Divorce Finally Made Him Break

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?"