“The tutoring can slow down, sure. But how can you just cut everything off completely? Do you know how hard it was to get Cruella into that private school? You spent so much effort back then. Have you really forgotten?”
I didn’t respond. I just lowered my head and kept tending to the wound.
Standing beside me, Viggo watched my indifference. A flicker of irritation flashed in his eyes, quickly smothered.
“If you don’t agree,” I said flatly, “then you can explain it to your daughter yourself.”
“This was a decision you and she made together.”
He clearly froze.
He had never seen me this cold before.
In the past, no matter what he said, I’d instinctively smoothed things over for him, cleaned up his messes, never once pushed responsibility back onto him.
The displeasure crossed his face again, gone just as quickly.
As if remembering something, he suddenly reached into his briefcase, pulled out a document, and handed it to me.
“Alright, let’s drop the Cruella issue for now.”
“Oh, right. Sign this.”
He spoke casually. “A deal I just closed today. The process is a bit rushed.”
Cruella’s issue wasn’t urgent. He didn’t really believe I’d stop caring about her anyway. He just assumed I was saying things out of anger.
This so-called deal, on the other hand, mattered.
If this were before, I wouldn’t even have opened the contract.
I never interfered in his career. I just signed, transferred money, and took responsibility when things went wrong.
This time, I didn’t bother reading it either.
Because I already knew that this wasn’t a goddamn business contract at all.
It was a fucking divorce agreement dressed up as one.
Judging by his reaction, he probably hadn’t realized yet that the contents of that agreement had already been revised.
When he saw me sign, his shoulders visibly relaxed. His voice softened immediately, compliments spilling out.
“If this goes through, we’ll make a lot of money.”
“Honey, when it’s done, I’ll make it up to you. A proper wedding this time—big, formal, invite everyone.”
“You’ve always regretted not having one, haven’t you? I’ll make it up to you.”
Seven years ago, when we got married, he had nothing.
No wedding. No rings. Our parents hadn’t even formally met.
Over the years, every time he needed my support, he dangled the word wedding in front of me like bait.
And damn, I always believed him.