He hung up.
For the first time in years, Julian had no audience, no mistress, no wife, no board, no applause.
Only himself.
And that was the one person he had spent a lifetime avoiding.
PART 7 — The Divorce Table and the Final Lie
Two weeks later, Clarissa sat across from Julian in a private legal conference room.
He looked older.
Not dramatically. Not ruined in the theatrical way people imagined powerful men falling apart. But diminished. His suit was still expensive, his watch still gleamed, yet his eyes had lost the arrogant brightness that once made rooms bend around him.
Clarissa wore a pale blue dress her father had bought her.
Not because she needed him to.
Because this time, accepting love did not feel like weakness.
Julian’s lawyer slid papers across the table.
“The settlement terms are generous,” the lawyer said.
Clarissa’s attorney laughed softly. “Generous? Your client is offering her a fraction of what she is legally owed.”
