Chapter 279

Chapter 279

I held George’s gaze, searching for a flicker of emotion—anger at being defied, or perhaps something else entirely.

But George just glanced at me coolly, as if my threats and resistance were nothing more than a boring performance to him.

"Not much." He looked away, lifted his cup and took a sip of coffee. "But in the end, you’ll have no choice but to sell to me."

With that, he put down the cup, stood up, and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the sofa, his movements smooth and unhurried.

George didn't even look at me again, as if the deal was already sealed, needing no further discussion.

He turned around, pulled open the VIP room door, and walked straight out.

His back was straight, his steps steady, and he quickly disappeared from my sight.

Leaving me alone, standing in the room, my whole body ice-cold, yet the fire in my chest burning even fiercer, almost consuming me.

I stared hard in the direction George had left, wanting nothing more than to hurl my coffee at the back of his head.

But in the end, I held back.

What would that accomplish, other than a moment’s satisfaction and making me look even more pathetic?

George was right.

As long as he wanted to buy, as long as he kept blocking things, this apartment of mine would most likely end up being sold only to him.

He had every resource to scare off other buyers or stall any transaction until it collapsed.

I squeezed my eyes shut hard. When I opened them again, all that remained was cold determination and a reckless ruthlessness.

Fine, George, you want to buy it?

Sure.

The agency manager had been peeking around the doorway like a startled rabbit, waiting until he was sure George had truly left before shuffling back in carefully. “Ms. Brown, about this apartment, are you still selling?"

I took a deep breath, forcibly pushing down the churning anger in my chest, and looked at the manager:

"Yes."

The manager visibly relaxed, his face showing relief. "That's good, that's good. Mr. Smith's terms are really very generous—full payment, no discount, quick process..."

“But,” I cut in, enunciating each word, "I want double the price. If he's willing to pay that, I'll sign. Otherwise, forget it."

"Double?" The manager gasped. "Ms. Brown, that's not how things are done! And besides, Mr. Smith..."

"Just tell him that." I picked up my bag and stood up. "If he agrees, we'll set a time to sign. He can choose the location. I only have one condition—full payment at once, no delays, no debts."

With that, I left the agency without lingering.

I knew my demand was excessive, almost unreasonable. But wasn’t George made of money? Didn’t he like solving problems with money?

Fine then, I'd let him enjoy it to his heart's content.

Make him pay double for his enjoyment.

That evening, the manager called. His voice trembled with a mix of excitement and disbelief. “Ms. Brown! Mr. Smith has agreed! Just as you said—double the price! He wants you to set the time, he can sign anytime!"

George agreed?

That small sense of vengeful satisfaction in my heart was instantly replaced by an indescribable absurdity and coldness.

He actually agreed?

“Okay,” I said, my voice dry and flat. "I'll wait for him to notify me about the time. Let him choose the location too."

"Great, great! I’ll relay that to Mr. Smith right away!" The manager's voice was full of excitement, completely missing the oddness in my tone.

After hanging up, I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, phone in hand, face blank—but inside, a desolate wind swept through.

Milly must have heard me on the phone. She looked up at me with her little face, somewhat worried. "Mommy, are you unhappy?"

My mother also poked her head out from the kitchen, concern creasing her brow. "Grace, what's wrong? You look awful. Trouble at work?"

I couldn't let my emotions affect them.

I crouched down, picked up Milly, kissed her little face, and forced a smile: "It's nothing, sweetie. Mommy just has some work stuff—ran into a difficult psycho, but it'll be resolved soon. It's fine."

Holding Milly, I walked over to sit on the sofa and said to my mom. "Mom, really, it's nothing. Just a bit tired."

Mom studied me, unconvinced. She sighed, came over, and stroked my hair. "Grace, Mom knows you're under a lot of pressure. Whatever it is, don’t carry it all alone. Talk to me about it. Even if Mom can't help much, I can at least listen and give you some advice."

