How Many Season Of Young Sheldon Are There

"Yes, us. I don't want to marry you," Luna stated, her gaze fixed on Lucas's face, devoid of expression. "So, you're going to marry the pianist then?" Lucas guessed, causing Luna to become more certain that the man in front of her was already aware of everything. "Of course. I love him, so I will marry him," Luna replied, observing Lucas's reaction carefully. "But this time, I need this marriage," Luna continued, dismissing Lucas's scoffing smile. "And?" Lucas asked. "We'll make a prenuptial agreement," Luna declared. "Do you think I'll agree?" Lucas responded dismissively. "You have to agree. Whether you like it or not, we're going to make a prenuptial agreement," Luna insisted, prompting a threatening smile from Lucas. "Luna Estrada, you're too confident. Do you think I'd agree to this marriage? I even declined it," Lucas replied, belittling her. "We're not going to make a prenuptial agreement because we're never going to get married," Lucas added, causing Luna to clench her fists as if she had been rejected by the man before her. How could Luna Estrada face rejection? She couldn't allow it to happen. "Hahahahah." Luna forced a laugh, attempting to make it sound mocking to Lucas, although at this moment, she wished she could throw her heel at Lucas's head. "Then why did your grandfather force my grandfather to persuade me to accept this marriage, huh?" Luna said with traces of laughter in her voice, emphasizing each word. "Are you serious?" Lucas asked, his face showing mockery. "Didn't you ask your grandfather who would marry you? Weren't you suspicious? Who knows, maybe your grandfather was referring to my own grandfather, trying to match us," Luna's inner thoughts raced, attempting to calm herself.

By year four of our marriage, Scott had picked up a college girl—Gigi. Bright, beautiful, full of life. She had him, a billionaire, eating street food and chasing after her favorite esports player. Scott called. "Not coming home. Watching Joel Arnoult's match." Beside him, Gigi scoffed. "That boring old woman—does she even know who Joel Arnoult is?" They had no clue. The second the call ended, Joel had me pinned in the back of a dimly lit car. His teeth grazed my neck—sharp, teasing, a little painful. "Leila, if I win, how are you gonna reward me?"

My daughter suffered carbon monoxide poisoning and urgently needed to be taken to the hospital. However, the ambulance was blocked by my wife's car. She was carrying the man she had always loved, who only had a cold. She refused to move and even got into a fierce argument with the paramedics. She said, "Whether your patient lives or dies has nothing to do with me. I have a patient in my car as well. Why should I give way?" In the end, my daughter missed the critical window for treatment and passed away. From that moment on, my heart was completely dead. I took my wife to court.

There was only one week left until my marking ceremony with Alpha Mason Wright. And this time, he was asking to postpone it yet again, all because his puphood sweetheart, Eira Padmore, the she-wolf who once saved his life, had another episode. She was in tears, begging to go to Bhador to see the snow, just like every time before, claiming she wouldn't be able to breathe otherwise. The ceremony had already been pushed back three times. All the wolves of the north had been waiting for us to complete it. But I was done waiting, and so was the pup growing inside me. If Mason refused to mark me, then I'd walk away and build my own future. But what I couldn't understand was... Why was it that the moment I left, Mason went mad searching for me, and suddenly insisted on marking me after all?

At the annual company raffle, I had barely stepped onto the stage when my supervisor, Lily Smith, pressed a crumpled slip of paper into my palm. "A special reward for our top salesperson," she chirped. "Go ahead, open it. Let everyone see." Under the eager gaze of the crowd, I unfolded the note. Written in messy handwriting were the words: Clean the company toilets for three days. The room erupted in laughter. Lily folded her arms, cocked her head, and smirked at me. "Nice, right?" she said. "Everyone knows those sales of yours came from sleeping with old men. Dirty money. To keep things fair, the others get a break, and you pick up a little extra work. You don't have a problem with that, do you?" The laughter surged again, nearly lifting the roof. From the side of the room, my boyfriend, Seth Hoffman, the company's CEO, watched everything unfold. As usual, he said nothing in my defense. They all thought I would fall apart, cry, or make a scene. Instead, I simply gave a calm nod. The very next day, the company was hit with over three hundred property cancellations. Its cash flow collapsed overnight. That was when Lily and Seth rushed to me, demanding I go plead with the buyers. I smiled and said, "No thanks. I wouldn't want to help the company recover and end up with strong numbers again. That might make everyone even more uncomfortable."

Charlotte Crowe's childhood sweetheart started acting up again, which meant she was ready to divorce me again. By then, I had gone numb. I looked at her calmly and said, "This will be the eighth time." Guilt crossed her face as she looked at me, her eyes full of helplessness and pleading. "Gregory, I don't have a choice. You know Victor talks about killing himself every day. I can't just ignore him. But don't worry. As soon as I calm Victor down, we'll get married again." I said nothing. She had said the same thing to me more times than I could count. We got married eight times and got divorced eight times. Even the courthouse staff knew me by now. Behind my back, they said we practically kept the divorce court in business. With the freshly issued divorce papers in my hand, a staff member behind me asked curiously, "So when are you coming back for your next remarriage?" I gave a faint shake of my head. "There won't be a next time."