Chapter 62 Win Him Back
Matilda looked puzzled. "Wasn't it because your dad was doing you a favor that he sold it to our hospital?"
Zoey's eyes widened. "How could it be because of me? I'm just a college student. Even if Dad cares about me, his company's other executives would never agree to that. Besides, the Gonzaga Group is my dad's company's largest shareholder."
Matilda froze again.
So Wentworth had been quietly solving problems for her behind the scenes.
Zoey continued, "Matilda, I think Mr. Wentworth Gonzaga is actually pretty great. He's a good person, handsome, and treats you well. Maybe he didn't tell you about his background at first because he genuinely believed love was just between two people—no need to complicate it with family politics."
"You think so?" she asked in a daze.
"Absolutely." As Zoey spoke, their car stopped again at Gonzaga Manor's entrance. She said excitedly, "Matilda, let's get out. Time to win Wentworth back!"
Matilda's thoughts were in complete chaos, but she still followed Zoey out of the car.
The security guard at the gate immediately approached them. "Who are you here to see?"
"We're looking for Ms. Sanders," Zoey announced loudly.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but just tell her we're—"
Matilda suddenly covered Zoey's mouth and pulled her back toward the car.
Once they reached the car, she let go.
"Matilda, why didn't you let me finish?" Zoey asked, confused.
"Zoey, let's go," Matilda said calmly.
"Why? We haven't even confronted anyone yet."
"Maybe another day. Right now... I'm not ready."
"Matilda, if you really care about Mr. Wentworth Gonzaga, you can't back down. Think about the love between you two."
Love?
Matilda laughed bitterly to herself.
In her eyes, love was the most unreliable thing in the world.
Many couples started with love, but countless marriages fell apart along the way.
Just like her parents—they'd been madly in love initially, but within a few years they were constantly fighting, eventually becoming strangers.
People could marry for practical reasons, but they shouldn't marry for love alone.
She pulled Zoey away with a dejected expression. "Let's go."
Seeing her mood, Zoey didn't insist, just gave her a sympathetic look.
...
At nine that evening, Matilda returned to her apartment in the old district.
This area had no property management. The hallway lights were broken and unfixed, making everything dark as an abandoned warehouse.
She turned on her phone's flashlight and climbed the stairs step by step.
Just as she reached her door, she saw a figure standing there and jumped in fright.
"Matty, it's me!" Wentworth's voice.
Matilda shined her light over—it was indeed him.
He'd been waiting there for who knows how long, slightly hunched over, which was why she hadn't recognized him immediately.
Seeing it was him, Matilda's emotions were complicated—resentment mixed with a small thrill of excitement.
She'd actually been wanting to see him these past two days, but another voice in her head kept saying: you can't.
He was poison, arsenic, a carnivorous flower that looked gentle but could devour people whole.
"What are you doing here?" Matilda asked.
"Matty, let's talk." Wentworth's eyes were earnest.
Matilda didn't refuse, opening the door to let him in.
Inside, she pointed to the old wooden sofa her grandfather had left behind. "Sit."
Wentworth sat down.
Matilda handed him a bottle of water, then pulled up a stool to sit across from him.
After a brief silence, Matilda spoke first. "Wentworth, I went to your real home this evening."
"I know," Wentworth replied.
The butler had already sent him security footage of her appearing at the manor's entrance.
"Your mother's secretary also found me. She brought divorce papers. I signed them." Matilda's voice was steady.
"Are you really going to be this heartless?" Wentworth asked. "Not giving me any time at all?"
"I was going to. But after seeing your house, I realized I can't—unless I could somehow trade this apartment for a mansion like yours."
She knew that was impossible. Even if she worked at the hospital her entire life, she could never reach that world.
"But I'm still my mother's son," Wentworth said. "As long as I persist, she'll eventually compromise, just like when I insisted on military academy and she finally accepted it."
"This is different. I don't want to be the villain or affect your relationship with your mother. Your mother is already a pitiful woman—she lost her husband and her son won't listen to her. If she's unhappy in the future, she'll take it out on me and find ways to make my life difficult. I don't want to live like that, and I don't want to have to tolerate her. So let's just divorce."
Wentworth was silent for a long time before asking, "So you've made up your mind?"
"Yes, I've decided." Her tone was firm.
Wentworth nodded. "Alright, I understand."
He slowly stood and walked over to her. "Can I hold you one more time?"
Matilda stood and embraced him.
That familiar warmth, his broad chest—they'd never even made it to true intimacy, and now they had to part ways.
Maybe it was better this way, while she hadn't fallen too deep.
After a long moment, Wentworth released her and said softly, "Matty, take care of yourself."
"You too."
Strangely, even though she'd made up her mind, the moment he turned to leave, she felt like her soul had been hollowed out—as if she'd lost something irreplaceably precious.
The instant the door closed, her tears broke free.
...
Charles found Wentworth after midnight.
Wentworth was passed out drunk in a public pavilion on the mountain. Patrol officers had discovered him and called Charles.
His tall frame was curled up on the bench like a helpless child, with five or six empty bottles scattered around him.
Charles walked over, patted his shoulder, and called softly, "Wentworth."
Wentworth opened his eyes, saw Charles, and started laughing. But the laughter quickly turned to tears. "Charles, she said she never had feelings for me... and she signed the divorce papers."
Charles tried to comfort him. "She can't accept it right now—feels like she was deceived. Plus she has strong pride and doesn't want people saying she's a gold digger. But you can't be confused. If you really care about her, you need to keep fighting."
Wentworth shook his head through his tears. "But she's right. If I don't let go, Mom will keep making her life hell. Why should I make her suffer?"
His job meant he couldn't be home often, leaving her to face his mother alone.
Charles's heart clenched.
Love truly knew no bounds—not even death.
It had reduced Wentworth, a man who never cried, to sobbing like a broken child.
"Wentworth, let me take you home."