"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.

Fortunately, Timothy seemed to still have some faith in me. He only lifted the corner of each page and signed where needed without even reading the contract's contents.

When he signed the last page, which was the divorce agreement, my heart finally settled. I was afraid that he would realize what he'd done, so I quickly took the contract away as soon as he finished.

Back in the master bedroom, I carefully slipped the divorce agreement with Timothy's signature into the pages of a book for safekeeping.

It would take a month for the divorce to be finalized.

…

Later that night, I started packing to move out of the master bedroom.

When Timothy returned and saw me limping around, gathering my things to make way for his mistress and illegitimate daughter, he stopped me.

"Let Laura or the maids handle this," he said, his tone relatively gentle. "Once this blows over, they'll leave, and you can move back in. Don't worry. They won't stay long."

I let out a bitter laugh and swept a gaze over his serious face. "Should I be thanking you for your graciousness?"

His expression instantly turned cold.

I was just moving to a guest room, not into a new house. There wasn't much for me to pack. I grabbed some skincare products and clothes, but the most important thing was a small wooden urn from the top of the closet in the bedroom.

I didn't ask anyone to help me with it. I stood on a chair and carefully took the urn down myself. The child in those photos was Timothy's precious treasure, and this urn held mine.

But my treasure couldn't live freely like other children. It would stay forever in this urn, untouched by sunlight.

While I was retrieving it, Timothy was on the balcony, making a call. He meticulously instructed his assistant on the safest route to bring Yasmin and Daphne to the villa.

When he finished his call and came back in, he saw me clutching the urn. A trace of displeasure crossed his face. "Why are you taking that?"

His eyes held a hint of confusion.

I couldn't help but wonder whether he would still have cheated if our daughter hadn't died. Would our daughter have been his treasure, too?

The thought was gone in a flash. I didn't want to keep tormenting myself over a man like him.

As I turned to leave, Timothy grabbed my wrist. "I asked you a question. Why are you taking that?"

I looked at him icily. "Because this is the only thing in this house that belongs to me."

I didn't know whether my words had touched the last shred of his conscience, but he slowly loosened his grip.

I moved to the guest room and placed the urn in the safest spot. Then, I stared at it for a long time.

The next day at noon, Yasmin and Daphne were brought to the villa. Laura had just finished preparing lunch. It was a full spread of vegetarian dishes. No matter how varied or refined the dishes were, they were still vegetarian.

Neither Yasmin nor Daphne was used to it, but Yasmin seemed eager to please Timothy. Not only did she pretend to enjoy it, but she also coaxed and pressured Daphne to eat.

I scoffed. The glamorous TV star was nothing special after all. It was a good thing I wasn't her fan.

After tasting a few dishes, Timothy set down his cutlery, looking dissatisfied. "Were these ingredients freshly flown in today? The quinoa doesn't taste right, either."

Laura glanced at me awkwardly before explaining, "Mrs. Grant usually prepares your meals herself. She usually mixes other grains with the quinoa in precise proportions. She wasn't feeling well today, so I could only reproduce the recipes based on what I remember. I couldn't replicate the flavor."

Timothy probably hadn't realized how different the food would taste with someone else cooking. His gaze lingered on me, heavy with meaning, but I didn't offer to take over the cooking again.

After all, who would be foolish enough to pour time and effort into cooking for another woman's man?