Yasmin went silent on the other end of the line. She was either too shocked or too thrilled to speak. After all, only my divorce would clear the way for her to take my place.

I hung up and sat before the coffee table, quietly waiting for Timothy to return. However, after waiting all night, it wasn't he who came—it was his assistant, Linda Johnson.

The moment she walked in, I sensed her hostility toward me. She had been Timothy's assistant for three years, and I had a vague feeling her affection for him went beyond professional.

She seemed smug when she saw me looking exhausted and worn out from a sleepless night. She said arrogantly, "Mr. Grant has kept you by his side for nearly four years. You must be feeling pretty awful now that Ms. Beech is about to become Mrs. Grant, right?"

"Kept" me?

Ha!

My marriage to Timothy was indeed a well-kept secret.

Four years ago, all the Grant family elders had been against Timothy marrying me because of my humble background. In the end, I had compromised, agreeing to just register our marriage without having a wedding.

Aside from those who were closest to us, no one knew that we were married.

Back then, Timothy had looked at me with heartache, stroking my hair and saying he was sorry I had to endure such treatment. He had sworn that once he secured his inheritance from the Grant family, he would give me the grand wedding I deserved.

But the truth was that I was still waiting for that wedding long after he'd gained the right to his inheritance. That was why Linda thought I was simply his mistress.

She looked at me haughtily and said, "Mr. Grant had me investigate the source of yesterday's scandal about Ms. Beech. It turns out your company is the one that leaked the news. You can't possibly be unaware of this since you're the editor-in-chief of the entertainment section, right?"

If one wanted to pin something on someone, they would always find an excuse for it.

Timothy hadn't bothered explaining anything to me despite his affair. Instead, he had pinned his scandal on me.

I said curtly, "I didn't do it."

Linda snorted. "The evidence is right there. Just admit it and part ways with Mr. Grant amicably. You don't want to end up getting thrown out and turn the situation into something ugly, do you?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, I shot to my feet and slapped her hard across the face. She froze and clutched her cheek while staring at me in disbelief.

I threw the divorce agreement at her and turned away. "It's none of your business how things are between me and Timothy! Get out!"

Linda's eyes widened in shock when she saw the divorce agreement. "You and Mr. Grant are married?"

But then, remembering that Timothy and Yasmin were already together, she gritted her teeth and bared them in a feral grin. "Mr. Grant has given me full authority to handle this.

"If you don't admit to leaking the news, you'll have to kneel in the chapel and reflect on your actions. You can get up only after you've come to your senses. Ms. Beech is still crying over this matter, you know!"

I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this. Timothy had cheated, yet I was the one who had to reflect?

Linda continued, "You can refuse, but don't forget that your comatose mother's life depends on a cardiopulmonary support device developed by Grant Corporation. It won't be available on the market for another month. Mr. Grant can have it shut off at any moment, and your mother will die!"

Timothy was crueler than I had imagined. He knew that my mother was the only living blood relative I had left in this world!

I ultimately caved and fell to my knees on the cold floor in the private chapel. The faint scent of ambergris filled the room. It was the same scent that clung to Timothy and permeated every inch around me.

Never had I been more clear-headed than at that moment—I wanted a divorce from Timothy.

The housekeeper, Laura Smith, anxiously pleaded on my behalf. "Ms. Johnson, Mrs. Grant can't kneel like this! She has bad knees. This will only make them worse!"

Three years ago, after losing our daughter, Timothy had merely offered a few half-hearted words of comfort before flying around the world, claiming that it was for work.

What he didn't know was that I had spent countless nights kneeling in this chapel, asking the heavens whether they could return my daughter to me.

I should have gotten proper rest during my postpartum period, yet I'd knelt here day after day, barely eating or drinking. That had left me with lasting damage.

During that time, there had been endless rainy days, leading to my being diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. Even the doctor was puzzled by how I could have such a condition when I was so young. He said that it was irreversible and that I could only manage the pain with medication on rainy days.

Even Laura knew all of this, but Timothy didn't.

When Laura's pleas to Linda fell on deaf ears, she couldn't take it anymore and said to me, "I'm calling Mr. Grant right now!"

I gritted my teeth and endured the piercing pain in my knees, saying, "Laura, you're not allowed to call him."

Before, I'd kept these things from Timothy because I hadn't wanted him to share my pain. Now, there was just no need to let him know. He wouldn't care, anyway.

Laura didn't listen to me and called him. This time, Timothy still wasn't the one to answer the phone. Instead, a young girl's voice rang out. "Who is this? Daddy's shopping for clothes with Mommy!"

