Chapter 125
George looked me up and down with cold indifference, examining me carefully from head to toe.
There was no appreciation in his eyes, no curiosity—only a cold assessment, as if weighing whether one item was worthy of matching another's value.
I understood what he meant.
He thought I wasn't good enough.
Just like in our six years of marriage, he had never thought to have a custom haute couture dress made for me.
My closet was stuffed with expensive dresses befitting Mrs. Smith's status, but they were all ready-to-wear pieces from each season's collection, or occasionally bought for me by Violet or Mom.
Not a single one was chosen by him, and not one was specially made according to my preferences or measurements.
The clothes I wore most often were still those old pieces I'd brought from my own home.
Even though they'd faded from washing and the fabric was ordinary, they were my clothes, carrying the scent of my own life.
Meeting his scrutinizing gaze, I said in a voice so flat it betrayed no emotion, "Yes, I want that dress, but not for myself."
"I want to give it to my mother. It's her regret, and Grandpa's regret too."
"I can't let Grandpa's life's work end up on Sarah's body."
"Because she doesn't deserve it."
George's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
He seemed slightly displeased with my answer.
But he didn't lose his temper, just fell silent for a moment.
Then he said something completely unexpected, "Mr. Mason Morgan is still waiting for my final answer. He said if I really want it, I can pick it up from the Morgan family anytime. Money isn't an issue."
"If you really must have it, go get it. I've already paid."
I froze.
A buzzing sound seemed to fill my ears, drowning out the low hum of the central air conditioning in the conference room.
I had imagined countless possibilities.
I'd imagined he would mock me, that he would firmly refuse, that he would demand harsher conditions in exchange, even that we might argue on the spot and part on bad terms.
But I never imagined he would give in so easily, even proactively saying he'd already paid and telling me to go get it.
What was this?
Charity?
Pity?
Or had his conscience suddenly awakened?
His generosity brought me no joy whatsoever. Instead, a strong sense of unease and wariness rose within me.
Who was George?
Whatever he did, he always had his purpose and calculations.
He would never make a losing deal, and he would never be good to me for no reason.
I didn't let this apparent surprise go to my head.
I stared at him and asked directly what I suspected most, "George, what do you want me to do?"
I knew there was no such thing as a free lunch.
Especially not one from George.
George glanced at me indifferently, as if my question was exactly what he'd expected.
Then he slowly spoke, his tone still commanding, "The day after tomorrow, the kindergarten has a parent-child craft activity. Parents and children need to complete a handmade project together."
"Jack can't do it, and Sarah isn't good at this kind of thing either."
"You help make it and deliver it to the kindergarten, and naturally you can take the dress."
Of course.
I knew he wouldn't be that kind-hearted.
He never thought to ask my opinion, whether I had time, whether I was willing.
In his eyes, I was probably still just a tool he could order around at will, used to solve Sarah's problems.
Using something that belonged to me in the first place to exchange for my labor, and he still thought he was doing me a huge favor.
And his ultimate purpose in doing this was still for Sarah—to keep Sarah from losing face at Jack's kindergarten activity, or rather, to let Sarah more easily and gracefully play the role of Mrs. Smith and good mother.
My heart felt like it was soaking in cold oil, greasy and stuffy, so heavy it could barely beat.
Communicating with him, even just a few brief sentences, felt like it consumed enormous energy.
Each confrontation, each compromise, was like sprinkling salt on the already bloody wound in my heart.
I felt incredibly disgusted.
But I really couldn't refuse.
I wanted Grandpa's dress too badly.
It wasn't just a piece of clothing—it was Mom's spiritual anchor, my promise to Grandpa, something I had to protect.
Trading my labor for it, even if that labor carried a humiliating nature, was better than watching it fall into Sarah's hands.
A deep exhaustion and helplessness swept over me.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and when I opened them again, only quiet compromise remained.
"Fine." I heard my own voice, dry and calm. "The day after tomorrow, I'll make it and deliver it."
No extra words, no questions, no bargaining.
I knew that before him, none of that meant anything.
George seemed unsurprised by my quick agreement, just nodded slightly to show he understood.
I stood up, stopped looking at him, turned to pull open the door, and walked out.
I'd barely taken a few steps when I heard the sound of muffled arguing ahead. One voice was very familiar—Emily.
My heart tightened, and I quickly picked up my pace.
Had Emily gotten impatient waiting and confronted Sarah?
With Emily's fiery temper, it was entirely possible.
Turning the corner, I indeed saw Emily and Sarah standing near the break room.
Emily had her arms crossed, brow furrowed, looking very unhappy.
Sarah had that weak, slightly aggrieved look, saying something softly.
My heart sank. I was about to rush over and pull Emily away, afraid she might act impulsively and cause trouble, affecting the already delicate relationship between Star Tech and Bright Light Tech.
However, when I got closer, I heard clearly that although Emily's tone was harsh, she wasn't arguing—she was discussing a specific project parameter issue with Sarah.
"So what I'm saying is, the interface documentation you provided doesn't match the actual test environment at all. The data format is inconsistent, which means our preprocessing module can't call it properly. Isn't this just wasting everyone's time?" Emily's voice carried suppressed anger but was clear and logical, pointing directly at the technical problem.
Sarah wore a professional smile, her voice still soft, "Ms. Johnson, don't worry. Maybe some details weren't communicated clearly during the technical handoff. We'll check on our end and update the documentation for you as soon as possible, okay?"
I stood a few steps away, somewhat surprised by this scene.
Although Emily was clearly holding back anger, she'd actually managed not to explode and was discussing work matter-of-factly?
I quickly understood.
William must have briefed her beforehand.
Although William protected me, he was always clear-headed about business cooperation and wouldn't let personal emotions overly affect work.
Emily might be blunt, but she listened to William, her boss.
Even facing the detestable Sarah, she forced herself to focus on work.
Emily caught sight of me from the corner of her eye and immediately looked relieved, her impatience easing slightly as she jerked her chin at me, "Finally! I've been waiting in the car forever. I called and you didn't answer. I thought that bastard George had detained you or something. Are you okay?"
I shook my head and walked over, "Are you done talking? Let's go if you're done."
Emily clearly didn't want to stay longer either and immediately nodded, "Done ages ago. Let's go. Staying in this damn place too long makes me feel suffocated."
We had just turned to leave when an annoying voice cut in again.