choose her..."

As soon as the words were uttered, the surrounding air abruptly plummeted, like a frigid winter intent on tearing someone apart.

Seeing this, Charles Foote quickly spoke: "Old man, Durrell is no longer a child; he surely knows what he’s doing."

The old man, being already incensed, didn’t wait for Charles Foote to finish before speaking directly:

"You’re just a foster son of the Foote Estate, yet you dare spout nonsense in front of me?"

Charles Foote was momentarily stunned; the originally leisurely expression sharpened, his thin lips tightened into a taut line, speaking coldly: "Old man, although I’m a foster son of the Foote Estate, I still have a say in it."

Zeke Landon, upon hearing of the incident, postponed the next Universal Corporation meeting and rushed back to the old residence.

The sight greeted him with ruin and three people confronting each other.

The butler, seeing Zeke Landon, rushed over as if encountering a savior, with a sense of relief and near tears of joy.

"Young master, at last, you’re back."

Zeke Landon slightly furrowed his brow, "What exactly happened?"

The butler, wiping tears and snot, recounted the entire incident.

After hearing, Zeke Landon pinched the bridge of his nose, troubled.

He walked over to stand before Durrell Landon, blocking the tense gaze between the two; he glanced at the old man,

"Grandfather, send someone to clean up the old residence first; the rest can be discussed later."

"Discuss later?!"

An overwhelming emotion surged in the old man’s eyes: "I never should have listened to such nonsense; Durrell, today you must give me a response, ensure that girl disappears from your side within a month."

Durrell Landon replied firmly: "Absolutely impossible!"

Zeke Landon, seeing these two about to argue again, quickly interjected: "Grandfather, calm down first."

Upon finishing, he glanced at Durrell Landon, discontentedly speaking: "Durrell, keep quiet a bit; Grandfather is your family; do you want him to be sent to the hospital because of anger?"

Durrell Landon’s gaze wandered between the old man and Zeke Landon, finally speaking slowly: "Grandfather, in this life, I will never let Quiana go; I hope this ends the matter."

After speaking, he prepared to leave.

The old man, watching Durrell Landon’s departing back, yelled directly:

"Durrell Landon, between the Landon Family and that girl, you must choose; if you don’t separate from her within a month, I’ll expel you from the Landon Family."

If there was a possibility of agreement before, it was now impossible after today.

Durrell Landon’s steps paused but he left the old residence without turning back.

Zeke Landon watched Durrell Landon’s departing back, sighed helplessly...

At this moment.

West Suburb Pavilion.

Quiana Sutton sat alone on the pavilion’s bench, unsure how long she had been there.

Her mind kept replaying the words of the old man from the Landon Family.

She thought she could let go, yet she found that everything from the past, her tenacious grip on meager kinship, still made her lose control whenever someone mentioned her parents.

No!

She couldn’t go on like this!

Just as her head throbbed unbearably, she suddenly heard an urgent and familiar voice, "So, you’re here!"

"Do you know how worried I was about you?"

She slowly lifted her head and saw Durrell Landon standing in front of her, casting a shadow by her side, yet he occupied her entire view.

"I wrecked the Landon Family, are you here to settle accounts with me?"

Durrell Landon looked at her face, obscured and slightly bitter, which he disliked.

He pulled her over, holding her tightly in his arms, preventing her from moving, with a mixture of tension and anger:

"Why didn’t you call me when the Landon Family came for you?"

Quiana Sutton stayed in his embrace, too lazy to struggle, just silently looked up at him.

"The person who came for me was your grandfather; if I told you, would you stand up for me against him?"

Durrell Landon, pained by the distant and indifferent gaze, tightly grasped her arm, as if ensuring she would never leave:

"How do you know I wouldn’t?"

Upon hearing those words, a smile traced her lips as she gently caressed his face, with rare tenderness:

"Women like sweet talk, and men learn to speak it; but I must admit, what you said did make me happy."

The gentler Quiana Sutton’s touch, the colder Durrell Landon’s gaze became:

"But deep down, you still don’t believe it, right?"

"Right!"

Her past nearly ten years felt like scattered sands within her heart, even if deliberately cleared, there remained residual dust, invisible yet marking scars on her heart.

She was never someone to easily trust emotions.

"Durrell Landon, let’s get divorced."