Chapter 3

Vanessa strutted directly to the center of the lounge, slamming her phone face-up onto the glass table.

"Hey everyone, let me introduce myself. I'm Vanessa Shaw," she purred, flashing a patronizing smile before fixing her gaze on me. "I run an influencer marketing firm. We only manage about thirty creators, but our latest campaign just cleared ten million in revenue."

She unlocked her phone, flipping through client analytics and tilting the screen for the entire room to see.

"You probably won't believe this, but the initial seed money came from Julian Sterling—thirty-five million dollars, to be exact," she said casually, each word dripping with venom. "He told me to pursue whatever makes me happy. And if I ever burn through the cash, I just have to ask."

The room turned dead silent.

Shocked eyes darted back and forth between Vanessa and me. The tension was thick enough to suffocate a room.

Before I could even blink, the double doors flew open with a violent thud.

Julian stood in the doorway, his face murderous as he stormed across the hardwood floor.

Without sparing a glance at the phone on the table, he raised his hand and delivered a vicious slap across Vanessa's cheek.

Crack.

"Get the hell out," he snarled, his voice low and vibrating with malice.

The force of the blow knocked Vanessa's head to the side.

She didn't burst into tears. She didn't throw a tantrum. She simply lifted her chin, stroked her stinging cheek, gave Julian a pointed look, cast a mocking smirk at me, and turned on her high heels to leave.

My former classmates stood frozen in terror. Nobody dared to breathe.

Julian hurried to my side, his hand reaching out to touch my shoulder. I leaned away, evading his grasp.

"Why are you here?" I asked flatly.

"I was worried about you," his voice softened into a desperate plea. "Did she hurt you? Did she say anything crazy?"

I shook my head without uttering a word.

I stood up to go to the restroom. Just as I rounded the corner of the dimly lit hallway, a shadow stepped out to block my path.

Vanessa was leaning against the wall, the red handprint burning bright on her fair cheek. Seeing me, she straightened up.

"Clara, do you honestly think he slapped me for your sake?"

I stopped and looked at her coolly.

"Let me tell you the truth: he didn't," Vanessa chuckled, a vicious glint in her eyes. "He was just humiliated that I showed up in front of your friends and bruised his billionaire ego. Do you want to bet? All it takes is one text from me saying our baby has a fever, and he'll drop everything and run right back to my bed."

"Wait and see."

Ignoring her, I brushed past and walked back to the lounge.

The second I sat down, Julian’s phone on the table vibrated.

He picked it up, looked at the screen, and his expression instantly twisted. He stood up abruptly.

"Clara, an emergency just blew up at HQ. I have to step out."

I looked up into his eyes.

"What emergency?"

"A deal-breaker. I'll explain when I get home," he said, snatching his overcoat. "Enjoy the rest of the brunch. I'll have the chauffeur pick you up."

I stared at him, my voice barely above a whisper:

"Julian, my stomach hurts. Please, just stay with me."

It was the first time in our three years of marriage that I had ever lowered myself to beg him.

Julian froze. His boots stopped in their tracks.

Noticing my chalk-white face, he hesitated, lifting a palm to touch my forehead.

"You don't have a temperature... Where does it hurt? Should I call an ambulance—"

"I just want you to stay," I interrupted, staring into his eyes. "Just today. Just this once. Can you do that for me?"

The room watched us in absolute silence.

His phone buzzed again in his palm.

He glanced at the screen, clenched his jaw, and slowly pried my fingers off his sleeve.

"Clara, this is life or death for the firm. I'll handle it and be right back, okay?"

With that, he turned and marched out the door.

I sat in my chair, watching his broad back disappear down the hall, my hand hovering in midair where it had just gripped his coat, before slowly dropping onto my lap.

Nobody dared to make a sound.

A minute later, my phone pinged.

A video from Vanessa.

I tapped it.

In the clip, Julian sat behind an expansive mahogany desk, signing his name on an executive contract.

The header of the front page read: Exclusive International PR Representation Agreement.

In the client signature box was the corporate seal of Vanessa's agency.

In the background, Vanessa giggled:

"Julian, wasn't this contract promised to Clara's agency? Giving it to me like this... won't your darling wife lose her mind if she finds out?"

Julian didn't even look up as he tossed the Montblanc pen aside.

"I'll find another way to compensate her. Focus on scaling your business first."

The video cut off.

I stared at the dark screen for a long time.

I remembered when I first broke into the luxury PR industry years ago. Julian had secured my very first Fortune 500 client in the exact same boardroom, using the exact same signature.

Back then, I thought I was his one and only. I thought the tender care he showed me was unique to our love story.

Now I understood.

He could bestow that exact same generosity on anyone.

As long as he felt like it.

I locked my phone, laid it face down on the glass, and took a sip of iced water.

Leaning back into the plush velvet chair, I closed my eyes, consumed by sheer exhaustion.