Chapter 17
Emily instinctively stepped in front of me. "Not happening. Tell your boss to get lost."
I didn't want to see George either.
I said, "Sorry, we have things to do."
But those bodyguards wouldn't back down. Instead, they moved closer.
Just as we were at a standoff, about to clash, another set of steady footsteps echoed from the other end of the parking garage corridor.
Strangely, George's previously aggressive bodyguards, upon seeing this group, suddenly toned down their threatening attitude and quickly disappeared at the end of the corridor.
This sudden turn of events left us all stunned.
The man in glasses at the front adjusted his frames and smiled at us. "Excuse me, which one of you is Miss 'Nightingale'?"
Emily looked at him warily. "Who are you? What do you want with Nightingale?"
"My name is Otis Scott. I'm Mr. Mark Harris's special assistant. Mr. Harris would like to meet Miss Nightingale."
Mark Harris?!
Hearing that name, my heart skipped a beat.
Emily and William had obviously heard of him, too, shock written all over their faces.
Mark Harris, the actual controller of Aviation Technology Group.
This group was the largest equipment supplier and technical partner in the domestic civil aviation sector, practically monopolizing the high-end market, with unfathomable connections.
And Mark himself was a legend among legends, born into a top-tier wealthy family but self-made, using solid technical skills to push the group to global prominence, consistently ranking at the top of the world's richest lists. He only worked with national-level major projects, a true titan at the very top of the pyramid.
How could someone like that notice a small coding challenge tonight?
And why would he specifically ask to meet "Nightingale"?
Beyond the shock, a strong impulse and a sense of self-protection surged up simultaneously.
I'd already fallen hard because of George, paying with my own life and my daughter's in my previous life.
The current me wouldn't be so naive again, letting temptation cloud my judgment.
I needed a career, and I needed to raise Milly safely. Every decision had to be made carefully.
"Sorry, Nightingale had urgent matters after the competition and left early."
Otis seemed surprised by the rejection, but quickly recovered, taking out an envelope and handing it over.
"In that case, please pass this along to Nightingale. Inside is Mr. Harris's business card and a preliminary invitation letter. We look forward to her response."
I took it and nodded. "Okay, I'll pass it along."
Otis left with his people.
The corridor fell quiet again.
Emily immediately pulled me aside, lowering her voice. "Grace, are you crazy? That's Mark! So many people want connections with him and can't get them. He wants to meet you personally. Why won't you see him? If he really values your abilities, forget George. No one in the entire North City would dare touch you or Milly!"
William also looked at me, his eyes showing a mix of curiosity and a hint of approval.
I shook my head. "Emily, I already crashed and burned with George. I can't jump into another pit that might be even deeper."
"I want a career, but I also want to protect Milly safely. So, no rush. Let's wait and see."
Emily looked at me, her expression slowly changing from excitement to understanding. "Alright, Grace, you're thinking it through. I support you."
To completely avoid George's people, I simply took off my hat and mask, planning to leave through another exit.
However, just as I walked out of the corridor, I saw a tall figure leaning against a black Maybach, seemingly waiting for someone.
It was George.
He looked up, his gaze landing precisely on my face, without the slightest surprise, as if he'd known all along I would eventually appear here.
"Let's talk." He spoke, his voice emotionless.
Emily immediately grabbed my arm nervously.
William frowned, too.
I patted Emily's hand, signaling her not to worry.
"It's fine. You guys wait for me in the car."
George took me to an elegantly decorated VIP café inside the convention center.
Unusually, Sarah wasn't by his side.
A server brought two cups of black coffee.
I didn't touch mine. I'd never liked that pure bitterness.
Actually, I held a sliver of hope.
George seeking me out, could it be that he'd finally come around and was ready to give me the signed divorce papers?
If that was it, I could tolerate this bitter coffee.
"What exactly are you doing here?" George asked instead, his eyes scrutinizing me.
I instantly felt disappointed.
"Mr. Smith, get to the point." I checked the time. "I'm busy."
George was silent for a few seconds, picked up his coffee, and took a sip. "Let's have dinner together tonight. Bring Milly."
I almost laughed coldly.
Bring Milly? With him? Why should I?
"Not available." I refused flatly and stood up to leave.
"Grace." He called out behind me, his voice finally carrying an unusual tremor. "Today is my birthday."
My steps, ready to leave, suddenly froze.
My heart felt like it had been lightly struck.
Today was his birthday.
Every year in the past, this day had been the one I looked forward to most, yet felt most anxious about.
I would plan surprises well in advance, personally prepare a birthday feast he probably wouldn't even come home to eat, and pick out gifts I thought he'd like.
And the result?
He'd either complain I was wasteful, find the gifts unsuitable, or simply not come home at all.
In my previous life, he'd clearly promised he'd be home right away, but ended up going to Sarah's instead, letting my hopeful expectations fall flat, making Milly upset and sick.
Memory fragments surged up unexpectedly, carrying years of bitterness and coldness.
I slowly turned around and looked at him.
He sat there, the light outlining his handsome but indifferent profile.
"So what?" My voice was so calm it surprised even me.
George seemed not to expect this reaction from me.
He looked at me, then extended his hand toward me, palm up.
"So, where's my gift?" His tone was matter-of-fact, even carrying a habitual sense of entitlement.
Expressionless, I pulled out a small, unopened pack of tissues from my bag and tossed it in front of him.
George looked at me, his eyes filled with disbelief.
But he quickly returned to normal, his tone still indifferent. "I accept your gift."
"Since I've accepted your gift, stop targeting Sarah all the time. She's simple-minded and kind—that's not a reason for you to keep bullying her. I can overlook those little tantrums of yours in the past. As long as you come back, you're still Mrs. Smith. You'll have freedom in life, plenty of material things. You won't be shortchanged."
"Freedom in life?" I felt like I'd heard the biggest joke, finally unable to hold back a scoff. "George, tell me, when have I ever been free?"
In my previous life, I was like a bird kept in a golden cage. Seemingly living a lavish life, but in reality not even having the freedom to step outside the Smith family's door.
Because everyone thought that my going out would embarrass the Smith family.
George's brow furrowed, somewhat displeased. "Grace, don't be like this. After all these years of marriage, I haven't wronged you."
Haven't wronged me?
A rage and sorrow that had been suppressed too long, mixed with memories from both lives, suddenly rushed to my head.
My tone became sharp and sarcastic. "George, you haven't wronged me? The ways you've wronged me are too many to count. Do you need me to list them one by one? And I've already given the position of Mrs. Smith to Sarah. What more do you want?"
George's eyes turned dangerous. "Grace, I just told you not to keep targeting Sarah. The old you wasn't this aggressive and unreasonable!"
"The old me was blind." My voice trembled slightly with emotion. "Now, I'm only asking you one thing. Have you signed what I asked for or not?!"
George looked at me, the confusion in his eyes deepening. He seemed about to say something.
Just then, an abrupt phone ringtone sounded.
It was his phone on the table. The screen lit up, the caller ID clearly showing Sarah.
I looked at that name, and the intense emotion from moments ago suddenly deflated like a punctured balloon.
All that remained was deep exhaustion and a sadness that even I despised in myself.
If not for that divorce agreement, I wouldn't be sitting here listening to him talk at all.