CHAPTER 149: CHAPTER 149: TIMOTHY XAVIER BECOMES AN INTERNET SENSATION

Zoe’s eyes slowly turned red, a mist of tears swirling in her eyes.

Ever since she came back from the cemetery last time, it was like she’d locked away her emotions.

She hadn’t laughed, nor cried.

Julian Sinclair watched her like this every day, and his worry grew wildly, like tangled vines in his chest.

In this moment, that hard shell finally cracked a little; she finally showed emotion, no longer so numb.

Julian quietly sighed in relief and tentatively suggested, "Zoe, why don’t I take some time off soon and take you to Silverstream to see Uncle Hawthorne? Maybe a therapist should check in on you again, given your condition."

Zoe slowly shook her head, her voice choked with tears: "I don’t want to go anywhere... There’s no doctor who can bring my mom back to me..."

"Actually..." Julian’s words caught at his lips, but he forced himself to swallow them back down.

Better to wait for news from Shaun Sinclair first.

In the end, he didn’t push. "If you don’t want to go, we won’t. We’ll do as you wish."

When Julian walked out of Zoe’s room and reached the stairs’ turn, he saw Madam Sinclair standing there waiting.

"Well? Zoe... has she improved any?" Granny hurried toward him, her voice full of urgency.

Julian gently shook his head.

Seeing his expression, Granny knew the score.

She sighed heavily, reaching up to wipe the corner of her eye. "That child is truly unfortunate. Just now I was flipping through the calendar to check next month’s dates, and my eyes caught sight of the funeral date—it actually falls on the same day as her birthday on her ID."

She paused, her voice thick with worry. "How will things be going forward? Every birthday colliding with her mother’s burial anniversary—on that day all the painful memories will get dredged up. It’s just too cruel."

Julian froze mid-step, his brow furrowing tightly.

He’d actually never paid attention to this detail. Now that Granny pointed it out, his chest felt clogged, growing more suffocated with each breath.

After a silent moment, he said, "Look up the lunar calendar—when’s her lunar birthday? If the solar date is too painful, from now on we’ll celebrate her lunar birthday instead."

He wanted Zoe to have the same lively celebrations and blessings others had on their birthdays.

Even if that joy came late and in smaller measure, it was better than letting her turn her birthday into a scarred day of mourning.

Granny hurried to the living room to fetch the calendar, put on her reading glasses and carefully scanned the dates, tapping them lightly with her finger.

Suddenly, she exclaimed, "Oh, look at this—tomorrow is her lunar birthday! Why don’t we celebrate tomorrow? Just something simple to eat, get the whole family together for some cheer."

Julian nodded immediately, "I’ll take care of it. No need for you to worry, just rest up."

"Remember," Granny gripped his arm, reminding him, "Her mother only just passed. Don’t make it too extravagant, or it’ll stir up old feelings. Just us family, a bowl of longevity noodles, maybe a small cake—let’s keep it quiet and simple."

"Got it, don’t worry."

Julian agreed, his mind already starting to plan.

...

In the children’s bedroom—

Sharon had already finished her math homework; Doris’s little exercise book was still blank, not a single word written.

She didn’t know how to do it, nor did she want to.

Sharon noticed her troubled little face, walked over to her desk and asked, "Are you still worried about Auntie Ellison?"

Doris cupped her chubby cheeks, saying, "Does Mommy not want me anymore? I think it’s because Uncle Sinclair doesn’t like me, so now Mommy doesn’t smile at me either."

Sharon paused for a moment. "Really? Why would Uncle Sinclair not like you?"

"I’m not stupid. I can tell if Uncle Sinclair likes me or not, can’t I?" Doris said dispiritedly, "Whenever he talks to you, he’s so gentle, and he hugs you. But as soon as he sees me, he’s so cold. And now even Mommy barely pays attention to me!"

