My Lover Is My Husband's Younger Self

The 18-year-old Robert Bowen standing before me was still the same as I remembered him to be—a little arrogant and domineering, and also difficult to please if he really got angry and lost his temper.

It wasn't until I retrieved my treasure Nintendo Switch game console from my drawer that he finally behaved himself and sat down on the couch.

I locked him in my office and went downstairs to buy some takeout dinner for him. Just as I'd just entered the fast food joint, however, I heard a cold, chilling voice behind me.

"28 minutes."

I stiffened and turned around, suddenly finding myself face-to-face with the 30-year-old version of Robert Bowen this time, who had a cold, chilling expression on his face.

"What are you still doing here? I thought you left with Bianca," I said.

He ignored my question and continued staring coldly at me instead.

"What are you playing dumb at? You were alone in your office with that brat for a full 28 minutes!"

He practically spat out the last few words between his gritted teeth.

"That brat looked pretty young for you. What was the matter? He couldn't last longer than that? If I were him at that age, I'd have lasted at least 40 minutes or more."

I scoffed. Sometimes, I really needed to install a pervert translator in my brain to fully understand what he was even implying.

I just glared at him speechlessly, finding it a little awkward to tell him that the "brat" was actually his 18-year-old self. So, I just turned my back on him and got in the line to place my order instead.

"The double cheeseburger set with no lettuce, please, with fresh waffle fries, cornbread, and a set of spicy chicken nuggets."

Robert laughed coldly again when he heard me making my order.

"Really, Kaitlyn Hudson? You just ordered all of my favorite items on the menu. Aren't you even going to pretend to order something that little brat would prefer instead?

"Or is he just someone you're seeing as a way to pass your time and not exactly your next target?"

I felt irritated just listening to his words dripping with sarcasm.

"Not everyone is desperate to find a new partner before they'd even gotten divorced like you, Robert Bowen."

Robert suddenly choked, retorting on instinct, "I already told you that I didn't—"

"You even brought her to the hospital using my employee card. Don't you dare tell me that you weren't doing that on purpose," I said, coldly interrupting him before taking the packaged food from the cashier.

"But congratulations again for succeeding in making me even more disgusted with you.

"I agree to the divorce. See you next Monday at the courthouse, then."

Then, I didn't even wait to see his reaction before walking right past him and leaving the fast food restaurant.

The moment I stepped out of the warm restaurant, the biting cold of the chilling winter wind stung my tear-streaked face like blades to the skin.

As I frantically searched for some paper napkins to wipe the tears away, a warm cup of mocha—my favorite drink from when I was a teenager—was suddenly placed into my hands.

"Silly little kitty. How could you be so forgetful and forget your coat when it's freezing outside? You're even crying from the cold."

The 18-year-old Robert then ruffled my hair and took off his coat before draping it around my shoulders.

His warm, familiar scent and temperature instantly wrapped around me, making me fall into a daze.

…

"So, you're telling me that my 30-year-old self actually achieved my dreams of marrying you, but he forgot to love you and cherish you like he promised to do?

"And he even got his personal assistant, Bianca Strickland, pregnant? And he's now demanding a divorce from you?"

There was still some burger sauce smeared on the 18-year-old Robert's lips, but his eyes were as round as saucers as he stared at me incredulously and in horror.

"How could I have done such a stupid thing? Did I mutate or something? Or did I get into a car accident and knock myself silly? Maybe I suffered from memory loss? Or severe brain damage?"