"I know, Mom." I leaned on my mom's shoulder, my nose tingling, but I held back the tears.

I couldn't tell her.

Couldn't tell her that George was haunting me like a ghost, couldn't pollute the peace of this home with those dirty schemes and deals.

After putting Milly to sleep, I stood looking at my daughter’s serene sleeping face. The tightness and irritation in my chest swelled, threatening to swallow me whole.

I needed to vent.

Needed someone to listen, needed alcohol, needed temporary numbness.

I took out my phone, found Emily's number, and called. She answered quickly. Her end was a bit noisy, as if she was outdoors.

"Grace? What's up?"

"Emily, want to come out for drinks? I'm feeling really down."

Emily's voice sharpened. "What happened? Where are you? I'll come right away!"

"I haven't left yet, I'm home. Meet at the usual place, you know where."

"Okay, I'll be there in half an hour!" Emily paused, then asked tentatively, "Can I bring William? More people, more fun, and another pair of ears for your venting.”
I paused.

Emily and William?

Had they been getting too close lately? Emily never used to actively suggest bringing William along.

"Emily," I asked, half-joking, half-serious, "have you and William been up to something behind my back lately? Feels like you two have been together a lot more often?"

"What are you thinking!" Emily's voice carried a hint of panic, quickly masked by defensiveness. "I'm doing this for your sake! One more person to keep you company, one more pair of ears to hear you complain. Besides, William has experience—maybe he can give you some advice! Are you going to let me bring him or not?"

"Fine, fine, bring him." I didn't think much more of it. Maybe I was just being paranoid.

William and Emily were both people I trusted most. With them there, maybe I'd feel better.

I told my mom I was going out to meet some colleagues and would be back later.

Mom probably saw I was in a bad mood and didn't ask much, just told me to drink less and stay safe.

When I got to the bar, Emily and William were already there, sitting in our usual relatively quiet booth.

The table already had several bottles of beer and some snacks.

Seeing me come in, both their gazes turned toward me in unison, with undisguised concern.

"Grace, over here!" Emily waved at me.

I walked over and sat down. William naturally poured me a glass of water and slid it toward me. "Drink some water first. Why do you look so terrible?"

Emily also leaned in, lowering her voice: "What happened? It's rare to see you actively arrange drinks, and at night too. Did that bastard George bother you again? Or did that bitch Sarah cause more problems?"

I picked up the glass of water and took a big gulp. The ice-cold water slid down my throat, but couldn't extinguish the burning anger in my heart.

I told them everything—running into George at the agency that afternoon, his demand to buy the apartment, and my double-price counteroffer.

By the end, I even found it absurd and laughable, my voice dripped with self-mockery.

"Tell me, what's he trying to do? One moment he tacitly approves of us firing Sarah, the next he runs off to buy my crappy apartment? And at double the price? Does he have too much money? Or does he find it particularly satisfying to toy with me like this?"

After hearing this, Emily slammed the table in anger, making the beer bottles jump: "He's crazy, absolutely crazy! To get back at you for Sarah, he's using this method to disgust you, humiliate you! Making you sell the apartment while still owing him a favor, still getting dizzy from being hit with his money! So disgusting!"

William's brow was also tightly furrowed. He thought for a moment and said: "Could it be that last time when Sarah forcibly moved in with Jack and you called the police to kick them out, she felt humiliated and went back to cry and complain to George?"

"George, to comfort her or save some face, is using this method to buy the apartment as a way to give Sarah an explanation?"

I shook my head and gulped down more beer, the cold liquid with its bitterness stimulating my taste buds: "I don't know, I really don't know what he's thinking. I'm just so annoyed, really annoyed."

I put the empty glass down heavily on the table, my voice carrying suppressed exhaustion and anger: "Why can't I ever be done with him? We're already going through a divorce."

"The thirty-day cooling-off period is almost over. Why does he still have to appear in my life like a ghost, tormenting me and disgusting me in all kinds of ways? What the hell does he want?"