Divorce Finally Made Him Break

"Wasn't it on your orders?" Laura asked apprehensively.

Timothy must have made a call after she spoke. His voice was cold, and his authoritative tone left no room for argument. "Linda, go to the finance department tomorrow to settle your accounts. Don't bother coming to work anymore."

Then, he walked into my room with the first-aid kit. His face was impassive as he sat on the edge of the bed and took my ankle, placing my leg on his lap. "It'll hurt a little, but bear with it."

His eyes lingered on the dried blood on my knees. He studied it before carefully disinfecting the wound with an iodine swab.

If those photos hadn't shattered every expectation I had of him, his focused expression might have fooled me into thinking that he was the same Timothy who had loved me long ago.

But last night, he was with Yasmin. He had spent all night with her.

In fact, perhaps he had been with her during all those days and nights he claimed to be on business trips for the past three years.

A wave of nausea hit me. I quickly pulled my leg back and scooted away from him. I grabbed a new swab to disinfect the wound myself. The sharp, distinct pain in my knee reminded me that there was no turning back for Timothy and me.

I avoided meeting his eyes and focused on bandaging my knee as I said, "Timothy, let's get divorced."

It was a decision that I had mulled over all night, one that felt like it tore my heart out. Yet, it didn't even elicit a flicker of surprise from him. His cold, handsome face remained impassive as he asked, "Divorce? Are you sure you can let go of what we have?"

After all, I had known him since I was five, when the York family adopted me. From then on, I was like his little shadow, and my world revolved around him.

He looked at me with disdain. "I can overlook you tossing these words out in a tantrum once or twice, but did you stop to think about the consequences if I were to agree next time?"

I swallowed my grief and said bitterly, "You have a child with another woman. What makes you think I'd still cling to you?"

Timothy narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized me. "You know about that?"

I gave a pained smile. My voice was thick with emotion as I said, "Your daughter with your mistress looks about three. That means that she was born shortly after our daughter died. Am I right?"

A strange expression flickered across his icy face, but he neither confirmed nor denied it. The silence was deafening.

After a long pause, he frowned and asked, "Are you that bothered by Daphne's existence?"

So, the young girl's name was Daphne.

I said weakly, "If her existence just satisfies your need to be called 'Daddy', then I can let this go."

Timothy suddenly stepped closer and leaned down. He braced his hands on either side of me, trapping me between his arms. I pushed against him, but in my current state, I had no strength to make him budge.

He leaned closer, his cool voice now laced with a strange allure as he whispered in my ear, "Compared to others calling me 'Daddy', I'd rather hear it from you."

I instantly flushed.

Before his sudden devotion to being religious, we had been like any other loving couple, often getting lost in each other. How many times had he coerced me into calling him "Daddy" during those moments of passion?

But now, thinking back on that, I wanted to bite my tongue off in shame.

Timothy, seemingly pleased with my reaction, smirked and asked, "Do you remember now?"

My cheeks burned. But as I looked at his familiar yet strange face, a sudden wave of calm washed over me. In an even, deliberate tone, I said, "There's no going back, Timothy. Whatever happened between us in the past will never happen again in the future."

A flicker of something crossed his handsome face. He straightened up so he was no longer pinning me down, his tone condescending as he said, "Just play your role as my wife. Playing hard to get won't work on me."

I couldn't take it anymore. I was ready to pull out the evidence I had bought for ten million dollars and lay it all out for him in a negotiation. Maybe then he'd see how serious I was about the divorce.

"Timothy, sign the divorce agreement, and we can part amicably. Otherwise, I'll—"

Before I could finish speaking, his phone rang. He answered it, and his tone was relatively gentle as he said, "Yeah, I'm home. Alright."

After hanging up, he said to me, "Your parents are coming over soon."

The words I was about to say caught in my throat. By "parents", Timothy was referring to my adoptive parents, Peter York and Elizabeth Brown, who treated me like their own.

I could wait until they left to discuss the divorce. Otherwise, it would be awkward if they arrived to see us in the middle of a discussion.

At my silence, Timothy went to the private chapel, ignoring me. Meanwhile, I headed to the kitchen to help Laura prepare dinner.

…

Soon, Mom and Dad arrived.

"Mom, Dad, you're here! Perfect timing—dinner's ready. Come on. Sit." I forced a smile, pretending as though nothing was wrong.

Noticing my limp, Mom asked with concern, "What's wrong with your leg?"

I was afraid they would find out the truth, so I brushed it off. "I tripped and fell. It's no big deal."

Dad said dotingly, "You're always so clumsy. Look at you, tripping over yourself when you're all grown up. Have you been to the hospital?"

"Yeah. The doctor said I'm fine." I quickly lied.

Mom looked around. "Where's Timothy?"

I faltered at the mention of him. "He's in the chapel. I'll go get him."

Dad stopped me, sounding cautious as he said, "No, it's fine. We'll wait."

The humility in his voice stung my heart. Although the York and Grant families had long had close ties, my brother, Jonathan York, wasn't cut out for business. The York family's business had declined in recent years, and they were now on the verge of being pushed out of Seavale's elite circles.

Meanwhile, after Timothy took over leading the Grant family and Grant Corporation, the company had aggressively expanded, swallowing up several businesses and growing its empire.

In recent years, if not for the Grant family keeping the York family afloat, we would've been devoured by our competitors long ago.

That was why Mom's and Dad's attitude toward Timothy had become increasingly deferential. They'd gone from acting like his elders to respecting him as if he were their superior.

Perhaps it was because I'd upset him, but Timothy had yet to emerge from his chapel even after Mom and Dad had been here for nearly two hours. I sent Laura to inform him of their arrival, but there was no sign of him.

It felt like he was deliberately snubbing my parents.

Mom seemed to sense something amiss and said worriedly, "Josie, I saw some news yesterday about Yasmin Beech having a sugar daddy. There wasn't a clear photo, but the man's back looked a bit like Timothy's. It… It's not really him, is it?"

My heart sank, and my eyes burned as tears threatened to spill.

Just then, Laura hurried over. "Mr. Grant is here!"