Chapter 9
After the divorce was finalized, Brandon was left with nothing. His reputation in tatters, he even lost his job.
The design world is a small circle. Once word of his disgraceful actions spread, no one dared hire someone with such a character.
Fiona didn’t fare much better, either.
She’d thought Brandon was a “high–value prospect.” Instead, she found out he was not only broke but a freeloader, and now, even his source of free lodging was gone.
Rumor had it that after being forced out of my apartment, Brandon had nowhere to go and ended up crashing at Fiona’s place. They fought daily over money, their arguments escalating into physical violence.
Fiona couldn’t stand the hardship and tried to leave, but Brandon dragged her back, beating her again.
One month later, at the new company I’d started with Isaac, I received a call from the front desk.
“Ms. Hayes, there’s a Ms. Davis here to see you. She says she’s a… friend? She’s crying and refuses to leave.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Send her up.”
When Fiona walked into my office, I almost didn’t recognize her.
The girl who was always meticulously made up and dressed in designer loungewear now had dry, brittle hair, a sallow complexion, and wore a pilled, shapeless coat. She looked ten years older.
The moment she saw me, she fell to her knees with a thump.
“Ms. Hayes! Please, you have to help me!”
She sobbed, tears and snot running down her face. “Brandon’s lost his mind! He’s squatting in my apartment… he won’t leave! He hits me! He’s forcing me to take out
Chapter 9
loans… I can’t take it anymore!”
I leaned back in my executive chair, twirling a pen, watching her coldly.
“Ms. Davis, this sounds like a domestic matter. Why come to me?”
“Ms. Hayes, I know I was wrong! I shouldn’t have gone after your husband! It was all Brandon’s fault, he lied to me! He said he was going to leave you anyway! I was deceived! Please, just help me get rid of him! Or… or lend me some money so I can move!”
Looking at her pitiful state, I felt nothing.
Not a single ripple of sympathy.
I picked up my phone and played a recording.
It was from several months ago. A conversation she’d had with Brandon in the hallway. I’d come home early and happened to catch it.
On the recording, Fiona’s voice was sickly sweet and dripping with venom.
“Oh, Alpha, that old hag is so easy to fool. You just have to sweet–talk her a little and she’ll do anything. Once you get that apartment, we can throw her away like trash. Then we can be together every day.”
A giggle. “Hehe, she really thinks you love her. What an idiot. I even think the clothes she wears are tacky. I don’t know how you put up with her.”
Fiona’s weeping stopped abruptly. Her face froze in a grotesque mask of horror.
I stopped the recording and smiled at her.
“Hear that? That was you, back when you thought you were on top of the world.”
“N–no… that… Brandon made me say that…”
“You know what? You’re right, I threw the trash away. Whoever picked it up can keep
it.”
I pressed the intercom button on my desk.
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Chapter to
Six months later.
The company Isaac and I founded went public successfully
At the celebratory gala, I stood in the center of the crowd, wearing a stunning red haute couture gown, a glass of champagne in my hand, graciously accepting everyone’s congratulations.
Those six months felt like a different life.
Freed from the dead weight of toxic people and drama, I poured all my energy into work.
Revenue doubled, the company went public, and I became a respected and formidable
force in the industry.
Just then, I caught sight of a familiar figure at the entrance of the ballroom.
Brandon.
He was wearing that same suit–the Italian silk one I’d once ruined in the washing machine, now permanently wrinkled.
His hair was unkempt, his face covered in a scraggly beard. In just half a year, he looked like he’d aged two decades.
In his hand, he clutched a crumpled piece of paper–a resume, or perhaps a desperate plea for reconciliation.
Security blocked his entry without ceremony. In the ensuing scuffle, he was shoved to the floor, a picture of utter humiliation.
He scrambled back up, pressing his face against the glass wall, peering inside.
Our eyes met through the floor–to–ceiling window.
His gaze was a muddled mess of regret, desperation, and a lingering, pathetic greed.
My phone vibrated in my clutch.
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A text from an unknown number:
[Sophia, I see you. You look breathtaking. I know I was wrong. I’ve thought of you every single day for six months. I can’t eat the food you used to make anymore. Everything else tastes awful. Can you give me another chance? I promise I’ll listen to you
- on. I’ll take the trash out every time…]
I read it, a cold, sharp smile touching my lips.
Block. Delete.
A seamless, practiced motion.
from now
I turned to Isaac beside me and said lightly, “It seems the trash wasn’t taken out
properly tonight. It’s rather unsightly.”
Isaac followed my gaze. His expression hardened.
He slid an arm around my waist, leaning close to murmur in my ear, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Trash like that doesn’t belong in your world.“”
With a subtle gesture from him, the security guards at the entrance immediately
understood. They firmly took hold of Brandon’s arms and dragged him away from the glass doors.
Brandon struggled, his shouts muffled by the glass, a pathetic spectacle.
But I could no longer hear him.
Inside the ballroom, music swelled.
Isaac turned to me, offering his hand with old–world courtesy.
“Ms. Hayes, may I have this dance?”
I looked into his eyes, which held a warmth and depth I’d come to trust, and placed my
hand in his.
“The honor would be mine.”
In the center of the dance floor, under the glittering lights, I knew.
