Chapter 163
George...
George again.
No, or more accurately, it was because of Sarah.
My heart sank to the bottom of an icy lake. I didn't even have the strength to struggle anymore—only endless coldness spreading through me.
I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning pale white from the pressure.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, trying to make my voice sound calm, even though my insides were in turmoil.
"Flora," my voice was a bit hoarse, but I still tried to keep it steady, "I've been watching the news about the Smith Group these past couple days, and I've checked their website too. There's no mention of them being involved with Tom's tourism company, no official announcement either."
I was trying to find some logical loophole, some slim possibility to deny the worst outcome.
Maybe this was just a smokescreen Tom was putting out to pressure Mom's company?
Maybe George wasn't actually involved?
On the other end of the phone, Flora didn't calm down after hearing my words. Instead, she got even more upset, "Grace! Why are you still defending George?"
Her tone was full of disbelief and disappointment, "You think just because George hasn't personally stepped forward or made an announcement, that means he hasn't acted?"
"He's allowing it, he's permitting the Wilson family to use his name and the Smith Group's name to do whatever they want—that's the biggest problem!"
"Tom is spreading the word everywhere, saying you're divorcing George, that George will leave you with nothing, that you and your mom have no backing anymore."
"Those business partners are all shrewd. When they hear this kind of talk and see the Wilson family and the Smith Group's attitude, who would dare cooperate with your mom? They're avoiding her like the plague!"
Flora's words were like ice-cold knives, precisely cutting open the reality I'd been trying to avoid.
Yes, given George's current attitude toward me, why would he need to act personally?
He only needed to stay silent while Tom strutted around.
He only needed to turn a blind eye when my mom's business partnerships fell through.
He only needed to continue shamelessly favoring and protecting Sarah.
That was enough.
Enough to embolden Tom, enough to scare off those opportunistic business partners.
Enough to push my mom and me into a corner.
My hands gripping the steering wheel were deathly pale, without a trace of color.
My face reflected in the rearview mirror—even with lipstick, it couldn't hide the bloodless pallor and the exhaustion and coldness showing through my eyes.
I didn't expect...
No, maybe I should have expected it.
I just held onto a pathetic fantasy, thinking the divorce was just between the two of us.
At least he wouldn't stoop so low as to go after my family, to cut off the livelihood of my mom's hard-built company.
But I was wrong. Dead wrong.
When someone has completely removed you from their heart, your pain, your family's troubles—in their eyes, these might not even create a ripple. Even worse, to please the person they actually care about, they allow, or even indirectly facilitate attacks against you, and it all becomes perfectly natural.
Just because Sarah hates me. So George has to help Sarah bully my family?
Does he want to push us to the edge, to accidents, even to death before he's satisfied?
A sharp pain mixed with towering rage suddenly rushed to my head, making my vision go dark for a moment.
On the other end of the phone, Flora must have sensed my violently fluctuating emotions from my silence.
Her anger paused, and after a long while, her tone suddenly softened, carrying a hint of regret and concern, "Grace, I'm not blaming you, really I'm not."
Her voice dropped, full of exhaustion and heartache, "I just never thought George would be that kind of person. Your mom and I, we both misjudged him back then."
"At least you're getting divorced." She seemed to be trying to find some comfort, "After the divorce, we'll stay far away from the Smith family, far away from those people."
Flora had always been straightforward—hot-tempered but warm-hearted, with clear loves and hates. Now, she tried to rally herself, attempting to encourage me, "After I have my surgery next week, I'll go help your mom."
"If they've blocked the tourism route, we'll pivot to something else. There's always a way out. I refuse to believe the Smith family can control everything and destroy us all."
Hearing Flora's words, full of righteous anger yet lonely courage, my heart ached.
Her own health wasn't even good yet, she had surgery next week, but right now she was worrying about Mom and me, thinking about how to help carry our burden.
I was afraid her emotions would get too intense and affect her condition and surgery. I quickly reined in my own churning emotions, using the most stable tone possible, even with a deliberately light touch, to tell her, "Flora, the most important thing for you right now is to take care of yourself and have a smooth surgery next week."
"I'm almost at the hospital. Mom will definitely be okay, and I won't let anything happen to her." My voice unconsciously carried a barely noticeable tremor, but I tried to suppress it, "So, help me out—take care of yourself first, okay? When Mom's better, we'll still need your help."
On the other end, Flora must have heard the suppressed trembling in my voice and that deep concern.
She didn't say anything more heroic, just choked up and gave a firm response, "Okay, Grace, go quickly, drive carefully, and message me when you get there."
"Okay, Flora, rest well, don't worry."
After ending the call, the car fell silent again.
I pressed my lips tightly together, staring fixedly at the road ahead, keeping my speed at the limit, constantly passing other cars.
The coldness and heaviness in my heart hadn't lessened one bit because of Flora's comfort. Instead, knowing the real cause of Mom's accident made it sharper, more concrete.
It was no longer just an accident. It was the last straw that broke the camel's back.
And the one who handed over that straw was Tom's greed and malice, but even more so, George's coldness and indulgence through his tacit approval.
George...
I silently repeated this name in my heart—a name that once brought excitement and hope, later turned to bitterness and disappointment. Now, only cold hatred remained, and a kind of ashen determination.
Actually, when I insisted on marrying George back then, Flora had strongly opposed it.
The night before the wedding, Flora specially rushed back from out of town, pulled me into a hotel room, her face more serious than I'd ever seen.
She held my hand, her tone urgent, "Grace, think it over again. That George, I just feel like he's not a good person."
"The Smith family's status—the waters run too deep. That man, his eyes are too cold, his mind too calculating. You're too innocent. If you marry into that family, you'll suffer!"
Back then, my heart and eyes were full of infatuation with George and anticipation of becoming Mrs. Smith. How could I listen to any of this?
I just thought Flora was worrying too much, that she didn't understand how good George was yet.
Instead, I held her arm, smiling to comfort her, "Flora, you're overthinking it. George just looks cold on the outside, but he's actually really nice."
"I'll gradually adapt to the Smith family. Don't worry, support me, okay?"
Flora looked at me, so intoxicated by love, wanting to say more but holding back.
In the end, she just let out a long sigh, her eyes full of disapproval and deep worry.
That sigh, in the joyful atmosphere at the time, seemed so insignificant, and I quickly pushed it to the back of my mind.
Now, times have changed.
Flora is sick, hospitalized.
Mom had a car accident, lying in the hospital.
And the trigger for all of this, tracing it back to its roots, is somehow connected to George.
That man I once married against my closest person's wishes, that man I once thought I could entrust my life to.
I wish I could go back and slap some sense into that stubborn version of myself.
I want to rush into that hotel night, grab Flora's hand, and cry to her, "Flora, I'll listen to you, I won't marry him. You're right, he's not a good person!"
But time can't be reversed.
I can only swallow this bitter fruit I planted with my own hands, endure the chain of harm it brings, and watch helplessly as this harm spreads to the people closest to me.