Chapter 98
This is Sarah's Instagram, posted an hour ago.
In the picture was a calligraphy inscription on the background wall of a company lobby.
The handwriting was bold and powerful, flowing smoothly, carrying an undeniable sense of authority and presence.
At the signature, there was George's name, along with a bright red personal seal.
I stared at that familiar handwriting, my heart felt like it was being squeezed, tightening bit by bit, suffocation spreading through me.
I'd always known George's calligraphy was excellent.
He'd practiced for many years, his brushstrokes naturally distinctive.
I just never imagined that one day, I'd see his beautiful calligraphy on Sarah's Instagram—not written for me, not for the Smith Group, but as a congratulatory inscription for Sarah's uncle Tom's newly opened company, the very one being used to suppress my mother's business.
He was giving my mother the cold shoulder, avoiding her, delaying the signing, making me wait like a fool in his office, letting his staff mock me...
Turns out, he was personally writing an inscription to support Tom's company.
The lively comment section was even more glaring.
[Mr. Smith's calligraphy is so beautiful! So commanding!]
[Sarah is so lucky to know such an amazing friend!]
[This inscription carries real weight! Gold Travel Company is about to blow up!]
[Am I the only one who noticed the signature says George? Is that George from the Smith Group? Sarah, your relationship with him must be really good! So jealous!]
[Blogger, is this man your husband? Looking at your Instagram, he appears so often, and it always feels like you two have something special going on!]
Sarah quickly replied to this comment asking about their relationship: [No, everyone please don't speculate, we're just good friends, he just looks after me.]
However, netizens have sharp eyes.
[Good friends? Good friends can be this close? Attending a family business opening and personally writing an inscription?]
Looking at these doubts and comments hinting at the truth, an indescribable impulse surged within me.
I logged out of my main account and quickly logged into a burner account I'd barely ever used, my fingers rapidly typing a line in the comment box: [This man is married, his wife is someone else, just so you know.]
I hit send.
Then I exited Instagram, closed the app, and didn't look to see what waves my comment would create.
It didn't matter anymore.
I just didn't want to see them so brazenly pretending and showing off, that's all.
My idea of confronting him at the Old Smith Mansion died the moment I saw that Instagram post.
George was probably still in Shadow City, or celebrating the grand opening with Sarah—how could he possibly be back at the Old Smith Mansion?
Going there would just be a wasted trip, humiliating myself.
After thinking it over, I placed my last hope on Milly's kindergarten.
The kindergarten had an important parent-child activity coming up that required both parents to attend.
In my past life, George never attended any of Milly's activities, but in this life, perhaps he'd show up to maintain appearances, or because Violet demanded it?
On the day of the activity, I took time off in advance and came to the kindergarten with a faint glimmer of hope.
The activity venue was decorated warmly, children's laughter rising and falling.
I held Milly's hand, my eyes scanning through the crowd, searching for that cold figure.
However, when the activity was about to start, Steven showed up.
The moment Steven saw me, his eyes flickered away: "Mrs. Smith, you're here too."
Looking at him like that, the last tiny flame of hope in my heart was completely extinguished, leaving only deep irony.
Even for a parent-child activity, George couldn't be bothered to go through the motions—he just sent his assistant.
Of course, to him, Milly's parent-child activity was probably something that didn't matter at all.
I didn't question Steven or lose my temper.
I just looked at him calmly, which made him increasingly uncomfortable—fine beads of sweat even appeared on his forehead.
"Where's George?" I asked directly, my voice flat and calm.
"Mr. Smith has a very important international video conference at the last minute and really can't get away, so he asked me to..." Steven tried to explain, his voice dry.
"That's enough." I cut him off, not wanting to hear these same old excuses.
I took out my phone and directly dialed another number.
It was a number I rarely called—George's real, not publicly disclosed private cell phone number.
Before, I'd only try calling it in the most urgent, most desperate moments, and the result was usually silence.
