divorce with a billionaire - I want to be a fortune teller

c***k! In the heart of the vibrant marketplace, where the aroma of fresh produce mingled with the scent of exotic spices, a woman with permed curls slapped a weathered wooden table, drawing the attention of those around her. The table, scarred with the marks of time, stood beneath a canopy of colorful umbrellas that danced in the gentle breeze. "Emily Thompson! You little minx! I don't know what kind of spell you've cast on my son, David, but he won't even listen to his own mother now. He's always hanging out with you, a woman who dabbles in the mystical arts!" Emily Thompson stifled her annoyance; she hated being called a charlatan, but this was her boyfriend's mother, so she swallowed her pride and responded calmly. "Mrs. Grant, I don't understand why you dislike me so much, but David and I are in love." "Pah!" she spat as soon as Emily finished speaking, her voice echoing through the narrow alleyways lined with cobblestones. "David is just throwing away the family's honor by being with you. You can't even cook a decent meal, let alone take care of my son. Isn't that just my son's bad luck? What right do you have to call yourself a woman?" As she spoke, the eyes of the onlookers turned to them, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern. The sun cast long shadows on the cobblestones, and the distant sound of a street musician's violin added a melancholic tune to the scene. "I'm telling you right now, you will never step foot in our house as long as I'm alive!" With that, she clicked away on her high heels, adjusting her tousled curls as she left, her figure disappearing into the crowd. The scent of her strong perfume lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the natural fragrances of the market. Watching the madwoman leave, Tom Wilson, the fruit vendor with a kind face and weathered hands, asked with concern, "Emily, it's not a solution for your boyfriend's mother to keep causing a scene here. You should have David talk to her; after all, she is his mother." The fruit stand beside him was a riot of colors, apples as red as rubies and lemons glowing like golden orbs. However, Emily was not too affected by what had just happened. After the woman left, she continued to tidy up her fortune-telling stall, the small space adorned with mystical symbols and a crystal ball that caught the sunlight and refracted it into a dazzling display of colors. Despite the unpleasant start to her day, she didn't take it to heart. She was used to David's mother disliking her and causing trouble from time to time. Today might still be a good day for business, as the saying goes, "After a storm comes a calm." "Tom, I'm fine. David's father passed away early, and his mother had a tough time raising him. He can't really say much," Emily said, her voice steady as she rearranged her deck of tarot cards, their gilded edges glinting in the light. "You're just too good-natured and understanding," Tom replied, and seeing her response, he didn't press the matter further. The market's chatter continued around them, the hum of life in the city never ceasing. At that moment, not far away on the congested road, inside a black sedan with tinted windows, a man with a stern face glanced at his watch again, the tension around him palpable. Sam Stone, his driver, looked at the jam-packed road and the slow-moving vehicles, then at his boss's thunderous expression, felt his heart pounding. The car's leather seats creaked as they adjusted, the air conditioning blowing cold air that did little to ease the growing anxiety. "Mr. Price, it's my fault. I didn't anticipate this happening," Sam said, his voice filled with regret. They had come to the old neighborhood on the outskirts of the city, a place where the buildings stood tall and proud, their aged brickwork telling tales of a bygone era. The narrow streets were lined with trees that cast dappled shadows on the ground, and the scent of blooming flowers from nearby gardens filled the air. To find someone, but as soon as they turned into the alley, they were stuck, as if there had been an accident up ahead. Vincent Price frowned deeply but responded with patience, his voice a rumble that seemed to echo off the old brick walls. "It's not all your fault; no one can predict these things," he said. But if the situation ahead wasn't resolved soon, and the commotion alerted the person they were looking for, their mission today would be jeopardized. "Yes, I'll be more cautious next time," Sam assured. They were caught in a dilemma, blocked from moving forward or backward, forced to wait. Perhaps to ease the tense atmosphere, Sam glanced out the car window and pointed to a modest stall, its presence a small island of tranquility amidst the chaos. "Mr. Price, look, there's a fortune teller over there." Under the clear morning sunlight, next to the prime location of a fruit stall at the market, stood a set of old, darkened tables and chairs, with a faded banner hanging on the side. It read: "Tarot Readings, $30 per session, honest and fair for all." The vibrant fruits and the shabby stall formed a stark contrast. The stall owner was a young woman, her hair casually gathered with a clip, with a silver mask covering half of her face, a white T-shirt, and a colorful, cheap beach pant from the wholesale market. The beach pants ended at her knees, revealing two slender, straight legs, a bit dazzlingly white in the sunlight. She wore flip-flops, her legs crossed casually, swaying slightly, looking very relaxed and comfortable. At that moment, the woman was leaning back in her chair, leisurely fanning herself. Vincent Price squinted his eyes, finding her appearance quite peculiar and a bit deliberately mystifying... It was a timely coincidence when May Adams arrived at the fortune-telling stall with her young son. The boy, about twenty years old, had the naive look of a college student, his eyes bright with a mix of excitement and skepticism. May, with a voice that carried through the marketplace, made her son sit on a chair nearby, her presence as commanding as the bell tower's chimes on a Sunday morning. "Ms. Thompson, could you please take a look and see if my son will get into University C for his postgraduate studies?" May's question hung in the air, a palpable thread of hope woven into her words. Emily, the fortune-teller, shifted in her seat, a slight smile playing on her lips as she sensed the weight of the mother's expectations. She extended a deck of tarot cards, their backs adorned with intricate patterns and ancient symbols, each a gateway to a different destiny. "Shuffle these cards," Emily instructed, her voice a soothing melody amidst the market's cacophony. "Think about your question as you do." The young man, his fingers trembling slightly, took the deck. He shuffled the cards, the sound of paper against paper a rhythmic dance that seemed to quiet the surrounding noise. His focus was intense, as if by sheer will he could influence the outcome. Once the shuffling was complete, he returned the deck to Emily. She spread the cards across the table, their faces down, a mosaic of possibilities. The market's noise seemed to recede as she flipped the first card, the sun catching the illustration and casting it in a warm glow. "The cards indicate that you will be able to enter University C," Emily said, her finger tapping gently on the card known as 'The World,' a symbol of completion and new beginnings. "This card signifies that your efforts will be rewarded, and you will embark on a journey that will lead to great opportunities." Hearing this, May's eyes lit up with joy, her smile as radiant as the summer sun. She thanked Emily, her gratitude as genuine as the coins she dropped into the wooden box with a satisfying clink. "Oh, thank you, Ms. Thompson, thank you. Could you also take a look at my son's financial fortune?" With that, she smoothly took out another thirty dollars, the bills crisp and new, and added them to the box, her generosity a testament to her faith in the cards' prediction.