Sharon didn’t know what to say, so she tried to comfort her: "But lately Auntie Ellison hasn’t really talked to me much either. Doris, don’t overthink it—it’s definitely not Uncle Sinclair telling her to treat you that way. Uncle Sinclair’s a really good person, really."

Doris pursed her lips and didn’t respond.

Just then, the children’s room door opened and Julian came in.

Doris jumped in surprise, glancing secretly at Julian, worried he’d overheard her complaining to Sharon.

Thankfully, he seemed not to notice anything.

Sharon beamed, "Uncle Sinclair, are you here to check our homework?"

"No, I wanted to talk to you kids."

Julian sat down on the sofa, looking at the two girls, "Zoe’s been going through some things lately, so she’s not feeling great. Would you like to help her cheer up?"

The girls quickly nodded.

"Tomorrow’s her birthday. Let’s make a cake together for her—just a little celebration, okay?"

After Julian finished, Doris and Sharon exchanged a look, then nodded even more firmly.

Doris said, "If it can make Mommy happy, I can make cakes every day."

Sharon quickly agreed, "Me too!"

Julian smiled in relief, "Tomorrow I’ll call the kindergarten to get you the day off. When she goes to work, we’ll get started at home, but to surprise her, it’ll be our secret, okay?"

Sharon said, "Don’t worry, Uncle Sinclair!"

Doris thought quietly to herself, Uncle Sinclair really knows what to do!

If Daddy could learn how to make Mommy happy, maybe Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t have gotten divorced?

After Julian left, Sharon started looking for cards and watercolor pens to handmake a greeting card for Zoe.

She thought a moment, "Oh! Do you know where we put those DIY beads Grandma Sinclair bought us the other day? We can string a necklace for Auntie Ellison too—she’ll love it!"

Beside her, Doris watched Sharon bustling around, but her heart felt blocked up, sour and tight.

Uncle Sinclair was great—he’d cook for Mommy, play with Sharon—but he always ignored Doris, treating her as if she was just an accessory to Mommy and Sharon.

So she kept missing her dad, the one who used to lift her above his head and always look out for her.

That night, while Sharon went to shower, Doris took out her pink little cell phone from her pocket.

Her fingers punched in a familiar number on the screen.

At the time, Timothy Xavier was looking at a freshly arrived divorce summons from the court.

Seeing his daughter’s call, Timothy’s heart softened instantly; he quickly picked up.

"Doris? What’s wrong? Are you missing Daddy?"

Doris was silent for a long time—she was conflicted inside.

But when Timothy heard her silence, he immediately pressed, "Are you being bullied at The Sinclair Family? Did Julian Sinclair make things difficult for you?"

That man hated him so much; of course he wouldn’t treat Doris well!

Doris replied, "I’m not being bullied. I just want to ask, do you know tomorrow’s Mommy’s birthday?"

Timothy paused, his voice more complicated: "Didn’t Mommy’s birthday already pass?"

How could he not remember?

That day, he watched Zoe clutching her grandma’s portrait, as if her soul had left her. He thought she’d never celebrate her birthday again.

"No! You’re wrong!" Doris quickly retorted. "Uncle Sinclair says tomorrow is Mommy’s birthday, and he wants me and Sharon to help make a cake for her!"

Timothy’s heart leapt in shock, and he hurried to check the calendar on his phone.

His fingers slid quickly over the dates, and when he reached the seventeenth day on the lunar calendar, he froze.

Only now did he remember—Zoe’s lunar birthday was indeed tomorrow.

She’d always celebrated by the solar calendar in past years—so he’d slowly forgotten about the lunar birthday.

So that’s how it is.

Anger surged in Timothy’s heart.

Julian Sinclair would really go to any length to win favors with Zoe!

But then, Doris was willing to tell him this—did that mean she was still on his side?

His voice softened even more. "Doris, do you still hope Mommy comes back to Daddy?"

Doris gave a small sigh on the other end, tone full of grown-up resignation: "Daddy, you must’ve been so bad to Mommy before. Otherwise how could she like Uncle Sinclair and not like you?"

