Mr. CEO, You Look Strangely Familiar

Jean Grant hung up. Panicked, Nicholas Ainsworth tried calling again, but the phone was already turned off.

He had no choice but to get in his car and leave.

"Brother... Jean Grant sent this for you..." Nicholas Ainsworth took it. Staring at the words "Divorce Agreement," he let out a cold laugh. "I will not divorce her."

His words took everyone by surprise. Mr. Ainsworth shot to his feet. "Things have gotten this ugly and she’s already gone. You still won’t divorce her?"

"Exactly, Brother! Why not? Just divorce her. I never want to see her again! Have you seen my face? She’s the one who ordered them to do this."

Nicholas Ainsworth, however, answered through gritted teeth, "Wouldn’t divorcing her be giving her exactly what she wants? Besides, she doesn’t just represent herself. She represents the Grant Family."

Sharon Ainsworth sat down. "I don’t think she’ll be back. She seemed very determined."

Nicholas Ainsworth pulled out a pack of cigarettes, took one out, and lit it. He took a long, hard drag. Just then, Catherine Callahan suddenly spoke up. "But you haven’t signed this, have you? So why are the headlines all saying you two are already divorced? They even say the Civil Affairs Bureau confirmed it."

Sharon Ainsworth exclaimed, "How is that possible? The people involved didn’t even go in person. Would the Civil Affairs Bureau really dare to falsify the records?"

Nicholas Ainsworth’s eyes instantly turned as dark and terrifying as a bottomless abyss.

"An ordinary person certainly wouldn’t have that kind of power..." he began slowly. "But this was an order from Quentin Grant..."

Sharon Ainsworth thought for a moment. "Brother, if he’s the one who ordered them to falsify the records, you can report him! The surveillance footage from the Civil Affairs Bureau will prove you were never there..."

Nicholas Ainsworth sneered. "You think that’s even possible? Do you know who Quentin Grant is? If he dared to order them to alter the records, you can bet he’s already prepared for the fallout. He’s not going to be stupid enough to just wait for you to report him."

This was the same reason he had tried to stop Jean Grant from going to the Grant Group before.

"Fine, let the divorce happen," Mr. Ainsworth sighed. He suddenly seemed to remember something. "Actually, I was wrong from the very beginning. My biggest mistake was kicking your stepmother and Nora out of the house. If Nora hadn’t been forced out, she’d at least still be a member of our family. Then Quentin Grant would have to give us some face, for her sake if not for ours."

But it was too late to say any of that now.

Since three rooms on the second floor had been destroyed in the fire, Sharon Ainsworth’s bedroom had been moved to the first floor. She went back to her room and sat at her vanity. She ripped the wig from her head and stared at the few strands of hair she had left. She looked practically bald, and she seethed with anger.

After putting on her makeup and replacing the wig, Sharon Ainsworth decided to go find her boyfriend, Martin Grant.

To her surprise, when she stepped out of her room, she saw Martin Grant sitting in the living room. It looked like he had just arrived.

"Martin," she called out, going to sit beside him.

Martin Grant’s reaction was muted. He felt a pair of eyes fixed on him, and after a quick scan of the room, he found they belonged to Mr. Ainsworth’s young girlfriend.

Her stare made his skin crawl.

It was like being watched by a venomous snake.

"Martin, have you and our Sharon been arguing lately?" Mr. Ainsworth had noticed the tension as well. "You’re the man, so you should indulge her a little more."

Martin Grant gave a placid smile. "It’s nothing."

"You and Sharon aren’t getting any younger. Have you two thought about marriage?"

Martin Grant clearly didn’t want to discuss the topic. "I’m not in a hurry to get married. I’d rather wait another two or three years."

"But if you wait another two or three years, our Sharon will be an old maid."

Nicholas Ainsworth sat there in silence, offering no opinion on the matter.

Seeing that Martin Grant clearly had no intention of getting married, Sharon Ainsworth tried to smooth things over. "Who’s an old maid? Plenty of women in their thirties aren’t married. Dad, you don’t need to worry about me. You, on the other hand, should be careful. Just don’t go giving my brother and me a new little brother or sister. We couldn’t bear it."

Mr. Ainsworth’s expression froze. "How old do you think I am? Having more kids? Still, if your ’young stepmom’ wanted one, I wouldn’t be against it. She’s still quite young, after all."

Sharon Ainsworth glanced at Catherine Callahan and pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything else.

Seeing Jean looking so down and not saying a word, Mrs. Grant grew worried. "Jean, what’s wrong? Are you having second thoughts about divorcing Nicholas Ainsworth?"

Jean Grant answered immediately, "No, I think the divorce is absolutely necessary. It’s just... Mom, I don’t think I’m in a good place mentally or emotionally right now. I just feel so pessimistic all the time."

Hearing this, Mrs. Grant asked, "Jean, do you think you might be depressed?"

Jean Grant shook her head. "No. I know I still want to live. After all, where there’s life there’s hope, and when you’re dead, there’s nothing. I just feel like I need to get out of this social circle, break free from these restraints, and go after the life I really want."

"Jean, you’ve been unlucky in love twice. Mom will arrange another good match for you. We’ll find an honest, down-to-earth man."

"No, Mom. I can’t get pregnant. Marrying again would just be a disservice to someone else. What man doesn’t want children of his own? I have no hope or expectations left for marriage." She leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes. "I just want to live on my own."

