Chapter 143
I didn't explain.
Because I knew that if I tried to explain how George and I were just a shell of a marriage, explain how coldly he treated me, how he let Sarah bully me, explain how hard I'd been trying to break free from this marriage—these people would most likely just think I was making excuses, finding reasons to justify my affair, and it might even invite more malicious speculation.
Why bother?
My life doesn't need to be justified to these irrelevant people.
William was called away again to greet and chat with someone.
I sat for a while, feeling a bit stuffy, so I got up and went to the restroom.
After fixing my makeup and composing myself, I came out of the restroom, only to see Atticus at the corner of the hallway, leaning against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers, as if waiting for someone.
When he saw me, he straightened up.
I thought of that long dress. Although it was his grandfather's decision, it had come back through him after all. Out of basic courtesy, I planned to nod at him, give him a cold greeting, and leave.
However, just as I took a step, Atticus called out to me, "Ms. Brown, can we talk?"
I stopped and looked at him, my face expressionless, "Mr. Morgan, I don't think there's anything we need to talk about."
I was about to leave.
But Atticus took a drag of his cigarette, exhaled a faint cloud of smoke, and then asked a question I completely didn't expect, "Does William know you're married to George?"
My expression instantly turned cold, my gaze sharp as I looked at him, "Mr. Morgan, what are you trying to say?"
Atticus stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette on a nearby trash can, his movements showing irritation.
He looked at me, his eyes carrying a complex emotion mixed with confusion and subtle accusation, "Terry called me yesterday and said some pretty unpleasant things."
"He said you were sneaking around with other men behind George's back. At first, I didn't believe it."
"After all, I saw you at the club entrance that night a few years ago, and later heard bits and pieces about how you revolved around George. I didn't think you were that kind of person."
He paused, his gaze locked on me, his tone becoming somewhat harsh, "But today, I saw with my own eyes you walking in on William's arm, that posture, that intimacy and dependence—it's hard not to make connections."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower, "Grace, if things really aren't working out between you and George, get divorced first, then find someone else. Do it openly and honestly, and no one can say anything about you. Why do you have to choose this way and dirty your own reputation? This isn't good for you, for William, or even for Star Tech."
Listening to his words, I just felt it was utterly absurd, almost laughable.
So Atticus was here defending his good friend George, coming to question me, the wife he considered unfaithful.
Did he know what his good friend George had been up to?
Did he know how George gave me the cold shoulder?
How he allowed Sarah and her son to bully Milly and me?
How he took my contributions for granted and even stole them to please others?
How he hid me like trash in the shadows for six years, while publicly acknowledging another woman's position?
I really wanted to throw all these questions in his face, smash them against Atticus's self-righteous expression.
But reason told me it was useless.
Atticus and George, Terry—they were all from the same circle.
Even if they weren't close friends, they had countless ties of interest and connections.
In their deep-rooted mindset, men having some social engagements outside, having some female friends, was perhaps normal, even a sign of capability.
But women, especially wives, should be dutiful and proper. Even if wronged, they should silently endure and maintain dignity.
If I questioned him, accused George, Atticus would only think I was making excuses, smearing George's name. There would be no result.
It might even get back to George, inviting his even crazier revenge.
So I suppressed the surging anger and bitter laugh in my heart.
I just raised my head, looked at Atticus expressionlessly, and said slowly, "George and I are already going through divorce proceedings. He's the one dragging it out, not me."
After saying this, I didn't look at the shock and deeper confusion that instantly flashed across his face.
I turned around and left that suffocating hallway without looking back.
I could feel that gaze behind me, like a nail, following my back closely. Complex, probing, as if trying to bore a hole through my back.
But I paid no attention.
I returned to my seat. William was already back.
He keenly noticed my expression wasn't right and asked in a low voice, "What's wrong? You look terrible. Did Atticus say something just now?"
I shook my head and forced a fairly natural smile, "Nothing, it was just a bit stuffy inside. I got some air and feel much better."
William looked at me skeptically but didn't press further.
At that moment, the Morgan Group's new project launch officially began.
Atticus took the stage as the main speaker, introducing the project background, technical highlights, market prospects, and so on.
Then came the media Q&A session.
The climax of the launch was the live demonstration.
Atticus announced that to showcase their server's powerful performance and data processing capabilities, they would open a non-core test port on-site, allowing authorized guests to watch real-time data simulation operations through the terminals in front of them or directly at the main console.
This was a rather bold and confident demonstration that attracted everyone's attention.
George had already taken Sarah to stand near the main console first.
Atticus was personally explaining something to them. Sarah nestled beside George, her face showing admiration and keen interest.
William said to me in a low voice, "Come on, let's go take a look too. Just listening to him talk isn't enough—we need to see the actual data flow performance with our own eyes."
I nodded and followed William over.
We stood at a slightly more distant position, observing the constantly scrolling and refreshing data streams and monitoring charts through a huge display screen in front.
William watched very carefully, occasionally exchanging a few words with me in a low voice.
I was also analyzing intently.
The operation was generally smooth, and the data throughput met standards. However, at several key data preprocessing nodes and during peak concurrent request simulations, I still keenly caught some subtle lags and response delays—the curves on the charts showed several small jagged edges that shouldn't be there.
"Look here, and here," I pointed at two areas that quickly flashed across the screen, saying to William in a low voice, "Their cache mechanism design might have some issues. When high concurrency and complex data cleaning occur simultaneously, there will be brief resource contention and queuing waits. Although the time is very short, for aerospace data processing that requires millisecond-level response, this could be a fatal flaw. Also, their error retry logic seems a bit too optimistic..."
William listened and nodded, his brow slightly furrowed.
Just as I finished speaking and was about to point out another potential memory leak risk, a low and familiar voice, without warning, sounded almost against the back of my neck, carrying a trace of barely perceptible inquiry, "Where are the vulnerabilities?"