Chapter 98
Josephine's voice turned ice-cold. "I love my own children."
Her eyes were like a mirror, reflecting all the ugliness and hypocrisy. Gideon couldn't even meet her gaze. From the corner of his eye, he spotted an old photo album on the coffee table. He quickly grabbed it and flipped to the first page.
Their wedding photos. Josephine in a simple white dress, holding a small bouquet of baby's breath, smiling at the camera with crescent-moon eyes. He wore an ordinary suit, arm around her shoulders, his face carrying that youthful ambition.
"Do you remember?" Gideon's voice cracked. "We didn't have money. The wedding was just a few friends, dinner by the river. You said you didn't care about a big production—as long as we were together, that's all that mattered."
Josephine's gaze fell on the photo.
Her fingertips curled slightly, but her expression remained unchanged.
"I remember," she said. "I remember that night you held me and said you'd make sure I had a good life. You said you'd work hard so I'd never have to worry about money again."
Hope flashed in Gideon's eyes. "Yes! I've always remembered! These seven years, I've worked myself to death to keep that promise! Jojo, everything I've done has been for you..."
"That was for yourself." Josephine cut him off, her voice still calm but sharp as a blade. "For your ambition. Your need for control. To prove to everyone that even a bastard son could climb to the top."
"No..."
"No?" Josephine closed the album. The soft snap echoed distinctly in the quiet living room. "Gideon, think carefully. How many of your decisions were truly for me? When you made those choices, did you ever consider how I felt?"
Gideon froze, stubbornly repeating, "That's not..."
Josephine walked to the window, looking at the now-neglected garden outside. Autumn had arrived. The flowers she'd once carefully tended had long since withered, leaving only dried stems.
Just like their marriage—it had quietly died in corners no one noticed.
She picked up the document from the coffee table and handed it to him.
"Sign it, Gideon."
Gideon stared at the papers, then at Josephine. She stood exactly one arm's length away—the proper distance between strangers.
Her eyes held no hatred, no resentment, no sorrow. Like she was processing an ordinary contract, facing an ordinary business partner.
She'd truly... let go of this relationship.
The realization hit him like ice water, chilling him to the bone.
He slowly reached out, took the document, picked up the pen. His fingers lingered over the signature line, the pen tip hovering above the paper, trembling but unable to descend.
Josephine checked the time. "I have things to do. Sign it and courier it to me."
With that, she turned toward the door.
Gideon instinctively wanted to chase after her, but his feet felt rooted to the ground. He watched her back cross the living room, reach the entryway, and open the door.
"Jojo!" He finally called out.
Josephine stopped but didn't turn around.
"Is there really, truly no chance?" Gideon's voice was hoarse beyond recognition.
"No. We can never go back."
Josephine walked out the door.
It closed gently with a barely audible sound.
Gideon stood there, still clutching the unsigned document. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor.
The tea on the coffee table had gone cold. The album lay open. The music box sat silently.
Everything was the same as before, yet nothing was.
He slowly walked to the window and watched Josephine's car pull out of Clearwater Ridge's gates, quickly disappearing at the end of the street.
She was really gone.
No looking back. No hesitation. Not a trace of reluctance.
Gideon looked down at the papers in his hands, at the words "voluntarily waives," and suddenly remembered that year when they were newlyweds, cuddled in bed, imagining their future.
He'd talked about so many things. She'd just listened.
At the end, Josephine had smiled and said, "As long as we're together, we don't need anything else."
Back then, she didn't need anything else.
Now she didn't want anything—including him.
Without her voice, without her presence, the living room became terrifyingly quiet.
Gideon slowly sank down, trembling hands braced on his knees, breathing with difficulty. He just felt cold—a bone-deep cold that made his entire body shake.
He turned on all the heating in the house, but still felt frozen. Later, thinking it might be because of the divorce papers, he threw them as far away as possible.
As if that might make it warmer.
...
The day after Josephine left Clearwater Ridge, David personally called, summoning her to the Getty Manor.
This was expected. David hadn't been satisfied with Josephine over the years, but with Gideon making such a scene about divorce, he couldn't remain indifferent.
Josephine went.
She didn't bother dressing up—same light gray cashmere coat, bare face. Walking into this estate she'd visited countless times but never felt she belonged to, she had an almost surreal feeling.
Half a year ago, she'd come here too, with Gideon.
Briana had "concerned" herself with when they'd have children in front of all the relatives. Gideon had considerately deflected, saying her body was being treated. She'd been so touched.
Looking back now, Gideon had already been with Lorelei at that point, hadn't he?
The butler led her to the study. David sat behind a black walnut desk reviewing documents. Seeing her enter, he glanced up and gestured for her to sit.
"I heard you want a divorce." David got straight to the point. "Is it true?"
"Yes," Josephine answered calmly.
David set down the document and removed his reading glasses, studying her carefully. Over these three months, Josephine had clearly lost weight, but her eyes were much brighter than before. No longer the cautious, perpetually quiet and reserved daughter-in-law of the Getty family—now she looked like someone with real convictions and confidence.
"You're sure?" David asked. "The resources and status the Getty family has given you—you're willing to give it all up?"
Josephine heard the probing tone in his question.
David assumed she was playing hard to get, thinking she wanted leverage for more benefits through divorce.
"If I wanted money or status, I wouldn't have married him seven years ago."
When she'd married Gideon, he'd had nothing—an illegitimate son unrecognized by the Getty family.
David was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Perhaps... you could stay married. When the child is born, you could raise it."
Josephine's lips quirked in a faint smile. "I'd rather not. If it's not my own child, I can't love it genuinely."
Was David really looking out for her, or reluctant to see her go?
No way.
She didn't buy it for a second.
David watched her. After a long pause, he finally nodded.
"The Getty family has wronged you. The property division should be fair. I'll have the lawyers review the divorce agreement again. You'll get what you're entitled to, not a penny less."
Josephine knew this was contingent on her having evidence of Gideon's affair. Otherwise, David would have kicked her out with nothing.
So she accepted it without guilt.
"If there's nothing else, I'll be going."
As she reached the door, David suddenly spoke. "Do you really not regret this? Leaving the Getty family, giving up everything Gideon could provide—prestige, status, money. Your integrity is admirable, but it won't make you elite."
Even now, he still thought Josephine would be nothing without the Getty family.
Josephine couldn't be bothered to explain. "Then I guess we'll see, won't we?"