CHAPTER 44: CHAPTER 44: I’VE MOVED OUT, AND TIMOTHY XAVIER IS PANICKING! [MUST-READ CLIMAX!]

Early the next morning, I had just arrived downstairs at the dining room when I heard Mrs. Ellison talking to my brother.

"Thank goodness you were only fooling us! If someone like Serena Sawyer actually became my daughter-in-law, I could never tolerate it!"

Mr. Ellison chimed in, "Exactly! I always thought those rumors about her had to be paparazzi making things up. Turns out, they’re all true! Clearly, the entertainment industry really is a cesspool!"

Mrs. Ellison looked at my brother with utmost seriousness and said, "Declan, let me be clear today! Even if you never marry, you absolutely cannot bring an actress home as your wife!"

Something flickered across my brother’s face, and as soon as he saw me, he quickly changed the subject: "Zoe’s here, let’s eat breakfast. We’re all hungry!"

I glanced at him, my gaze lingering.

I was certain—my brother’s relationship with Serena was far from simple.

I just didn’t have any evidence yet, but sooner or later, the fox always shows its tail.

During breakfast, Mrs. Ellison looked worried. As she served me food, she asked, "Zoe, did you call Timothy last night? Did you ask if there’s been some misunderstanding here?"

For once, I stopped hiding it and told my parents, "Timothy Xavier has been with Serena Sawyer for a long time. He and that woman... they have a daughter together. A month ago, all of them moved into my house."

As I spoke, I watched my brother’s expression from the corner of my eye.

He looked calm, but his hands clenched the chopsticks so tightly his knuckles were white.

Mr. Ellison slammed his chopsticks down hard and said, "Why didn’t you tell us about this sooner! How much have you suffered on your own, child?"

I gave a bitter smile and replied, "I didn’t want you worrying. And to be honest, the Ellison Family’s business has only done so well over the years thanks to him."

Mrs. Ellison’s eyes filled with tears of pain. "Zoe, we’ve let you down."

...

After breakfast, Mrs. Ellison brought me to a little attic in the backyard of the villa.

Returning here, it felt almost as if a lifetime had gone by.

Mrs. Ellison smiled and said, "Remember this? Your secret base when you were little."

I curled my lips in a bittersweet smile and nodded, "I remember."

I was five then, my mother had just been in a car crash and was unconscious, and the Ellison Family took me in.

Facing these strangers, I was terrified. This tiny attic, this confined space, gave me the safety I needed.

Mrs. Ellison said that back then, I was like a scared kitten, sometimes hiding in the closet when people came in.

Timothy Xavier saw me for the first time when I was curled up in that closet, clutching a battered stuffed doll my mom had given me.

That day, my brother stood in front of the closet, troubled, and said to Timothy, "See? My parents brought home a little sister for me, but she’s no fun at all. Why don’t you stay at my place this summer? We can play together—I just bought a ton of model airplanes."

That’s how Timothy Xavier stayed, spending the whole summer at the Ellison Family’s house.

From the next day on, he came to that little attic daily. He knew I was scared and didn’t like talking, so unlike my brother, he didn’t keep teasing me until I cried.

He was always quiet—one day he’d slip some beautifully wrapped candies in my backpack, the next, leave a piece of strawberry cake on my table. Day after day, never repeating the same treat.

Until one day, I climbed out of the closet and gently tugged his sleeve, handing him a nearly-melted piece of chocolate from my palm.

He ate it happily, telling me it was the best chocolate he’d ever tasted.

The wind blew in through the gauze windows, making the wind chimes sway; every wind chime held one of my wishes.

Every wish had been hung there by Timothy himself, from childhood until now—except for the last. All the other wishes, he’d made come true.

But the last wind chime carried this wish: I wanted to be happy with Timothy Xavier for a lifetime.

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest.

The boy who once swore to protect me had long since been washed away by time. The man left in his place, twisted and unrecognizable—who was he now?