I smiled bitterly. At some point, Timothy had changed his phone's passcode and barely let me touch it. I had originally thought it was because he was protective of his privacy, but now I knew the truth—his mistress and daughter could freely use his phone. I was the only one who couldn't.

Laura froze. Then, she double-checked the number to make sure that she hadn't misdialed. Seeing my expression, she immediately understood what had happened and hurriedly hung up.

I forced a faint smile.

It wasn't until my knees started bleeding that Linda sneered and turned to leave. As she walked out, she threw one last threat at me. "I won't tell Mr. Grant about this since you've shown a good attitude by repenting."

After she left, Laura quickly helped me back to my room. Each step sent sharp pain through my body, making me gasp.

She was indignant on my behalf. "Mr. Grant has gone too far! How could he make you kneel there for hours while he was out shopping with another woman? And that girl…"

She trailed off, unable to bring herself to finish her sentence. She looked at me with concern.

I smiled weakly. "Could you grab the first-aid kit for me?"

Not long after she left, I heard familiar footsteps outside. Timothy was back, and I heard his conversation with Laura.

"Why do you need the first-aid kit?" he asked.

"Mrs. Grant knelt in the chapel for hours. Her knees are injured."

"Is she that delicate?" His tone was skeptical. He clearly thought that Laura and I were scheming to elicit his sympathy.

Laura mustered the courage to say, "Ms. Johnson bullied her. She kicked away the cushions and made Mrs. Grant kneel on the floor for ages."

Timothy's voice grew colder as he asked, "Who told her to do that?"

"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!"

Timothy's arrival interrupted Mom. He was as polite and courteous as ever, yet he carried an air of innate superiority. He said, "Peter, Elizabeth. Sorry to keep you waiting."

I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Fortunately, he didn't embarrass my parents or make them feel humiliated.

"No, it's fine. We just got here. We were chatting with Josie, so we didn't wait long at all!"

"You can go ahead and finish up whatever you were doing if you're not done. We're fine just talking here."

I lowered my head. "Come on, Mom. Let's eat."

Timothy sat at the head of the dining table. My parents and I sat on either side of him.

Dad looked hesitant as he carefully scrutinized Timothy's expression. His tone was almost groveling as he finally said, "Timothy, I have a favor to ask…"

Timothy said, "I know. York Group has been facing some difficulties lately. Don't worry about the funding. Did you bring the contract?"

Dad nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, of course."

Timothy said, "I'll sign it later tonight, and Josie can send it back to you tomorrow. The funds will be transferred to York Group by Friday at the latest."

His words instantly lifted a weight off both Mom's and Dad's shoulders. Their faces broke into relieved smiles as they thanked him profusely.

"Josie is my wife. It's only right for me to help her family through tough times," Timothy said.

His words dispelled Mom's earlier doubts. Being a straightforward person, she didn't beat around the bush when she spoke. She smiled warmly and said, "Seeing you and Josie doing so well puts my mind at ease!

"When I saw the news about Yasmin Beech's sugar daddy yesterday, I actually thought it might be you. The worry had kept me up all night!"

Timothy and I stiffened at her words, but we quickly changed the subject.

After they left, I slipped the divorce agreement in with the last page of Dad's contract and brought them to the study.

…

In the study, Timothy was handling work emails at his desk. The warm light outlined his cold features. I used to adore this focused, serious side of him.

I sighed softly and handed him the contract, saying, "This is the contract my dad asked me to give you to sign. Take a look at it, please."

He glanced at me and smiled when he saw that I wasn't arguing with him anymore. "So, you've finally learned where to draw the line."

"Yeah. Thanks for helping my family." I thanked him, swallowing my grief.

Before signing, Timothy said, "By the way, I need to tell you something. The media's been too nosy lately, so I'm planning to move Yasmin and Daphne in here. Horizon Bay is the most private villa district in Seavale, so it's safer for them to stay here."

A suffocating pain gripped my heart. How could I have forgotten that he was a shrewd businessman? Every favor he gave came with a price. He hadn't helped the York family for nothing.

I forced out a single word. "Fine."

He continued, "Also, I'd like Daphne and Yasmin to stay in the master bedroom. We want to give Daphne a sense of—"

"Yeah, you don't need to explain anything. I get it," I interrupted. "I'll move to the guest room. The master bedroom is yours and hers."

Timothy didn't even belong to me anymore. Why would I care about a bedroom?

I pointed to the contract after agreeing to his terms. "Can you sign now? It's urgent."

Timothy didn't say anything else and started signing.

The further he went, the more nervous I got—the last page was the divorce agreement I'd slipped in.