Chapter 145
I couldn't help but let out a scoff.
George doesn't like me avoiding him?
Back when I was constantly hanging around him, trying every way I could to talk to him, trying to get his attention, why didn't he say he liked it then?
Why didn't he say he wouldn't bite?
Instead, he pushed me away with those cold, disgusted looks, keeping me at a thousand miles' distance.
Now I'm not avoiding him anymore—I'm straight-up ignoring him—and suddenly he's not used to it?
How ridiculous.
I gave him a half-hearted response, too lazy to argue about these pointless emotional entanglements, and got straight to the point, "Well, I'm not avoiding you now, so let's talk about that matter."
George frowned slightly, his eyes showing genuine confusion, "What matter?"
Looking at him acting like he really didn't know anything, I felt my anger rising again.
He was still pretending?
Steven must have delivered the court summons and case filing notice to George right away.
How could he not know?
Was he deliberately stalling, or did he think this wasn't worth his time to deal with?
Did he think playing me for a fool was fun?
Violet had already called me so many times, asking in roundabout ways why Milly and I were never there when George went back to the Old Smith Mansion lately.
She asked if we were having problems again, and I could only put her off with excuses about being busy with work.
Once I got the divorce papers and everything was settled, I wouldn't have to make up these lies anymore.
I would tell her the truth directly, then completely distance myself from the Smith family and never see them again.
I didn't want the divorce to keep hanging over me like a thorn stuck in my throat—neither up nor down, constantly reminding me of my humiliation and helplessness.
Since I had this chance to face George alone today, no matter what, I had to try to push this matter forward.
I looked at him, suppressing the sarcasm and anger in my heart, keeping my tone as calm and direct as possible, "George, the documents the court sent you..."
Before I could finish, the door to the stairwell suddenly burst open with an urgent sound.
A man wearing a Morgan Group uniform who looked like a middle manager rushed in, looking panicked. His eyes searched around, and when he spotted George, he immediately rushed over like he'd found his savior.
"Mr. Smith, you're here, thank goodness!" The manager was out of breath, speaking urgently, "Ms. Wilson just took a fall downstairs. We said we'd take her to the hospital for a checkup, but she... she said she's scared and wants to wait for you..."
Before the manager could finish, before I could even see the change in George's expression, I just felt a cold gust of wind as a figure swept past me.
George had already strode past me without hesitation, not even glancing at me again.
He walked straight toward the manager, his voice carrying a tension and concern I'd never heard before, "Is it serious? Where is she?"
The manager quickly answered, "It doesn't look too serious, just seems like she twisted her ankle, but Ms. Wilson keeps saying it hurts and her face doesn't look good..."
Hearing this, George walked even faster, practically rushing as he followed the manager and quickly disappeared through the rooftop door.
Leaving me standing there alone, facing the empty doorway and the wind carrying the noisy atmosphere from downstairs.
I watched his unhesitating departing figure, those steps without any delay, even carrying urgent worry—like a cold chisel hammering hard into my heart, prying open a fresh crack.
My heart felt nothing but icy desolation and bleakness.
Really, no matter when, no matter what important things we were discussing, no matter if I needed a clear answer from him, as long as Sarah had a problem—even if she just accidentally fell—he would immediately drop me without hesitation and walk away.
So what was the point of him grabbing me earlier?
What was the point of asking me those questions?
What was the point of following me around like a shadow?
Just to show his presence?
I remembered a long time ago—I can't recall which specific day.
I only remember it was raining hard that day. I missed a step on the stairs at the Old Smith Mansion and fell down. My ankle swelled up immediately, the pain piercing.
Enduring the intense pain, my first reaction was to call George.
I wasn't trying to act cute—I just instinctively wanted to seek a little comfort and support from my husband in that moment of pain and helplessness.
The call went through, rang for a long, long time, then turned into a cold busy signal.
He didn't answer.
Later, I appeared before him on crutches, limping—at the company, at various events I had to attend.
For over a month, he never asked me once about it.
He even had Steven call me to pick him up from a business dinner when he was completely drunk, when my foot hadn't healed and I couldn't drive at all.
That bone-chilling coldness and differential treatment, like the sharpest icicles, stabbed my heart—which had once held expectations for him—over and over again, leaving it riddled with holes and bloody.
It was those countless details that gradually made me see clearly that in his heart, I wasn't even worth a speck of dust.
Now, George was just once again laying this cruel comparison bare before me.
That's fine.
Let me see it more clearly, let my heart grow colder and harder.
I took out my phone, found Mr. Lucas's number, and called him.
The call connected quickly, Mr. Lucas's voice as professional as always, "Ms. Brown, hello."
"Mr. Lucas," my voice was unusually calm, even carrying a hint of relieved lightness, "sorry, I just tried to talk to George about the divorce acknowledgment, but he had more important things to handle. We didn't get anywhere."
Mr. Lucas could probably guess what happened. He didn't press for details, just offered gentle comfort, "Ms. Brown, don't take it too hard. This situation is very common—the other party deliberately stalling or avoiding is also a strategy."
"Since we can't communicate, we won't try to communicate anymore. Once the court's deadline passes, if he still hasn't submitted any materials, we can apply to the court for a default hearing, or the court can summon him directly."
"Okay, Mr. Lucas, thank you," I thanked him sincerely, "Let's just follow the legal process. I can wait."
After hanging up, I stood in the cold wind on the rooftop, took one last deep breath, and completely blew away the last trace of emotion that had stirred in my chest because of George's earlier actions.
He didn't care.
So I didn't care anymore either.
It was just a matter of waiting a bit longer.
Anyway, it wouldn't be much longer. When we got to court, with everything in black and white, signed and sealed, it would all be settled.
I collected myself, smoothed my wind-blown hair, pushed open the door again, and walked down the stairs.
When I returned to the venue and found William, he had already finished reading the proposal Atticus provided and was sitting on a sofa in the lounge area, looking at his phone.
Seeing me return, he immediately put away his phone and stood up, his eyes showing undisguised concern, "Grace, are you okay? Just now..."
I smiled at him—the smile was faint but genuine enough, "I'm fine. I can't let my mood keep affecting my ability to make money, right? I still have to do what needs to be done."
William looked carefully at my expression, and only after confirming I wasn't forcing a smile did he relax and smile too, "That's the best way to think about it. Right, making money is what matters most!"
He pulled me to sit on the nearby sofa and said in a low voice, "Just now I briefly mentioned to Atticus those system vulnerabilities you observed, especially the resource contention under high concurrency and potential memory leak risks."
I was a bit surprised, "You told him directly?"