Fortunately, Timothy seemed to still have some faith in me. He only lifted the corner of each page and signed where needed without even reading the contract's contents. When he signed the last page, which was the divorce agreement, my heart finally settled. I was afraid that he would realize what he'd done, so I quickly took the contract away as soon as he finished. Back in the master bedroom, I carefully slipped the divorce agreement with Timothy's signature into the pages of a book for safekeeping. It would take a month for the divorce to be finalized. ... Later that night, I started packing to move out of the master bedroom. When Timothy returned and saw me limping around, gathering my things to make way for his mistress and illegitimate daughter, he stopped me. "Let Laura or the maids handle this," he said, his tone relatively gentle. "Once this blows over, they'll leave, and you can move back in. Don't worry. They won't stay long." I let out a bitter laugh and swept a gaze over his serious face. "Should I be thanking you for your graciousness?" His expression instantly turned cold. I was just moving to a guest room, not into a new house. There wasn't much for me to pack. I grabbed some skincare products and clothes, but the most important thing was a small wooden urn from the top of the closet in the bedroom. I didn't ask anyone to help me with it. I stood on a chair and carefully took the urn down myself. The child in those photos was Timothy's precious treasure, and this urn held mine. But my treasure couldn't live freely like other children. It would stay forever in this urn, untouched by sunlight. While I was retrieving it, Timothy was on the balcony, making a call. He meticulously instructed his assistant on the safest route to bring Yasmin and Daphne to the villa. When he finished his call and came back in, he saw me clutching the urn. A trace of displeasure crossed his face. "Why are you taking that?" His eyes held a hint of confusion. I couldn't help but wonder whether he would still have cheated if our daughter hadn't died. Would our daughter have been his treasure, too? The thought was gone in a flash. I didn't want to keep tormenting myself over a man like him. As I turned to leave, Timothy grabbed my wrist. "I asked you a question. Why are you taking that?" I looked at him icily. "Because this is the only thing in this house that belongs to me." I didn't know whether my words had touched the last shred of his conscience, but he slowly loosened his grip. I moved to the guest room and placed the urn in the safest spot. Then, I stared at it for a long time. The next day at noon, Yasmin and Daphne were brought to the villa. Laura had just finished preparing lunch. It was a full spread of vegetarian dishes. No matter how varied or refined the dishes were, they were still vegetarian. Neither Yasmin nor Daphne was used to it, but Yasmin seemed eager to please Timothy. Not only did she pretend to enjoy it, but she also coaxed and pressured Daphne to eat. I scoffed. The glamorous TV star was nothing special after all. It was a good thing I wasn't her fan. After tasting a few dishes, Timothy set down his cutlery, looking dissatisfied. "Were these ingredients freshly flown in today? The quinoa doesn't taste right, either." Laura glanced at me awkwardly before explaining, "Mrs. Grant usually prepares your meals herself. She usually mixes other grains with the quinoa in precise proportions. She wasn't feeling well today, so I could only reproduce the recipes based on what I remember. I couldn't replicate the flavor." Timothy probably hadn't realized how different the food would taste with someone else cooking. His gaze lingered on me, heavy with meaning, but I didn't offer to take over the cooking again. After all, who would be foolish enough to pour time and effort into cooking for another woman's man?