Chapter 3

Violette's POV

William's mother, Irene Grant, burst through the doorway and seized her son's hand in a desperate grip.

The moment Irene laid eyes on William, tears welled in her eyes. But before the surge of emotion could fully take hold, the scene before her extinguished it like a candle snuffed out mid-flame.

"William, what on earth are you doing? Apologize to Violette this instant!"

At that moment, Isabel emerged from the room as well. When Irene caught sight of her, her expression turned rigid.

William stared at his mother in disbelief.

"Mom, what are you talking about? You want me to apologize to her?" He gestured toward his own face. "She's the one who hit me! All these years I've been away from home, has she ever gone without a meal? She's been living in our estate, wearing our clothes, spending our money—and you want me to apologize to her?"

"Enough!"

Irene's eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

"Do you have any idea that Violette has been holding this family together all these years? Apologize to her now, or I'll consider myself as having no son at all!"

William stared at Irene in stunned silence. After a long pause, he let out a cold laugh.

"Mom, what are you even saying? She's a woman who didn't even finish business school—what could she possibly hold together? The Grant family has survived this long on the foundation Grandfather laid down. What does any of that have to do with Violette?"

"You—!"

Irene choked on her words, unable to form a coherent response.

Isabel stepped forward, her voice soft and placating. "William, all of this started because of me. Please don't divorce Violette, all right?"

William pulled her into his arms protectively.

"None of this has anything to do with you." He lifted his head to face Irene, his tone unyielding. "Mom, I respect you, but I can't listen to you on this. Isabel is carrying a Grant heir—your own grandson. You can't push your own flesh and blood aside for the sake of an outsider."

Outsider?

Though I no longer harbored any feelings for this man, that word still stung like a needle prick. I found it both ironic and absurd.

Watching the longing for a grandchild flicker in Irene's eyes, I curved my lips into a slight smile.

"Mom, you've seen it for yourself—there's no place for me in this house anymore. Perhaps it's best if I simply leave."

As expected, Irene's expression shifted dramatically at my words.

She fixed Isabel with a sharp, cutting glare.

"You got pregnant before marriage, and you think Old Mr. Grant will have anything kind to say about that? You think you can bear a Grant heir? You're shameless!"

Isabel froze.

She had likely never been reprimanded so harshly before. In her imagined script, she was supposed to be the delicate woman carefully protected by all, while I was meant to be the venomous wife scorned by everyone.

But reality had other plans. William's mother stood firmly on my side.

"I don't care how you met William outside this house, but I only recognize Violette as my daughter-in-law. As long as I'm alive, no other woman will set foot in this family!"

William clenched his fists tightly.

"Mom, what's gotten into you? Why are you so afraid of her?"

He took Isabel's hand, his gaze resolute. "Either way, I'm not letting Isabel go. Grandfather dotes on me more than anyone. Now that Isabel is carrying his great-grandchild, he'll definitely side with us. I'm going to see him right now and let him settle this!"

With that, he stormed out without a backward glance.

His confidence stemmed from the fact that Old Mr. Grant had indeed always indulged him. Skipping classes, getting into fights, street racing—every time, Old Mr. Grant had been the one to smooth things over.

But this time, I suspected William was in for a disappointment.

Because now, even Old Mr. Grant had to listen to me.

Irene turned to me, her eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and complexity.

"Violette, don't hold his behavior against him. He's been spoiled since childhood and doesn't take anyone seriously."

"I know."

"You've suffered so much all these years." Irene gripped my hand tightly. "The Grant family owes you a debt."

I sneered inwardly.

Irene's courtesy toward me wasn't rooted in affection, nor did it stem from sympathy for my hardships. It was because more than half of the Grant family's assets were now in my hands.

Three years ago, after William fled the wedding, the Grant family had plunged into crisis. Old Mr. Grant was advanced in age, and Irene had never understood company affairs. Banks froze their loans, suppliers blockaded the headquarters demanding payment, and the board of directors—those old foxes—were ready to carve up Grant Corporation that very day.

It was me—a bride abandoned at the altar—who clawed her way to the position of acting CEO through sheer determination.

I still remembered my first board meeting, when an old director named Hector sneered at me.

"It seems the Grant family truly has no one left, if they're letting a little girl take this position."

I had smiled and replied, "Mr. Castro, you might want to review next quarter's reports twice over. I'm concerned that your eyesight, given your age, might mistake profit for loss."

The hardest moment came last year. A shipment of imported equipment bound for Grant Corporation's Nottingham port facility had been impounded when the shipping company went bankrupt. No one wanted to touch that mess.

I flew to Nottingham myself and stood drenched in rain outside the port authority director's house.

In the end, the production line was saved. I, on the other hand, fell ill.

The Grant family's survival today was something I, Violette Morrison, had bartered with my own life.

But William neither knew nor cared about any of this. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a foolish woman who hadn't even finished business school.

I withdrew my hand, my voice calm. "Mrs. Grant, I made my own choice back then, so I don't blame anyone. But I'm serious about this divorce."

Irene's face paled.

"Rather than the three of us entangling ourselves here, it's better if I step back. It'll be better for the Grant family as well."

With that, I turned and descended the stairs. The moment I pushed open the estate door, the tightness in my chest finally eased.

My assistant had sent three messages.

[The asset inventory you requested has been sent to your email.]

[Attorney Brian is available this afternoon at 3 PM.]

[Regarding Harris Corporation—still unable to schedule a meeting with Mr. Harris.]

I frowned.

Roderick Harris was a name known to everyone in the business world. Any one of his subsidiaries could dwarf Grant Corporation twice over.

Grant Corporation's most critical ongoing project depended on Harris Corporation as a key partner. Harris's side had yet to provide a definitive answer. If we couldn't secure this deal, our cash flow would last two months at most.

After a moment's consideration, I pulled a new car from the garage and drove directly to Harris headquarters.

Forty minutes later, I parked in front of Harris Corporation's main building. Just as I was about to step out, I noticed a tall man emerging from a deep black Bugatti ahead of me.

Broad-shouldered, long-legged, exuding an aura of cool nobility—several security guards immediately rushed forward to greet him with deferential respect.

Wait... was that Leon Blackwood?

What was he doing here? And why were those people treating him with such deference?

Had I mistaken him for someone else? Wasn't he just a male model?