Chapter 170
Sarah said urgently, "That whole thing was just a misunderstanding. Didn't we already clear it up back then?"
"Tom just speaks a bit directly, there was nothing else to it. Why are you bringing up all this old stuff now? What exactly are you trying to do?"
As she spoke, her eyes quickly reddened, as if she'd suffered some terrible injustice, and she looked toward George as if seeking help.
Sure enough, George's brow furrowed even tighter. He looked at me, his voice even colder, "Grace, what exactly are you trying to do? Do you really hate seeing Sarah here taking care of me that much? Do you have to make up these excuses to cause trouble?"
I finally couldn't hold back and let out a scornful laugh through my nose.
Looking at him like this, I just felt wave after wave of nauseating disgust.
He really wasn't getting the point at all.
Or rather, he simply didn't want to get the point.
In his preset script, all my actions, all my questions, could only be attributed to one thing.
Jealousy of Sarah.
I was jealous that Sarah could stay by his side, jealous that Sarah could receive his gentle treatment, so I was acting like a clown, using all kinds of lame excuses to make a scene.
What a ridiculous and pathetic way of thinking.
I wasn't here to be jealous.
I was here to get an explanation, to get some fairness.
But I should have understood this long ago.
In George's world, when things involved Sarah, the word "fairness" never existed.
Those investors abandoned the partnership they'd basically finalized with my mom and turned instead to Tom, whose reputation and abilities weren't necessarily outstanding, and whose character had long since rotted through.
Did they really value Tom's abilities and character?
The old foxes in this circle—who didn't know what kind of person Tom was?
They chose Tom for only one reason.
They weren't interested in Tom, but in the person standing behind Tom—George, the golden brand of the Smith Group.
It was George who, with his tacit approval or possibly even his influence, paved the way for Tom, making those shrewd investors willing to give up a more promising and trustworthy partner just to hitch themselves to Tom's broken-down ship that seemed to have the Smith Group's protection.
"If that's what you think, there's nothing I can do about it." My voice returned to calm, even colder and harder than before.
"I just want to tell you now, George," I looked straight into his eyes without any evasion, "stop going after my mom's company. Don't push me to the point where we both go down together."
I rarely spoke such harsh words to George.
In our six years of marriage, my most common emotions toward him were hope, disappointment, cautious attempts to please, and suppressed grievances.
Even when I was really upset, I rarely spoke to him in such a direct, almost threatening tone.
So when the words "we both go down together" came clearly from my mouth, George's brow furrowed deeply.
He looked at me, his eyes full of unfamiliarity and an almost absurd confusion.
He seemed completely unable to understand why I would make such a fuss over such a small matter.
In his thinking system centered on profit and efficiency, this probably wasn't even an issue.
Mom's company was in trouble?
That was just business competition, survival of the fittest.
Investors pulled out?
That was their own choice.
Mom had a car accident?
That was just an accident.
And my questions and anger, in his eyes, probably just became unreasonable behavior, a clumsy performance trying to get his attention out of jealousy of Sarah.
Sure enough, the next second, George's indifferent voice sounded, with a condescending tone, "If you want investment, you can just say so directly."
"Don't beat around the bush, and don't use this as an excuse to bully people."
"Also, my money doesn't grow on trees. Every project I invest in needs to show clear returns and profits."
"If I can't see the returns, I definitely won't continue investing in that project."
"Do you understand?"
I looked at George's matter-of-fact cold attitude.
The raging fire of anger in my heart didn't cloud my mind like it used to. Instead, it froze, froze into a barren, lifeless ice field.
I pulled at the corner of my mouth, not responding to his question.
Because I knew that whether I answered "yes" or "no," it made no difference to George.
He would only think I was being stubborn, putting on an act, trying to get his attention in this childish way, or covering up my unreasonable behavior.
My anger level, after seeing George's so nakedly undisguised favoritism, didn't rise. Instead, like a deflated balloon, it quickly collapsed, turning into a heavy and helpless sigh that sank to the deepest part of my heart.
What was I doing?
What was I even expecting?
I actually thought I could run to George and try to get some justice from him?
I realized I'd been too impulsive, my head clouded by anger over Mom's injury and heartbreak over the company's destruction.
I shouldn't have come at all.
What I should do was completely harden my heart, wait for the divorce proceedings to finish, then take Milly and Mom far away from this man, far away from this dirty circle.
But I wasn't willing to accept it.
I wasn't willing to accept that Mom and Flora's years of hard work would be destroyed by Tom using such despicable methods.
I wasn't willing to accept that Mom, lying in a hospital bed, still had to force a smile and tell me she wouldn't be a burden to me.
So I wanted to fight for this, wanted to take a gamble.
Gamble that George still had even the slightest bit of feeling for me, for our marriage that existed in name only, or at least some basic bottom line.
Now, the result was laid out clearly before me.
I lost, lost completely.
George not only didn't care about me, he didn't care about my family either.
In his eyes, whether my mom's company lived or died probably wasn't as important as the glass of water Sarah was bringing him right now.
His coldness, his favoritism, his sense of entitlement, like the sharpest scalpel, completely cut apart and stripped away the last bit of pathetic fantasy remaining in my heart.
Fine.
Completely giving up hope meant becoming completely clear-headed.
I didn't want to wait anymore.
Not for my own pitiful self-respect, but for my mom, for my aunt, and even more for my daughter Milly.
I had to quickly cut all ties with the Smith family, had to quickly make myself strong, so I could build a solid wall to protect the people I loved from being hurt by them anymore.
This marriage had to end.
And it had to end successfully, soon.
I took a deep breath, the cold air entering my lungs, bringing a sharp sense of clarity.
I looked at George, no longer dwelling on Tom's matter, no longer questioning his favoritism. Those things no longer mattered.
My voice returned to calm, even carrying a kind of detached indifference, cutting straight to the core, "The divorce acknowledgment from the court—did you sign it?"
My gaze locked on him without any evasion, "If you signed it, send it over as soon as possible. I don't want the divorce to drag on any longer."
George looked at me, his expression still the same unchanging indifference, as if my words about divorce hadn't stirred even the slightest ripple in his heart.
He really didn't care at all—didn't care about this marriage, so naturally didn't care when it ended or how it ended.
He just furrowed his brow slightly.
He looked at me like that for a long time, so long that the air in the hospital room seemed to freeze, leaving only the faint beeping of the machines.
Finally, he spoke, his voice flat and emotionless, "Grace, I've told you, your mother's business methods are problematic, not suitable for the tourism route. Changing direction wouldn't be a bad thing for her."
He avoided my direct question about the divorce, instead circling back to the company matter, using an almost instructive tone to casually dismiss all of Mom's efforts.
Then, as if finally remembering my question, he added indifferently, "As for that acknowledgment you just mentioned, I haven't seen it. I don't know what you're talking about."
His gaze moved away from my face, returning to his phone screen, "Don't bring up the divorce thing again."
"You've had your emotional outburst, now you should rein it in."