Chapter 8: Chapter 8 Thank You for Giving Up Your Daughter
Christmas was drawing near, and by the time Rose arrived at Margaret’s estate, heavy flakes of snow were already drifting down, thick and relentless.
She crossed the garden outside the mansion, now blanketed in white, while the biting wind slipped down the collar of her coat and left her fingertips stiff with cold.
The moment she stepped inside, she saw Selena and Isabella seated in the main hall, the atmosphere heavier than the storm outside.
Selena cast her a cold glance, resentment still lingering in her eyes; it was clear she had not let go of their last confrontation.
Isabella, on the other hand, could barely stay seated. The instant Rose stopped, she sprang to her feet, her face full of disdain.
"Rose, just look at what you’ve done! Margaret saw those news reports about Ryan and got so furious she fell ill!"
In just a few sentences, she shifted all the blame as cleanly as washing her hands of it.
Rose frowned slightly.
Isabella’s eagerness to pass the buck struck her as almost laughable.
"Instead of holding the person who started this mess accountable, you come after the victim," she said evenly, meeting Isabella’s gaze. "Isabella, are you always this poor at telling right from wrong?"
She paused, then added in a quiet voice that cut sharper than any shout, "Besides, you knew perfectly well this had to be kept from Grandma, yet you let it slip through your fingers. So tell me—who really fanned this into a full-blown scandal?"
"You dare speak to me like that?" Isabella slammed her hand against the table and shot to her feet.
"Why not?" Rose replied calmly. "If you don’t like hearing the truth, then don’t stand in front of me. If not for Grandma, whether you live or die would have nothing to do with me."
She had long since run out of patience for the same tired accusations.
Without another glance, she walked past Isabella and headed straight toward Margaret’s room.
She had not come here to listen to this.
If it were not for her concern for the old woman, she would never have set foot here again.
Behind her, Isabella’s anger flared anew, spilling over as she pointed at Rose’s back and shrieked, "BITCH! You’re no different from Samantha—no sense of decency, the lot of you! Every single one of you is rotten to the core!"
Rose had heard it all before. She did not even slow her steps.
But as she lifted her eyes, her gaze collided with a figure standing by the doorway.
Ryan had arrived at some point without her noticing.
A black coat hung over his arm, his tall frame half-shadowed in the dim light.
Isabella saw him too, and her voice died instantly, her earlier fury replaced by unease.
Only then did it occur to her that she had lumped Samantha together with Rose in her insults—and, unfortunately for her, Ryan had heard every word.
Insulting Rose was one thing; Isabella knew he did not care about her feelings. But Samantha...
She could not help stealing a glance at Ryan’s expression.
Rose knew just as well that he had heard it all.
She did not linger, simply knocked on the door and entered Margaret’s bedroom.
Ryan stepped into the hall, his gaze sweeping briefly over the estate’s butler.
"Has the doctor arrived?"
The elderly butler, Louis, responded at once, "He’s been inside for a while, sir. It shouldn’t be anything serious."
Ryan nodded, but did not immediately go in.
Instead, he took a seat in the living room, composed and silent, as though the insults moments ago had never been spoken.
—
Inside the room, the family doctor was quietly asking about Margaret’s recent medication. Rose did not interrupt.
She stood aside until the examination was complete, then stepped forward to review the medical records and prescriptions herself.
It was nothing serious. At Margaret’s age, emotional distress could easily cause temporary spikes in blood pressure.
Rose made a few adjustments to the medication schedule and instructed the doctor to add some short-term supportive treatment. Rest would be enough.
When the doctor stepped out, Margaret suddenly reached out and took Rose’s hand.
"Rose, you’ve suffered."
Rose knew she was referring to the exposé.
"I’m fine, Grandma. You should focus on your health," she said gently.
Margaret sighed, her aged hand patting the back of Rose’s.
"I never imagined things would spiral this far. I know how much you’ve endured these days. I want to make it up to you—house, car, cash, whatever you want, I’ll give it to you."
Rose carried too many secrets she could not reveal, and she had no desire to become further entangled with this family.
"There’s no need, Grandma. I’m really fine."
Margaret studied her for a moment before slowly changing the subject.
"You and Ryan have been married for seven years. You grew up together. You never truly had your parents’ love... this family is your home." Her grip tightened slightly. "I want to ask you something. Will you agree?"
At the mention of "parents’ love," Rose instinctively rubbed her fingers together.
"What is it?"
"Could you... not get divorced?" Margaret said, holding her hand firmly. "I’m not saying never. Just not now. Things haven’t reached that point, have they? Rose, I know Ryan—he’s not that kind of man, he..."
