Chapter 55 Chapter 55
Benjamin carried her inside, stunning everyone in the room. Landon's eyes widened so much that he dropped the cigarette he had just put in his mouth. He grabbed Zach, who was sitting beside him, and asked, "Zach, am I seeing things?"
Zach ignored him, staring ahead blankly. His hand, which had been reaching for the girl in his arms, ended up on Landon's thigh. It began to stroke up and down, almost as if by instinct. Xena was the first to notice, pausing in surprise before quickly moving his hand to her own leg. Zach hadn't processed it yet. Seeing Xena nod toward Landon, he finally understood. He flashed her a grateful smile, hugged her, and shifted his hips to move further away from Landon.
In the crowd, Gia had been watching Benjamin and Grace intently. Her eyes held shock, jealousy, and resentment.
Ignoring the stares, Benjamin carried Grace upstairs to the bathroom. He set her down and said, "After your bath, I'll have Michael drive you home."
She lifted her head to meet his gaze, her voice tight. "Do we have to do it here again?"
Benjamin narrowed his eyes slightly as he studied her stiffened spine, her faintly trembling body, and the hand she used to brace herself against the sink. He shook his head. "No."
She seemed to exhale in relief, yet her voice remained icy. "Then please leave. Is that okay?"
Benjamin looked at her, smiled, and then turned and left.
The door closed. Suddenly drained of all strength, she slowly sank to her knees. It took her a moment to get up, undress, and step into the shower.
The water was scalding. Standing under the showerhead, she drenched herself from head to toe, wishing she could scrub away a layer of skin.
She had finally reached this point. Even though she had prepared herself, this moment felt excruciating.
After her shower, Benjamin was no longer in the bedroom. She descended the stairs to find Michael waiting on the landing. "Ms. Hill, Mr. Norman instructed me to escort you home."
The house remained chaotic and bustling. She glanced around briefly before lowering her head and walking out alone.
The car was already waiting outside. Michael had replaced the driver and was steering the vehicle through an unnamed side street to take her home.
When they arrived at her building, Grace looked up at her window. It was bright—noticeably brighter than the surrounding apartments—so conspicuous. She took a deep breath before climbing the stairs and pulling out her keys to unlock the door. The moment the door swung open, a choking cloud of smoke hit her in the face. Adrian didn't smoke, yet more than a dozen cigarette butts littered the floor beneath him. He was sitting on the sofa and looked up at her. His voice was raspy as he asked, "You're back?"
She nodded softly and turned to close the door. She hung up her coat and glanced at the ceiling, where every light was on. Nonchalantly, she asked him, "Why are all the lights on?"
As she spoke, she reached out to turn off a few lights. But the moment her hand touched the switch, Adrian called out, "Don't turn them off."
She paused and turned to look at him.
A bitter smile curved his lips. Slowly and softly, he said, "Grace, I always have to keep the lights a little brighter so you can find your way home."
Grace closed her eyes, certain she would cry this time. Surprisingly, her eyes remained dry.
She walked slowly to Adrian, crouched down, placed her hands on his knees, looked up at him, and called his name, "Adrian..."
Her hair was still damp, as if she had just showered—showered after being intimate with another man before coming home. Adrian's eyes were red, and his voice trembled as he asked, "You want a divorce, don't you?"
It took immense effort for her to nod. "Yes. Let's get divorced."
The corners of his lips turned up slightly. He asked her again, "Have you fallen in love with someone else? Look at me, Grace. Have you fallen in love with someone else?"
She lifted her head to look at him, struggling so hard to meet his gaze that she couldn't say "yes."
She slowly lowered her head, inch by inch, until her forehead touched his knee. “Don’t ask anymore. Don't ask, okay? Adrian, let's take a break. If it's possible later, we can be together again, okay?”
Her answer made his eyes light up as if he saw a glimmer of hope. He gripped her shoulders with both hands and forced her to lift her head. Then he asked, "You still love me, don't you? Grace, you still love me! Who is that man who made you lose your way for a moment? Who was the man who called my phone?"
Grace couldn't answer. She couldn't bring herself to answer. Just tonight, in her despair, she had considered telling Adrian everything and sharing her suffering with him.
But as her mind gradually cooled, fear crept back in. She was afraid—afraid that Adrian would be in danger and that he wouldn't be able to bear it, going looking for Benjamin to fight.
No husband could bear to see his wife suffer such humiliation. None.
But she couldn't send him to his death. His life mattered so much more—a hundred times, a thousand times more—than hers did. She needed him alive. Even if he hated her or fell in love with another woman, as long as he lived, she would be content.
As if sensing her conflict, Adrian tightened his grip on her and said in a deep voice, "Grace, we promised to trust each other. I've always trusted you. Do you still trust me?"
"Divorce. I only want a divorce," she murmured, the words slipping from her lips mechanically, all emotion forcibly stripped away. "I don't love you anymore, Adrian. You said that if I stopped loving you, you'd give me my freedom."
He stared at her blankly. After a long moment, he laughed self-mockingly and murmured, “So that's how it is. When you asked me that question, were you already preparing for this moment?”
He released his grip and gently pushed her aside. Rising to his feet, he looked down at her. “Fine, Grace. I'll give you your freedom."
The door opened, then slammed shut and locked behind him. Grace remained kneeling before the sofa, her head bowed and her body motionless.
The next three days were holidays. On the afternoon of the third day, Adrian returned. He looked thinner, but his spirits were high, and he was neat. When he came back, Grace was cooking soup in the kitchen. For a moment, it felt as though life had returned to its former rhythm.
He leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching her until she paused her work. Then he asked softly, "You've decided, haven't you?"
Grace stood frozen for a moment before replying, "Yes."
He paused again before asking, "You won't regret it, right?"
"No, I won't." She answered, turning to smile at him.
He returned a faint smile. "Then come out here. Let's sign the divorce papers."
"All right—" She slowly untied her apron and followed him into the living room. She watched as he pulled a divorce agreement from his briefcase. He asked her, "Take a look. Is there anything you disagree with?"
It was a thin sheet of paper with only a few short lines of text. He wasn't asking for much—except for the car he drove; everything else was left to her. Grace read it word by word, hoping that reading slowly would make the nightmare end. But there were only a few words. No matter how slowly she read, she would eventually finish. She took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and was about to sign her name when Adrian suddenly snatched the paper away.