Chapter 3

"Grant Whitmore, are you serious? No wonder you're calling me right now. You sent someone to follow me, didn't you?"

"You are disgusting. This is controlling behavior. You're violating my privacy."

"And now you're lying about Grandpa being in danger just to trick me into coming back. When did you become this petty?"

"Don't call me again. I'll deal with you when I get home tonight."

The call ended.

And with that, the last thread holding my heart in place snapped.

If she had rushed to the hospital, I might have believed Grandpa was right. I might have told myself she was only spoiled and foolish, and that I could pull her back onto the right path.

Now I understood.

This was not innocence.

This was arrogance.

She believed Grant Whitmore would always be her loyal dog.

Fine.

From this moment on, whatever I did, I would no longer hesitate.

By the time I brought Lily home that night, it was already past one in the morning.

After carrying her back to her room, I sat alone on the sofa, smoking one cigarette after another as I waited.

Mira did not return until dawn.

She reeked of alcohol as she threw herself onto me.

"Husband, why are you smoking again? It stinks. As punishment, you are not allowed in my bed tonight."

I gave a cold laugh.

"What happened? Did Julian wear you out? Looks like you really do not have the stamina of a twenty-year-old anymore."

She frowned, grabbed my ashtray, and smashed it on the floor.

"Do not try to put filthy accusations on me."

I suddenly reached out and clamped my fingers around her jaw.

"You smell like him. Do you think I can't tell? Filthier than garbage."

Then I pressed the still-burning end of my cigarette against the collar of her shirt.

She screamed in terror.

"Mira, this is my second warning. For the next while, behave yourself. Otherwise, next time, the cigarette lands on your face."

She shoved me away and burst into tears.

"I'm going to the hospital tomorrow to tell Grandpa what you did."

"No need," I said coldly. "You do not deserve to see him."

Because she would never see him again.

Just minutes earlier, I had received the message.

Grandpa was gone.

As the founder of the Whitmore Group, his death was not something we could announce casually. There were family matters, business arrangements, and funeral procedures to handle.

For the next three days, I prepared his private funeral while working day and night at the company.

Mira did not send even one message.

In the end, Grandpa's funeral was held quietly under my arrangement. Relatives and old friends came to say goodbye.

Soon, the ceremony ended and the guests began to leave.

Just then, Julian rushed in with bruises all over his face, dropped to his knees in front of me, and cried.

"Mr. Whitmore, I was wrong. Please let me go. Tell them to stop beating me."

Mira stormed in right behind him.

"Why are you making everyone in the industry reject Julian's songs? You're cutting off his future!"

"And not only that, you told people to hit him every time they saw him. I hate this billionaire bully act of yours. Picking on an honest man? You owe Julian an apology."