And by sunrise, Julian Cross was standing alone in his mansion, staring at the empty side of a closet that had once held Clarissa’s few belongings.
She had taken almost nothing.
A coat.
A worn dress.
A photograph from their first year.
And the dignity he thought he had destroyed.
Chloe arrived at the mansion just after dawn, mascara streaked, still wearing the champagne gown.
“Julian,” she cried, rushing inside. “They’re saying my name everywhere. My sponsorship deal is gone. My accounts are being reviewed. You need to fix this.”
Julian looked at her.
For the first time, he saw no glamour.
Only panic wearing diamonds.
“You said you loved me,” Chloe snapped.
He laughed bitterly. “You loved the version of me with power.”
“And you loved the version of me that made you feel important.”
The words landed because they were true.
Julian sank onto the stairs.
