I Want a Divorce Every Day, But the Superstar Says No-Chapter 155 - 154: A Completely Different Her

Durrell Landon finished watching the surveillance footage without saying a word. Instead, he seemed unusually calm—so calm it was unsettling, and Julian Haworth felt a chill.

He quickly spoke to reassure him: "Durrell, Knight Tamworth has already sent people to search for her. I’m sure we’ll find her soon."

Durrell didn’t respond, only preparing to get out of bed.

Seeing Durrell’s movement, Julian’s head began to ache, and he hurried to stop him.

"Oliver said you have to stay in bed for a month, otherwise you might be left with lasting effects."

Durrell insisted, "I want to be discharged."

Julian, rarely so firm, replied, "No way..."

His body was far too weak—Durrell hadn’t expected there would be a day he’d be pinned to a bed by Julian, unable to move.

After a long moment, he finally spoke helplessly:

"Then help me find someone."

To ensure that Durrell could rest quietly, Julian agreed to whatever he asked.

"Who do you want me to find?"

"Ian Donovan. A psychologist."

...

The next day.

Julian dragged Ian Donovan to Durrell’s bedside.

Seeing Durrell lying in the hospital bed, Ian clicked his tongue lightly. The online evaluations of the Landon Family’s second son were actually holding back.

Even injured and bedridden, his face was just a little paler. Somehow, even in an oversized hospital gown, he made it look like haute couture, giving people the illusion of being utterly unattainable.

Ian shifted his gaze, glanced at Julian standing at the side, and said with a hint of mockery: "Young Master Haworth, I’m not some criminal. How long are you planning to keep me detained?"

Julian let go of Ian’s arm, threw a glance at Durrell, "Durrell, I’ve brought him."

Durrell nodded lightly. "Julian, you go out first. I want to speak to him alone."

Julian pursed his lips, seeming somewhat displeased, but didn’t dare defy Durrell, hesitated for a moment, then turned and left the room.

Ian watched Julian’s slightly rebellious figure leave, chuckled softly and spoke up:

"Young Master Haworth, I charge by the minute. Remember to send the money to my account later."

Julian grumbled, "You’re a real pain. I won’t short you a penny."

The only thing he couldn’t figure out was why Durrell, perfectly fine, wanted to see a psychologist. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

After Julian left, Ian’s smile slowly faded, replaced by a clinical, appraising look.

"Mr. Landon, I’m just a psychologist. I can’t do anything about your physical injuries."

Durrell glanced at Ian, his dark pupils hidden beneath his hair, hazy yet intensely invasive.

"I want to know everything about Quiana Sutton."

Ian was a bit surprised, not expecting Durrell to seek him out for this. He replied coolly:

"Sorry, as a doctor, I have a right to protect my patient’s privacy."

"She’s my wife. I have the right to know about her condition."

Ian: "..."

Somewhat incredulous, but also found it perfectly reasonable.

Quiana Sutton was, in fact, hopelessly ill—though she herself never believed it was that bad, sometimes even assuming she was normal, and anything she did could be explained.

Still, he cautiously asked:

"So you really did marry her?"

Durrell’s pupils contracted, a shadow over his gaze as dark as ink:

"Do you need me to show you our marriage certificate?"

Ian quickly waved his hands: "No, that’s not necessary..."

The second son of the Landon Family in Capital City, no need to joke like that—no point, really.

"So, Mr. Landon, what do you want to know?"

Durrell showed Ian the surveillance video. "I want to know what happened here."

With just one glance, Ian understood—the secondary personality had fully awakened.

It made sense. After so many sessions of hypnosis, they’d probably reached the limit. He spoke calmly:

"Humans are truly mysterious creatures. When suffering becomes unbearable, they engage self-protective mechanisms. Likewise, when you’re not strong enough, a desire will grow inside."

"Her brother died right before her eyes saving her. Her father, trying to bring her home, got in a car crash and also died before her eyes. Blood and fire—two colors equally violent—tore open her heart, clawed at it mercilessly.

From that moment, her soul had a breach.

If someone had healed it properly, maybe it would have closed. But it didn’t. With time, the void only grew, until it devoured her reason."

He paused here, as if remembering something long ago—when he first met Quiana Sutton in Scavilla City.

He and Simon Storm had graduated from the same school. Back there, Simon was known as the gentle nobleman—girls lining up by the football field to chase him. But he never accepted any of them.

He was so upright it sparked rumors that Simon fancied men.

But, in the end, only Ian knew: all Simon’s gentleness was reserved for one person.

To everyone else, he was polite only out of breeding. If he turned, he could be more ruthless than anyone.

Still, Simon wore that face, and even then, if he lost his temper, people would still run to him, drawn like moths to flame.

That day, Ian insisted on accompanying Simon back to Scavilla City. When they returned to The Church, they saw her creating havoc on the premises.

She seemed unable to see or hear, acting purely on instinct, destructive, nearly killing the old man of the Storm family.

If Simon hadn’t taken the bullet for the old man, the elder would likely have died right then.

Ian still remembered how, after Simon was shot, Quiana’s rampage ceased. The hand holding the gun began to tremble, but her pupils stayed unfocused, trapped by something, lost in madness, unable to snap out of it.

The old man, enraged at Simon’s injury, stormed past all restraint to her side, and slapped her, hard.

Because of that slap, she regained a flash of clarity—but only for a moment—then slowly aimed the gun back at the old man.

Simon, seeing this, ignored his own blood loss and weak state, and hugged her from behind.

Whispered in her ear: "Calm down."

Maybe it was the familiar presence entering her senses—the vacant gaze started to focus again. When she regained herself and saw the ruin around her, she covered her face, full of disbelief.

She was still young then—traumatized, physically exhausted, and fainted outright.

But upon waking, she found she couldn’t remember anything.

The old man brought in a psychologist, and the assessment wasn’t good.

If left unchecked, irreversible consequences were likely.

At the time, Simon was at death’s door after taking the bullet for the elder. The old man had no energy to deal with her, just told the psychologist to handle everything.

Later, Ian asked the psychologist, who told him it was another consciousness inside her.

The projection of her deepest desires.

At that time, this consciousness hadn’t fully formed. It could momentarily override her reason, take charge of her actions. But once it became tangible, it would become her second personality—she’d become someone utterly different.

Same face, same memories, but never truly her again.

...