67 Chapter 70
Chapter 70 – An Unexpected Signature, An Unwanted Sermon
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“Which hospital is he in?” I demanded, gripping my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white.
Victoria’s voice came back hes
“Hazel, are you sure this is a good idea? You know
Julian’s just manipulating the situation again.”
“I need to see him with my own eyes.” I paced my living room, already looking for my car keys. “I’ve waited too long for this divorce. If I have to bring the papers to his hospital bed myself, so be it.”
After getting the hospital information from my lawyer, I drove there with
y chest. The
determination hardening in cool, antiseptic air hit me as I entered the private wing of St. Elisabeth Hospital, Julian’s family’s preferred medical facility. Everything about the place screamed wealth–from the marble floors to the tasteful artwork adorning the walls.
A nurse at the station looked up as I approached.
“I’m here to see Julian Grayson,” I said firmly.
“Are you family?” she asked, eyeing me with professional skepticism.
“I’m his wife.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. “For now, anyway.”
The nurse’s expression changed immediately. “Oh, Mrs. Grayson! His mother and sister are with him now. Room 307, down the hall.”
a
I didn’t bother correcting her about my name. I’d never taken Julian’s surname, decision that had caused many arguments–and one I was now infinitely grateful for. My heels clicked purposefully against the floor as I made my way down the corridor, divorce papers tucked securely in my designer tote. When I reached room 307, I heard voices inside–one sharply familiar as Mrs. Landon, Julian’s overbearing mother.
I knocked once and entered without waiting for permission.
The scene before me froze. Mrs. Landon sat rigidly in a chair beside the hospital bed where Julian reclined, looking paler than usual but nowhere near death’s door. His
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sister, Giselle, stood by the window, her perpetually pinched expression souring further at the sight of me.
“What are you doing here?” Mrs. Landon demanded, rising to her feet.
I met her gaze evenly. “I’m here to see my husband.”
“He’s in no condition for visitors,” Giselle interjected, stepping forward like a guard dog. “Especially not ones who cause him stress.”
Julian raised a weak hand. “It’s okay. Let her in.”
The women exchanged glances, clearly displeased, but Mrs. Landon eventually nodded stiffly.
“Five minutes,” she said, her voice clipped. “He needs rest.”
“We’ll wait right outside,” Giselle added pointedly.
I waited for them to leave, noting how Mrs. Landon’s designer handbag probably cost more than some people’s monthly salary. The door closed with a deliberate click.
Julian adjusted himself against his pillows, wincing slightly. “Came to see if I was faking?” His voice was hollow, lacking its usual confident edge.
examine him. He did look ill–his eyes were “Partly,” I admitted, moving closer to shadowed, skin waxy. IV tubes snaked from his arm to a bag of clear fluid. “Is it the same condition?”
“Yes.” He gestured weakly to a chair. “The blood disease is back. My body’s rejecting the last few treatments.”
I remained standing. “I’m sorry you’re ill, Julian. But I didn’t come here for a medical update.”
“Then why are you here, Hazel?” Something flickered in his eyes–hope, perhaps. Even now, his ego couldn’t accept that I was truly done with him.
I pulled out the divorce papers. “I need you to sign these.”
His face fell, then hardened, “You couldn’t even wait until I recovered? This is low, even for you.”
“Low?” I laughed, the sound sharp and brittle. “You married my stepsister on what was
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supposed to be our wedding day. Don’t talk to me about ‘low.”
“Ivy was dying,” he began his familiar refrain.
“And yet she’s still alive,” I cut him off. “Meanwhile, our marriage is the thing that needs to be put out of its misery.”
His lips pressed together in a thin line. I laid the papers on his bedside table, along with a pen.
“Sign them, Julian. Stop dragging this out. You’re already with Ivy–let me go.”
“The hearing’s been postponed,” he said, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice. “There’s no rush.”
“There is for me.” I leaned closer, my voice dropping. “Sign the papers now, and I’ll agree to a no–fault divorce. Keep delaying, and I’ll make sure every detail of your betrayal becomes public record in court.”
His eyes widened. The Grayson family, for all their wealth, were obsessed with their public image. A messy divorce with sordid details would be mortifying for them.
“You wouldn’t,” he whispered.
“Try me.” My voice was steel. “I have nothing to lose anymore.”
We stared at each other, the remains of six years stretching between us like a canyon. Finally, he reached for the pen with trembling fingers.
The door opened abruptly. Giselle burst in, clearly having been listening. “Julian, don’t sign anything! Father’s lawyer should review anything she-
11
“Giselle,” Julian silenced her with unusual firmness. “Give me the pen, Hazel.”
Surprised, I handed it to him. With deliberate movements, he signed each copy of the divorce papers, his signature firm despite his condition.
“There,” he said, handing them back. “Satisfied?”
I checked each signature carefully before tucking the papers away. Relief flooded through me so powerfully I nearly swayed.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Thank you.”
“I’ll
go
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to the Civil Affairs Bureau within a week of discharge,” he added quietly. “We can finalize everything.”
Giselle made a strangled noise of protest but remained by the door, glaring daggers at
- me.
I should have left then, should have walked away with my victory. But something in Julian’s expression–a mixture of defeat and judgment–kept me rooted to the spot.
“What?” I asked cautiously.
“Is it because of him?” Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Damien Sterling?”
The question caught me off guard. “This has nothing to do with Damien.”
Julian laughed weakly. “I’ve seen the photos in the tabloids, Hazel. You moved on quickly.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” I shot back. “You literally married someone else on our wedding day.”
“At least I had a reason,” he countered. “Ivy was dying.”
“And what was your reason for keeping our marriage going when you clearly wanted to be with her? Pride? Control?” I shook my head in disgust. “You don’t get to judge me, Julian. Not anymore.”
A heavy silence fell between us. I turned to leave, my hand on the doorknob, freedom within my grasp.
“I heard about your father,” Julian’s voice stopped me. “His arrest. The charges.”
I stiffened but didn’t turn around. “What about it?”
“Was it necessary to be so ruthless?” His tone carried a sanctimonious weight that made my blood boil. “He is, after all, your biological father. He raised you.”
I pivoted slowly, disbelief etching my features. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying, Hazel,” Julian continued, his voice taking on that condescending tone I’d always hated, “there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed, even when you’re angry. Family is family.”
The audacity of his words hit me like a slap. Here was Julian Grayson—who had
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betrayed me in the most public, humiliating way possible–presuming to lecture me about family loyalty.
I walked back toward his bed, fury and incredulity fighting for dominance in my chest. My voice, when it came, was deadly calm.
“You have absolutely no right to preach to me about family, Julian. None.”
His eyes widened at my tone, and for the first time since I’d entered the room, I saw genuine fear flicker across his face.
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