Chapter 6 - The Broken Crown
Thirty minutes later, Julian stood in his spacious corner office, staring blindly out at the foggy bay.
Two uniformed security guards stood by the glass door, watching his every move as he threw a few personal books and a desk clock into a cardboard box.
The door opened, and Chloe Marr walked in, carrying a small leather designer bag. Her eyes were red from crying.
"Julian..." she whimpered, stepping toward him. "Security just revoked my keycard. HR gave me twenty minutes to clear my desk. What are we going to do?"
Julian turned his head slowly, his eyes dark, sunken, and hollow. He looked at Chloe as if seeing her clearly for the very first time—not as a glamorous escape from his domestic routine, but as the architect of his complete downfall.
"We?" Julian whispered, his voice trembling with bitter resentment. "There is no 'we', Chloe."
Chloe blinked, stunned. "What are you talking about? Julian, I stood by you! I went to Napa with you!"
"You lured me to Napa with promises of an exclusive tech deal with your brother's agency!" Julian roared, stepping closer to her, his face contorted in rage. "You convinced me to turn off my phone during dinner! You kept me away while my wife bled out in an operating room! My son is dead because of you!"
"Your son is dead because you chose to leave your pregnant wife!" Chloe shouted back, her voice laced with venom. "Don't you dare pin this on me, Julian! You wanted a younger, prettier woman on your arm! You wanted to feel like a god! I just gave you what you asked for!"
Julian stared at her, the harsh truth of her words striking him like a hammer blow.
She was right.
It hadn't been Chloe who had kissed my forehead and called me dramatic. It hadn't been Chloe who had ignored seven frantic phone calls while my life slipped away.
It had been him.
"Get out," Julian said softly, turning his back on her. "Get out of my office."
Chloe spat a bitter laugh, turned on her designer heels, and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Julian stood alone in the center of the vast, quiet room. He walked over to his executive desk and picked up a framed photograph resting near his computer monitor.
It was a picture taken three years ago at our wedding in Lake Tahoe.
May you like
I was wearing a simple lace dress, laughing under the pine trees, holding his hand while he looked at me as if I were the center of his universe.
Julian pulled the photograph against his chest, collapsing onto his leather chair, weeping hysterically into the silence of his lost empire.