She made up her mind, and said, "Tomorrow, can you also bake a cake for Mommy? With your own hands?"

Timothy’s heart was jolted—sour and warm all at once.

His daughter’s words were like a shot of courage, giving him instant confidence.

He gripped his phone, firm and steady: "Sweetheart, don’t worry. This time I’ll try my best, and Mommy will take Daddy back. Our family will be together again, okay?"

"You have to promise not to let me down!"

Doris’s voice finally had some laughter, like sunshine after the rain. Could she really be like other kids, and have both Daddy and Mommy at the same time?

After hanging up, Timothy turned and went into the kitchen, instructing Nanny Lowell to prepare baking supplies right away.

This time, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

The Xavier Manor’s kitchen glowed in the night.

Cream, chocolate, and pastry flour were spread across the stainless steel countertop.

Timothy was bent over, focusing on cracking eggs. The soft clink of shells against the bowl echoed in the quiet kitchen.

Footsteps sounded at the stairway—Sophia Kendall, supporting her waist, slowly walked down.

Since the commotion at the hospital, when Byron Kendall and Madam Sinclair broke her ribs with canes, she’d been brought to the manor by Timothy for ’rest.’

But in truth, wherever she went someone was watching her—she couldn’t even get out the front door.

Now, seeing her son busy in the kitchen apron, she smiled, thinking he was feeling sorry for her and cooking personally.

"Timothy, you’ve been so busy at work all day—you should really rest when you get home."

Sophia stood in the kitchen doorway, voice full of concern. "I’m happy to eat the chef’s food, no need for you to go to all this effort."

Timothy didn’t even look up, his whisk spinning swiftly in the bowl.

"This isn’t for you," he said, voice flat. "Tomorrow is Zoe’s birthday. I want to bake her a birthday cake—just like she used to for me."

"Are you insane?!" Sophia’s voice shot up, like a cat’s tail stepped on. She stared at Timothy in shock. "That bitch Zoe! Do you realize how badly she hurt you? Your reputation is ruined, and Douglas and Ethan have taken advantage of that! Not to mention, even flaying her alive wouldn’t give me enough satisfaction. How can you shamelessly make her a cake to win her over?"

Timothy stopped what he was doing and turned around, his face blank.

His gaze was icy cold. "It all started with me. The divorce trial is less than two weeks away. If Zoe is willing to give me another chance, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do."

"I’ve wasted all my years raising you!"

Sophia felt utterly disappointed. She rushed forward, beating Timothy’s arms as she cried, "I raised you this big, and have you ever cooked for me once? That shameless bitch Zoe, she cheated on you, schemed against you, and you still go running to her, baking a cake for her! Is your heart made of stone?"

Timothy let her pummel him, his face unmoved. He then turned toward the door, coldly saying to the bodyguards, "Take Madam to the Buddha room. Let her calm down."

"What... What do you mean?"

Sophia’s sobbing stopped abruptly, staring at her son, incredulous.

Soon, two bodyguards in black suits entered, business-like: "Madam, please."

"Timothy! How dare you treat me like this? I’m your real mother!" Sophia trembled, both angry and afraid.

Timothy’s gaze fell on her, carrying a trace of darkness: "If you don’t want to go meditate, then stay in your room and don’t provoke me. What happened between me and Zoe—you played no small part."

His words landed like a bucket of ice water, smothering all of Sophia’s bluster instantly.

She saw the cold look in her son’s eyes and, for the first time, felt a surge of fear.

She realized Timothy seemed to have truly severed all ties now.

He’d go to unimaginable lengths for Zoe, even baking a cake himself; but to everyone else—including her—he was even harsher, even colder.

Sophia opened her mouth, but couldn’t utter a word. She only glared fiercely at Timothy, then slunk miserably back to her own bedroom.

The kitchen was quiet again.