Rose lowered her eyes and did not answer at once.
She understood Margaret’s concerns—keeping up appearances, preventing scandal, and perhaps avoiding further conflict once Ethan was released.
But—
"Grandma, I don’t want to wait any longer."
She could not remain trapped in a marriage that existed in name only.
More importantly, Ariel’s existence was still a secret that could not be exposed. The sooner the divorce was finalized, the better.
Margaret read the resolve in her eyes and sighed softly.
"Well," she said at last, patting Rose’s hand as if making peace with the decision. "Since you’ve made up your mind, I won’t stop you."
A knock came at the door.
"Ma’am, the medicine is ready," the doctor said.
Rose gave a few more instructions, tucked the blanket around Margaret, and quietly left the room.
Ryan stood as she emerged, his expression more serious than before.
"How is she?"
"Nothing major. Emotional blood pressure fluctuation. A few days of rest will do," Rose replied in a professional tone. "You, on the other hand, should find a way to calm the media storm. Next time, you may not be this lucky."
Ryan fell silent, rubbing his temple.
For the first time, beneath his usual authority, there was a trace of fatigue he could not quite conceal.
Rose did not show concern as she once would have. Instead, she lowered her gaze to the document she had brought with her—the supplemental terms to their divorce agreement.
"Since everyone wants to put this behind us as soon as possible," she said casually, handing it over, "I prepared an additional agreement. Take a look. If everything seems fine, you can sign."
Ryan took it, flipping through a few pages at first—asset division, equity allocation, joint debt settlement—all clearly laid out, nothing obviously objectionable.
Rose assumed, as before, it would be a mere formality.
But to her surprise, Ryan did not close the file right away.
Leaning back against the sofa, he turned the pages one by one, not even skipping the fine print.
A strange thought crossed Rose’s mind—in all their years together, moments like this, with him sitting beside her in quiet focus, could be counted on one hand.
The irony was not lost on her.
Now that she wanted nothing more than for him to hurry and sign, he seemed in no rush at all.
She kept her gaze lowered, her nails pressing hard into her palm, using the faint pain to steady her expression.
The earlier clauses were merely smoke and mirrors. All she could do now was hope he would not read every word.
Unfortunately, Ryan seemed entirely undisturbed by the silence.
As he reached for the final page, Rose’s heartbeat stumbled.
She was on the verge of interrupting him with some excuse—
when her phone rang without warning.
It was his assistant.
Ryan frowned as he answered. The voice on the other end was low, but Rose still caught a few words—reporters, Samantha, your presence required.
His expression darkened instantly. Rising to his feet, irritation clear in his tone, he said, "Understood. I’ll be there right away."
He hung up, glanced at the unfinished document, then at the time. The reporters outside would not wait patiently for him to finish reading legal paperwork.
Rose seized the moment.
She flipped the document to the signature page and handed him a pen, her tone as steady as ever.
"The rest are standard clauses. There shouldn’t be any issues. You’re in a hurry—sign first. You can review it later when you have time."
Ryan looked at her for two seconds, something unreadable flickering in his deep-set eyes.
In the end, he said nothing. He bent down and, without further hesitation, signed his name.
His handwriting was as decisive and forceful as ever.
"Anything else?" he asked, capping the pen, fatigue seeping through his voice.
"No. Thank you," Rose replied, taking the document, a faint smile touching her lips.
Ryan said nothing more. He turned and strode out, heading off to deal with the sudden media storm.
The moment the door closed, Rose exhaled slowly, her fingertips tingling from the tension she had been holding.
She lowered her gaze to the document in her hands, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible.
"Thank you... VERY MUCH."
Thank you for choosing her when it mattered most.
Thank you for willingly giving up every right to your own daughter.
Thank you for setting us free.
—
Once the signed document was safely tucked into her bag, the tightness that had been lodged in her chest for so long finally eased.
She was set to begin work at Grand Sage on Monday, which left her with two free days.
Rose spent an entire day shopping with Diana, selecting furniture, decorations, and household items for her new home, and touring several high-end villas across New York.
She intend to purchase one for her grandfather, who currently lived in a care facility.
That way, Ariel could move in later and spend time with him.
With Diana’s wide network, they quickly found a property in a prime location with excellent amenities.
As usual, Rose used the excuse of arranging a mortgage—after all, someone who had taken Grand Sage public would hardly be short of money.
Once the property was chosen, she paid a deposit of three hundred thousand dollars on the spot.
That evening, she received a message from Margaret.
"Rose, I’ve found a few suitable candidates for your next husband. Are you free tonight? Go meet them."
Attached was an entry pass to a private club.
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