But now, I couldn't care about that anymore.
The phone rang a few times and was actually answered.
"What is it?" George's voice came through, carrying a hint of mild displeasure at being disturbed, and a barely noticeable confusion.
He seemed surprised I was calling this number, too.
I didn't make small talk, getting straight to the point: "George, when will you be available at the office? My mother's company needs your signature to confirm the golden tourism route promotion plan, and the remaining investment payment also needs to be settled."
"After you sign and the payment is made, my mother and I will absolutely never actively contact you again for any reason."
On the other end, George was silent for a few seconds.
In that brief silence, I could even imagine him slightly furrowing his brow.
Then he spoke, his tone carrying that usual flatness: "For this matter, I'll have Steven coordinate with you to handle it. He'll be responsible for signing and the subsequent payment."
After saying that, without waiting for any further reaction from me, the call was decisively hung up.
I stood there holding my phone, stunned, as if his casual words were still echoing in my ears.
Have Steven handle it.
So, when it was something that could have been arranged with Steven with just one sentence, why did he give us the cold shoulder before?
Why avoid us?
Why make my mother hit walls again and again, make me wait like a joke in his office?
The answer seemed self-evident.
I remembered not long ago, Sarah had wanted to get into Star Tech and even absurdly suggested I be her assistant, but was mercilessly rejected by William.
William was furious at the time and specifically told me about it.
So, was George taking revenge for Sarah?
Was he retaliating against me for not satisfying Sarah's demands?
Sarah must have embellished the story to George, making him think I'd said something bad that led to William rejecting her.
So George used this method to make things difficult for my mother's company, to let me know what happens when I cross Sarah?
For Sarah's sake, he really would do anything.
He couldn't separate business from personal matters, was vindictive, and would even use business tactics to suppress innocent people.
My heart felt like it was submerged in the coldest icy pool, where even anger seemed powerless.
In the blink of an eye, it was Luna's fiftieth birthday.
Because of Violet's insistence and single-handed arrangements, what was supposed to be a simple dinner turned into a fairly large-scale birthday banquet.
Quite a few guests came, mostly Violet's old friends and acquaintances, plus some people the Smith family did business with.
The scene was lively, but for my mother who'd always kept a low profile, it felt somewhat awkward and uncomfortable.
She wore the appropriate dress I'd specially picked out for her, with a proper smile on her face, entertaining guests from all sides, but I could see the fatigue in her eyes.
Flora had specifically requested time off from the hospital and came wearing a festive red jacket.
Although she'd lost a lot of weight from her illness and looked rather pale, her smile was unusually bright, her eyes shining, constantly greeting people she knew and thanking everyone for coming to Mom's birthday.
I pulled Flora to a quieter corner and said with concern: "Flora, you really didn't need to take time off to come out. Your health is what matters. The doctor said your surgery is next week—you should be resting well at the hospital."
Mom also came over, her face full of worry: "That's right, Flora, you should go back and rest. Grace and I are here."
But Flora waved her hand, laughing: "On such a happy day, how could I not come? I'm soaking up your good fortune—maybe my surgery will go smoothly too!"
She spoke lightly, but Mom and I both understood that she was actually scared inside.
Scared of the upcoming surgery, scared of the unknown results, scared of leaving us.
And weren't we just as scared?
It's just that none of us dared voice that fear, only covering it up with smiles and keeping busy.
Milly was also dressed like a little princess today, obediently snuggling up to Flora, sweetly calling out to her.
Flora happily took out the gift she'd prepared long ago and stuffed it into Milly's hands, wanting to hug her.
Worried Flora's body couldn't handle it, I quickly had Milly kiss Flora's cheek instead.
Flora didn't mind at all and smiled even more happily.
Flora looked around the lively banquet hall, her gaze searching through the crowd, then quietly asked me: "Grace, where's George? And where's that little brat? Today is your mother's birthday—neither of them came?"