Mrs. Grant looked at her, her heart aching. "As long as you’re happy and living the life you want, that’s what matters."

Jean Grant lay there quietly for a moment before opening her eyes. "Mom, could you get me some Prayer Scriptures to read? People say reading them can help you see past everything, to make your heart as calm as still water."

Mrs. Grant nodded. "Alright, Jean. In fact, why don’t you come with me to ask for them? I heard the master at the Azure Cloud Temple can also read faces and palms. I’d like her to do a reading for you. Besides, when you’re asking for scriptures, it’s always better to go yourself."

"Okay."

That afternoon, Mrs. Grant and Jean Grant went to the Azure Cloud Temple. The temple sat atop a mountain; it was cool and shady in the summer, and bitterly cold in the winter.

Furthermore, you couldn’t drive up the mountain to get to the Azure Cloud Temple. You had to walk all the way from the base, step by step, as a show of sincerity.

Jean Grant and her mother started the climb from the base of the mountain. They were soon panting with exhaustion, having to stop and rest every so often.

The entire walk from the bottom to the top took them over an hour.

It was already three in the afternoon by the time they reached the summit.

The two of them stood before the gates of the Azure Cloud Temple.

Staring at the large gates, Jean Grant felt a strange sense of peace. For some reason, in that instant, all the anxiety in her heart vanished. Her mind became perfectly calm, unable to be stirred by any ripple. All the events of her past felt as if they had happened to someone else; she was merely a spectator.

"Mom."

Mrs. Grant looked at her. "What’s wrong?"

"Let’s go inside."

"Oh, all right."

Mrs. Grant led the way, with Jean Grant following behind.

They knocked. A bald nun opened the door and bowed to them. "Amitabha. May I ask what brings you to our temple?"

"We apologize for the intrusion. My daughter and I have come to request some Prayer Scriptures. Would it be possible for us to enter?"

"Please, come in." The nun was very serene. She turned and led the way inside, with the Grant mother and daughter following her.

After leading them down a few winding paths, the nun stopped before a wooden door. "My master is inside. Please, go in."

"Thank you." Mrs. Grant pressed her palms together and bowed in return, then led Jean Grant through the wooden door.

A middle-aged nun, perhaps in her fifties or sixties, sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion. She opened her eyes at the sound of their entry.

"Please, have a seat."

Mrs. Grant pulled Jean to sit down with her, then spoke. "Master, my daughter, Jean, has been very unfortunate in her marriages. She’s in a very pessimistic state of mind. Could we trouble you for some Prayer Scriptures?"

"That is no trouble at all." The nun stood, retrieved a few Prayer Scriptures, and handed them to Jean. "Read these first. I’m certain they will be of great benefit to you."

"Master, I’ve heard that your face and palm readings are very accurate. Would you be willing to do a reading for Jean?"

The nun looked at Jean Grant and said, "Give me your left hand."

Mrs. Grant was confused. "But isn’t it ’left for men, right for women’?"

The abbess smiled. "Not necessarily."

She looked down at Jean’s palm, then spoke. "Marriage is not in your destiny. No matter how many times you marry, the union will always dissolve. It is preordained."

Mrs. Grant’s face turned ashen at her words. "Master, is there any way to change this fate?"

The abbess shook her head. "It is preordained. Heaven has already made its arrangements. Neither you nor I possess the power to defy destiny."

Jean Grant’s expression remained calm. "Abbess, if I had been with a different man before my first marriage, would things have turned out better?"

The abbess sighed. "What’s yours is yours, and what isn’t, isn’t. That man is indeed exceptional, but he was not the right one for you."

A faint, self-deprecating smile touched Jean Grant’s lips. "Abbess, what do you see for the rest of my life?"

The abbess replied slowly, "Young lady, in this world, destiny ebbs and flows. For every effect, there is a cause. Nothing can be forced or coerced. You are fated to be alone for the rest of your life. In your palm and your face, I see no signs of romance or marriage. That is all I can tell you."

Mrs. Grant’s face went sheet-white. ’Alone... Does that mean Jean will have to spend the rest of her life by herself?’

"Every word the Master has spoken is true. I’ve already decided I want to spend the rest of my life alone."

She stood up, clutching the Prayer Scriptures, and bowed to the abbess. "Thank you for your insightful words, Master."

Mrs. Grant scrambled to her feet, and the two of them left the Azure Cloud Temple.

Suddenly, Jean Grant dropped to her knees before her mother.

Mrs. Grant was horrified and immediately rushed to pull her up. "Jean, what are you doing?"

"Mom, I have been an unfilial daughter. I’ve lived for more than twenty years, and not only have I failed to properly honor you and Dad, I’ve often made you angry. I hope that whatever decision I make from now on, you won’t try to stop me."

Wiping away a tear, Mrs. Grant said, "You foolish girl. When have I ever been able to stop you from making a decision you’ve set your mind to?"

Jean smiled faintly and stood up. She cast one last glance at the sign for the Azure Cloud Temple. "Let’s go home."

In her heart, she had already made a momentous decision.

Mrs. Grant already understood the hidden meaning in her daughter’s words. Her heart ached with sorrow. She knew all too well the bitterness her daughter was feeling. But as long as Jean didn’t try to take her own life, she would permit anything else.