Timothy looked down at the ingredients on the counter, his fingers absently stroking the cold rim of the bowl. He knew baking a cake wasn’t nearly enough, but as long as there was any chance Zoe might change her mind, he wouldn’t give up.

...

The Xavier Manor’s kitchen lights burned all night long.

On the stainless steel counter were several failed cake sponges—some had collapsed, some were burnt black.

Sweat beaded at Timothy’s hairline, flour dusting his dark shirt, leaving him a bit of a mess.

He’d been at it all night, from clumsy to gradually more skilled.

Nanny Lowell entered, wrapped in a shawl, and saw the scene in front of her.

She couldn’t stand it, so she offered, "Sir, you’ve been at it for hours—let me help. I make cake all the time."

But Timothy continued carefully smoothing the cream over the sponge, as focused as if he were handling a crucial business contract. "No need. I’ll do it myself. Zoe’s an expert baker—if I mess it up, she’ll spot it instantly."

He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of her, nor lose to Julian Sinclair at even making a cake.

At five-thirty in the morning, as the first rays of dawn came through the kitchen window, Timothy finally exhaled deeply.

On the counter stood a not-quite-perfect but decent-looking chocolate cake, glazed with smooth chocolate sauce and garnished with fresh strawberries.

He looked at his own handiwork, and couldn’t help but smile faintly.

He suddenly remembered: whenever Zoe finished a new dessert, she would snap photos and send them right to him, chattering away about her new recipe.

Back then he even thought—how dull could someone be, making such a fuss about frivolous things?

But now, he understood: because Zoe loved him, everything she did for him became important work.

Just like he was feeling now.

Timothy gripped his phone, taking several pictures of the cake.

The sense of accomplishment was stronger than closing any billion-dollar deal.

Instinctively, he opened WeChat, wanting to send the photos to Zoe—only to freeze over his screen.

She’d already blocked him on WeChat.

His lips curled with bitter resignation, and he opened X.

Since the last social media scandal, his X comment section was daily deluged with curses.

But he neither deleted nor disabled them.

For Timothy, as long as Xavier Group’s stock price held steady and the crisis was contained, all that abuse was meaningless noise.

His previously empty X account had now gathered plenty of followers; every post drew heaps of comments.

Even if they were all insults.

But only by posting here did he have any chance Zoe might see it.

He sorted and uploaded the cake photos, adding a heart emoji.

When he hit send, he felt a faint, unusual nervousness.

He knew Zoe might never look—but he still wanted her to know he was changing.

Very quickly, the comment section exploded:

"The jerk’s up to something again? Who’d he bake this cake for, his new mistress?"

"LOL, is Xavier Group going bankrupt? The bigshot CEO turning into a wannabe influencer?"

"Did you bake this yourself? Gotta say, not bad! Sucks at being a husband, maybe he’ll have luck as a pastry chef!"

Timothy read each comment, and instead of getting angry, found some of them mildly amusing.

He replied under the first: "For my wife. Today is my wife Zoe Ellison’s birthday."

Just like a stone dropped in hot oil, the comment section got even busier:

"??? Trying to turn over a new leaf? You’re not divorced yet?"

Timothy replied, "Not yet."

"How dare you call her your wife? You know what your family did to her? Her mom just died and you’re still bothering her?"

Timothy replied, "You’re right to scold me. But for now, she’s legally still my wife; that’s my right."

"You’ve got some nerve, but if you’re really sorry, then there’s hope. Don’t let it be an act!"

Timothy replied, "You can all keep me accountable."

He practically answered every key comment, calm and composed, neither excusing himself nor getting flustered.

Soon, the curses subsided, and some netizens became curious about the change:

"He used to seem so cold-hearted—but now I think he’s not quite as bad. He’s actually pretty decent."

"Can’t believe he really bakes cakes himself, and replies to comments. His attitude’s better than a lot of celebrities."

"Whether it’s put on or real, at least it beats acting so aloof. Pretty emotionally stable! Guess I’ll just watch."