Then Mrs. Ellison gently took my hand, her voice soft as she coaxed, "Zoe, every marriage is messy. Your father and I have been married all our lives—there’s been plenty of trouble too. Sometimes, as women, we have to turn a blind eye."

I stayed silent. Mrs. Ellison went on, "As long as you hold onto the role of Mrs. Xavier, and keep Timothy’s heart with you, Serena Sawyer at most will always be just a mistress. That child is nothing but an illegitimate son. They’ll never be respectable!"

That kind of old-fashioned thinking isn’t going to change just because of a word or two from me.

Even though I was determined to leave Timothy, I told Mrs. Ellison, "Mom, I’ll think about what you just said. I’d like to be alone here for a bit."

Mrs. Ellison thought I’d listened and smiled, "Alright, I won’t disturb you."

After she left, I scanned the little attic one last time, committing its features to memory.

Then I began yanking down the wind chimes hanging all around the room, one by one.

Each time I pulled one down, it felt like reliving the pain of Timothy Xavier’s betrayal—raw and excruciating.

But if I couldn’t carve away rotten bones, how could new flesh ever grow back?

Later, I packed those wind chimes in a beautiful gift box, with my signed divorce agreement laid on top.

Because I knew, Timothy’s birthday was coming soon.

Since he’s already made things with Serena public, maybe this divorce agreement is the very best birthday gift for him.

After all, only if I leave on my own can he give the woman he loves a place at his side, as soon as possible.

...

The day before Timothy’s birthday, Mrs. Ellison pleaded with me again. "Zoe, a marriage can’t survive this kind of cold war. Men have to save face, but someone has to compromise first. Maybe, this time—since it’s his birthday, you two could patch things up?"

I still didn’t understand why the one to compromise had to be me—the one who hadn’t done anything wrong.

But I didn’t blame her.

Whatever the reason, the Ellison Family has already treated me more generously than I ever deserved.

Still, when I dragged my suitcase out of that house alone, my heart felt hollow and sad.

Back at The Xavier Manor, Nanny Lowell was ecstatic!

As if she’d expected that I loved Timothy so much, I’d forgive everything he’d done.

"Ma’am, you’re back! All the ingredients for Sir’s birthday tomorrow are ready! And everything for baking’s been set out, too!"

Because every year, I would prepare all the dishes and the birthday cake for Timothy myself.

I’d spend the whole day busy in the kitchen, just for his moment of blowing out candles at night.

This year, Nanny Lowell did the same as always, setting everything out, waiting for me to cook tomorrow.

I glanced at the table piled with ingredients and said evenly, "You can do it for him. I’m a bit tired."

Nanny Lowell paused, uneasy. "For the cake... I’m worried sir won’t be happy. You’re much better than me at baking."

"Just buy him one from a bakery."

I brushed her off and went to the study to find Timothy Xavier.

He was busy on his computer.

When he’s working, he wears glasses; the sharpness in his eyes takes on a more refined air.

I used to love watching him this way, so focused, so serious—I couldn’t help but stare a moment longer.

Only when Timothy’s gaze shifted from the screen to my face did I snap back to myself.

His eyes were cold and remote, and he asked, "Are you done acting up?"

Ha, sometimes a man’s indifference really can drive you mad!

When will he ever understand—I haven’t been "acting up", not once?

I just want this to be over.

"Tomorrow’s your birthday."

I walked over, handed him the gift box filled with wind chimes and the signed divorce papers. "Happy birthday."

Timothy looked stunned. Evidently, he hadn’t expected me to come just to give him a gift.

After all, the scandal with Serena is everywhere right now—everyone’s talking.

Yet I hadn’t argued, hadn’t yelled, hadn’t said a word about it.

He took the box, so ’gracious’ as to offer me an out: "Now that you’re back, stop stirring up trouble. I won’t tolerate you every time, you know. Understand?"

