Chapter 2

"Tell Julian's father this: if he can't control his son, someone else will do it for him."

"Understood. Should we have the PR department handle the online backlash?"

"No need." I glanced at a photo of Julian, his face glowing with the intoxication of passion. "Since Julian has chosen love, let everyone see whether his choice was worth it."

My assistant nodded and quietly left the room.

I stood and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city glimmered with neon lights, casting cold, sharp outlines against the night. It wasn't long before my assistant must have contacted Julian's father. Julian himself didn't dare to reach out again. But I hadn't anticipated how quickly his father would act.

Not much later, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was Julian. I didn't answer, letting the persistent vibration fade into silence. Seconds later, the screen lit up with a message from him: Isabella, you're unbelievable. All this because I chose Chloe? Are you really so jealous and spiteful you'd ruin me over it?

Another message quickly followed: I know I've wronged you, but love can't be forced. If you truly loved me, you'd let me go. Why resort to such low tactics to make me bend? You've really let me down.

I paused briefly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile forming at the corner of my lips. Julian could have been honest with me from the start. But he wasn't. For the sake of immediate advantages, he chose to keep me in the dark. This was the same man who once recoiled at the faintest touch, needing to wash his hands dozens of times because of his obsessive germophobia, but who seemed unfazed by Chloe's saliva? The same man who had assured me, with gentle conviction, that our wedding would proceed as planned, only to humiliate me in public on the very day, leaving me a laughingstock? Julian thought he could juggle two women effortlessly, playing his little triangle games. But he nailed me to the cross of humiliation in the most degrading way possible, turning me into the biggest joke of our social circle. And now, he had the audacity to accuse me of not letting go for love?

I sent a quick message to my assistant: Make it quick. The stock must drop by ten points tonight.

The reply came instantly: Understood.

I swiped away from the airport photograph and watched as Sinclair Group's market value began to evaporate, bit by bit. I trusted Julian's father would not disappoint me. My phone lit up again — it was Julian.

This time, his tone had softened noticeably: Isabella, can we please talk? This situation isn't good for anyone. My parents are on the verge of losing it. Can you give me another chance? Please? Is this all because I embarrassed you today? You can punish me however you want, just stop dragging my father into this. He has nothing to do with it.

My fingers hovered over the screen as I typed my reply: If you want peace, show me your sincerity.

Moments later, his message came through: Fine. I know what I need to do.

I read his words, feeling a strange unease. But I didn't dwell on it. After finishing up at the office, I drove back to my villa. On the way, my phone rang. It was Sophia, her voice urgent.

"Where are you?" she asked, her tone sharp with anxiety.

"Just left the office, heading home—"

Sophia cut me off before I could finish. "Get back to the office. Now. Julian's on the rooftop of your building, saying you're driving him to his death. He just posted on Instagram. There are probably reporters swarming there already. You need to think of something fast. Public opinion's turning against you."

My brows knitted tightly. So that's what Julian meant earlier. He wasn't offering reconciliation. He had already planned his next move. I forced myself to stay calm.