Chapter 284
George didn't say anything more.
He slowly put down his phone and glanced at me.
That look was extremely complicated. He spoke in a detached tone: "Why did you tell Grandma? We agreed this was just between the two of us."
Looking at the coldness on his face, I suddenly felt it was somewhat laughable.
"Grandma's not stupid. She noticed long ago, she just didn't want to call it out."
"I told her to completely cut ties with the Smith family."
A rare flash of anger appeared on George's face: "You can't cut ties. As long as Milly has the Smith surname, you can't break away from the Smith family."
"Unless Milly really isn't my daughter."
"George," I began, my voice clear and somewhat cold in the quiet corner of the café, "have you never trusted me?"
I paused, meeting his suddenly darkening gaze, and continued asking:
"And you've never really believed that Milly is your child, have you?"
This question had weighed on my heart for too long.
From when Milly was born, from that distant, indifferent look in his eyes when he looked at Milly, from how he repeatedly let Milly down because of Jack, from how he allowed Sarah and others to maliciously speculate about Milly's parentage.
I knew then that the seed of doubt had long taken root in his heart.
George's lips pressed into a rigid line, his jawline tensed tight. He didn't immediately deny it, nor did he admit it.
But his silence already said everything.
He believed Sarah's manipulations, believed those groundless rumors, and perhaps even...
Earlier, when he was forced to accept this marriage, he had already condemned both me and the yet-unborn Milly as impure.
A fine, sharp pain spread through my chest, but it was quickly covered by a deeper coldness and sense of relief.
Good. This way, I could leave more thoroughly, with a clearer conscience.
Just as this suffocating silence and coldness spread through the air.
Behind me, a familiar and gentle voice suddenly came:
"Ms. Brown."
I turned around.
It was Mark.
Aaron was standing beside him.
The two had obviously just come down from the business club upstairs, seemingly having just finished a meeting.
Mark wore a well-tailored dark gray suit with no tie, his posture relaxed.
Aaron still had that gentle smile, as if nothing could shake him.
Mark's gaze first fell on me with a hint of concern, then shifted to George across from me, whose expression was extremely unpleasant. A flash of understanding crossed his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure.
He nodded slightly toward us, his tone natural:
"What a coincidence, didn't expect to run into you two here."
Aaron's gaze swept between the three of us, his eyes behind his glasses crinkling as he joked: "Is Ms. Brown discussing a deal with Mr. Smith? Why does this atmosphere not seem like a business discussion?"
His teasing made George's expression even darker.
I took a deep breath, suppressing the churning emotions in my heart, and explained:
"Mr. Hill, you've misunderstood. It's not about business, just some personal matters, having a chat with Mr. Smith."
I paused, my gaze sweeping past George's suddenly sharp look, not afraid at all.
The divorce agreement was already in hand, Violet knew about it—what did I have to fear?
Could George still use that agreement to pressure me?
"Grace!" George suddenly snapped in a low voice, his tone carrying barely suppressed anger and warning.
He probably hadn't expected me to so directly tear away that last shred of dignity between us in front of Mark and Aaron.
Especially since Mark was currently a potential business partner he was trying hard to win over.
Mark's gaze flickered almost imperceptibly, and the look he gave me carried an additional layer of emotion that was hard to read.
But he quickly resumed his gentle and courteous demeanor, nodding slightly at George:
"I see. Then we won't disturb you two handling private matters. Take your time."
With that, he prepared to leave with Aaron.
"Wait." George suddenly spoke up, stopping Mark.
He stood up, his tall frame carrying an oppressive presence, trying to regain control of the situation.
He looked at Mark, his tone recovering a businessman's composure, though if you listened carefully, you could still hear a trace of tension:
"Mr. Harris, since we've run into each other, why don't we step aside and talk about that new energy cooperation project I mentioned before? There are some details I'd like to confirm with Mr. Harris."
He wanted to use business to divert attention, to salvage some dignity, and to re-establish his status in front of Mark—not as a failed man whose ex-wife had just publicly exposed his messy private life.
However, Mark's response was beyond everyone's expectations.
He stopped, turned around, looked at George with calm eyes, and politely declined with a smile:
"Sorry, Mr. Smith."
He paused, and as George's expression changed slightly, he added clearly and composedly:
"I'm off the clock."
"After work hours," Mark's gaze seemed to casually sweep over me before returning to George's face, his tone gentle but carrying a clear sense of boundaries, "I don't discuss business."
George's expression instantly became extremely unpleasant.
He had probably never been refused so bluntly before, especially when he had taken the initiative and assumed the other party should show him respect.
Mark's words weren't just a refusal—they were more like a silent humiliation.
You can't even handle your private affairs properly, what right do you have to discuss business with me outside work hours?
Mark didn't look at him again, instead turning his gaze to me and asking naturally:
"Ms. Brown, are you finished talking with Mr. Smith? Did you drive here? It's not easy to get a cab around here. If you need, I can give you a ride?"
I was completely stunned.
I instinctively shook my head: "No need, Mr. Harris, I can just take a cab..."
"I'm heading that way anyway." Mark interrupted me, his tone gentle but brooking no refusal.
He glanced at the gradually darkening sky outside: "At