A sense of helplessness pressed in on all sides.

I didn’t even have the strength left to fight, and replied blandly, "I’m going back to work in a few days. I’ll probably be living near the office from now on, not coming home. Just wanted to let you know."

At that, Timothy frowned hard.

He let out a short laugh and said, "So you’re running away from home again?"

Back when things were good between us, I really did storm out after a fight.

Every time I left, Timothy would find me within six hours, and coax me back home.

I used to love that feeling—being the one he treasured, being fearless.

But now I know perfectly well—I’m no longer his favorite.

So, I wasn’t expecting him to ask me to stay, or to come after me ever again.

As I headed out, I looked into the deep, dark eyes of his and said, "Make sure you open your present. I think you’ll like it."

He spoke coldly, "Zoe Ellison, don’t expect me to coax you back."

"Mm."

I gave him a faint, barely-there smile.

I’m letting him go.

And forgiving myself, too.

...

On Timothy Xavier’s birthday, I moved out of The Xavier Manor.

I found a furnished apartment through an agent, very close to the company.

I didn’t see Timothy when I left.

Later, I saw on X that he’d celebrated his birthday with Serena in some lavish Aurelia restaurant they’d rented out.

Tons of entertainment news accounts shared the photos; the comment section full of praise—"so sweet", "perfect match"!

I smiled.

He must have seen my divorce agreement.

So now, with Serena, he can be even more open, no need for secrecy.

Meanwhile, my foot had mostly healed, and I was back to work.

I had to rush back because all the major news outlets were talking about the Xavier Group’s delayed launch of their new cardiopulmonary support device.

It was all anyone was talking about.

I didn’t want to get involved in anything Xavier-related, but this device concerned my mom.

What I care about is: when will it launch?

What’s holding it up?

Right now, the media has all sorts of theories—who knows what’s real, what’s rumor?

After doing a ton of background research on the device, my journalistic instincts led me to focus on its developer.

The lead designer’s name is Miles Sawyer, with an academic record that’s frankly mind-boggling.

He was sent abroad at sixteen for undergrad—to some obscure foreign university—and not even in a field related to biotech.

In just two years, he graduated with his bachelor’s at eighteen.

After "polishing" his resume overseas, Miles went straight into University of Veridia’s "2+2" combined master’s/PhD program for international students. Four years later, he had a biomedical engineering PhD—a path ordinary people would need at least a decade for.

No wonder the "cardiopulmonary support device" hit trouble during review.

After all, with credentials as questionable as Miles’s, and without any proper background in biomedical device fundamentals, he somehow produced a high-tech device like this?

Hard not to be suspicious.

And these lab data and research notes from Miles—where did they come from?

As a journalist, the moment I hit upon this breakthrough I was thrilled, and called my supervisor Victoria Monroe right away.

I thought she’d get excited too, but she only said coolly, "Let’s talk when you come in to work tomorrow."

I was puzzled, but didn’t dwell on it.

Until I started digging into everything on Miles Sawyer, trying to find some clue for my story.

That’s when I realized—he’s actually Serena Sawyer’s older brother.

And it hit me: Victoria had once told me she’s in a relationship with Serena’s brother.

No wonder Victoria didn’t care about the direction of my investigation into Miles.

...

The next morning, just as I got to the office, Victoria dropped a pile of documents on my desk.

"Translate these English articles for me. I need them for tomorrow’s meeting."

I looked at the towering stack and frowned. "This much? All by the end of today?"

"If you don’t finish during work hours, finish after. Do I need to spell it out for you?"

Victoria’s attitude was terrible.

I caught on immediately. "So you’re dumping all this on me to stop me working on the Xavier Group’s support device story?"

Victoria snapped, "I’m your supervisor, you’re still on probation. If I say jump, you jump! Zoe Ellison, don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to—digging into this story just to get back at Serena Sawyer? You think if you bring down her brother, you’ll drag her down too?"