I'm Done: Sold Out for His Bastard Daughter

I said nothing and stepped into Rosy's room. Her face was flushed bright red from the fever.

I stripped off her clothes, wiped her palms and neck with alcohol, and then gave her some fever medicine. The fever broke quickly after that.

The moment she opened her eyes, Julian yanked me aside and scooped her up. "Sweetheart, you gave me quite a fright. Are you still uncomfortable?"

Rosy's gaze was still a little dazed, but she instinctively wrapped her arms around Julian's neck.

In her soft, childish voice, she murmured, "Daddy, thank you for taking care of me."

Julian smiled. "It's nothing. As long as you're healthy, I don't mind doing whatever it takes."

I stood to the side, laughing until tears fell.

The two of them turned to look at me.

I fixed my gaze on Rosy and said, "Rosy, it's me who's been taking care of you. He did nothing. For the past five years, I've raised and loved you like my own daughter. What does he have to do with that? He's just busy remembering the mother who gave birth to you and then left this world."

Julian's face gradually twisted with anger, as if it could set the whole world on fire. "Naomi, have you lost your mind?"

He covered Rosy's ears and glared at me.

I let my expression calm and forced a small, controlled smile. "I've made my decision. Julian, the divorce papers will be delivered to your office. Sign them without delay. After that, you can take that memorial plaque home and be with her openly."

As I left that room, a surprising relief washed over me. I had endured enough. That night, I began packing my things.

Julian was truly angry. After putting Rosy to bed, he went straight to his room, ignoring me like he always had.

Back when the company was just starting, I had held a substantial number of initial shares. Even though Julian later deliberately diluted them, what remained in my hands was enough to tip the balance of power in the company.

As I sifted through my things, I discovered a drawer overflowing with letters. I opened one at random—it was filled with his words to Vivian.

Every letter mentioned our son and me. Only then did I finally understand the depth of his favoritism.

"I've raised our daughter well. Don't worry, Naomi and her son won't harm her. Rosy can say 'Mommy' now. Every night, I show her your photo and tell her that you are her mother. Naomi is just a housekeeper taking care of her."

Every line cut through me like a blade.

The fact that Rosy was his biological daughter churned my stomach. Nausea overwhelmed me, and I bent over to vomit. I had given everything, walked through hardships alongside him, and yet ten years of marriage were nothing but lies.

I forced back the overwhelming nausea and photographed every letter that could serve as evidence, then tore each one into pieces.

As the shredded paper scattered across the floor, Julian pushed the door open.

His expression hardened into a mixture of irritation and disgust. "Naomi, where's your sense of decency? Who told you to touch my things?"

I met his gaze calmly.

His frown deepened. "What are you staring at? Go and take care of Rosy."

In my hand, I still clutched the final letter he had written yesterday, in which he had even arranged for his burial with Vivian.

I smiled and tore the letter into fragments in front of him. "Julian, I hope you find happiness with that dead woman and your daughter. I'll let you have your love, and I hope you finally meet her and stay with her."