"..."

Timothy stopped checking the comments and started packing up the cake with care.

...

Elsewhere, as I woke up, my WeChat buzzed with a flood of birthday messages from colleagues.

I was speechless—Today... It’s my birthday?

Isn’t my birthday the same day my mother was buried?

The X notification kept pinging like crazy, disturbing my already unsettled mind.

I tried to ignore it, but words like "Timothy Xavier turning over a new leaf," "birthday cake," "CEO throwing birthday party for wife" forced themselves onto my screen.

I forced myself to open it; the page was full of Timothy’s cake photos and netizens gleefully screenshotting his replies—every word made me sick.

Almost on impulse, I hit uninstall, watching the X icon vanish from my phone before letting out a long sigh.

Blocking him wasn’t enough—only deleting the whole app could keep my eyes clean.

But even after I deleted X, his high-profile performance was trending everywhere.

Most netizens treated everything between me and Timothy like a soap opera.

At that moment, a knock sounded outside—one of The Sinclair Family’s maids asked if I wanted to join breakfast.

I forced down my emotions, opened the door, and went downstairs.

In the dining room, Madam Sinclair sat at the head of the table, frowning. When she saw me, she immediately smiled warmly, "Zoe, you’re up? Come have a seat—I’ve just stewed some bird’s nest for you, good for your blood!"

I thanked her.

As soon as I sat down, Granny couldn’t hold back, her tone openly disgruntled: "It’s so strange—how did Timothy Xavier know today is your lunar birthday? Out posting all that nonsense on X at the crack of dawn—just putting on a show for outsiders!"

My hand paused over the chopsticks, my heart dazed.

I’d forgotten about having a lunar birthday. How did Timothy remember?

Julian across from me didn’t comment, only glanced lightly at Doris beside him.

The little girl blushed bright red, ducking her head over her porridge as if the bowl could swallow her up.

She looked so guilty—might as well have written "I’m the one who spilled the beans" across her face.

Granny didn’t notice the subtle exchange. She turned and took out an ancient-looking square box, carved with lotus flowers—a true antique.

She handed the box over to me, her voice gentle, "Zoe, you’ve suffered so much lately. Grandma can’t help much, but I hope this can protect you. May you find safety and more reasons to smile."

I hurried to thank her and took the box in both hands.

But as soon as I opened it, my breath caught in my throat.

On a velvet cushion lay an imperial-green jade peace charm, the rounded edge polished smooth and glowing, the stone’s green deep as endless water.

Almost unreal in its beauty.

"Grandma, it’s too valuable—I can’t accept this."

I rushed to push the box back.

"I’m giving it to you, so just wear it."

Julian spoke beside me, voice calm and certain, "This charm was originally for my mother. When she left The Sinclair Family, she returned it to Grandma."

My heart lurched, instantly catching the meaning behind his words.

I felt myself inexplicably flush, fingers tense on the box’s edge—suddenly it all felt too much.

Granny glared sharply at Julian, annoyed. "Why are you saying that now? Can’t keep a birthday light, always bringing up sad stuff!"

She went on, turning back to me in a softer tone, "Don’t listen to him—it’s just Grandma’s birthday present. It looks lovely on you, and that’s all that matters."

Trying to smooth over the awkwardness, Granny quickly switched topics and asked Julian, "Where’s your present?"

Julian set down his chopsticks, lips curling in a faint smile. "You’ll find out tonight."

I held the cold jade charm, feeling both warmth and confusion inside.

Just then, I checked the time—had an important interview scheduled for the morning.

I rushed the two kids to finish breakfast fast so I could drop them off at school.

Julian chimed in, "Go to work, I’ll take care of their drop-off."

Since I was already pressed for time, I didn’t protest—grabbed my bag and hurried out.

But just as I reached the office building, I saw Timothy’s flashy black car parked out front.

Timothy was standing beside it in a sharp suit, completely out of place among my coworkers rushing to clock in.