Julian Sinclair had cheated.
Abigail Winters stood outside the CEO’s office, her whole body chilled as if wrapped in a thin layer of frost. The heels of her black stilettos almost blended into the dark‑veined marble floor, like she might disappear into it at any second.
It took her a long moment before she finally lifted her hand and knocked.
“Come in.”
The low voice inside sounded calm, almost distant.
Abigail tightened her hold on the documents in her hand, pushed the door open with the other, and stepped in. The instant she crossed the threshold, she pulled on a polite, gentle smile and walked straight to his desk.
“Busy?” she asked softly. “I’ve got a few files that need your signature.”
She asked if he was busy, yet the documents were already laid out in front of him, the pages flipped to the exact spots that required his signature—efficient, considerate, practiced.
Julian had just returned from a business trip to Ruishi this morning. Instead of going home, he’d come straight to the company. His desk was already piled with paperwork, and even his usually sharp, aristocratic features carried a faint, exhausted shadow. So he didn’t bother to look; he simply signed everything she handed over.
“Thanks.”
Abigail gathered the signed papers, her expression steady. She paused only to ask, like it was nothing, “Will you be home for dinner tonight?”
“I’ve got something tonight. Don’t wait up,” he said without lifting his head.
“Alright. I’ll get out of your way.”
She turned and walked out with the documents in her arms.
The moment she faced away, her polite smile warped into something brittle, cold, almost mocking.
As she passed the office’s private lounge, a faint noise came from inside—soft, quick, like a small animal hopping off the bed. Her gaze slid toward the sofa area. On the coffee table lay opened snack bags and a half‑finished milk tea. On the floor, a nude‑pink high heel had toppled onto its side…
It took her only a second to connect everything. Her heart sank into a cold, numb void.
Abigail slipped back into her own office in silence.
It felt like the walk back had drained every last drop of strength out of her. The moment she sat down, Abigail Winters let out a long, exhausted breath, the kind that seemed to collapse straight from her bones.
She pulled a stack of documents toward her and slid one out from the middle.
The divorce agreement.
Flipping to the last page, she traced the pen strokes of Julian Sinclair’s signature with a mocking curl of her lips. Images flickered across her mind… back when he said he wanted to marry her, eyes steady and full of warmth; his mother’s cold sneer telling her not to get cocky, that no man loves only one woman in his lifetime; and her own stubborn reply that they were different.
Yeah. What a joke.
Nothing was different at all.
He had gone and messed around with some young girl, thinking he hid it well. Enjoying his little affair without a hint of guilt. Even on this business trip, he’d taken the girl with him.
And he’d even brought her into the company after they got back.
Abigail pulled her hand away from the signature, took a photo of it, and sent it to Julian’s mother: He signed it.
A week ago, she had already settled the terms with his mother.
His mother wanted her to file for divorce first and keep their secret marriage under wraps. Abigail asked for ten billion in compensation.
A month from now, Julian Sinclair would be wiped completely out of her world.
A knock broke the silence.
Abigail set the agreement aside. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Rupert Hayes, Julian’s assistant, stepped inside.
“Manager Winters, the president asked me to bring this to you.” Rupert placed a dark green velvet box in front of her.
She flipped it open without much interest. Inside lay a set of diamond jewelry worth a small fortune. But the first image that flashed through her mind was… that short‑haired girl with hazy eyes wearing nothing but a bathrobe, dangling a diamond necklace between her fingers; ambiguous lighting behind her, messy sheets, and the glaring red marks scattered across her chest.
A wave of nausea rolled hard through Abigail’s stomach.
“Thanks, Rupert,” she said.
She lifted her gaze, eyes sharp enough to cut.
Rupert Hayes felt a shiver crawl up his spine under her stare.
He hurried to explain, voice a little tight. “The president picked this himself. One and only set in the world.”
Too bad his heart was never a one-and-only.
And she didn’t care for it anymore.
Abigail Winters let a soft smile tug at her lips. “Oh? Really? That’s… surprisingly thoughtful of him. Must’ve been tough finding time to buy me a gift when he’s so busy.”
Something about her tone made Rupert’s scalp prickle. That… didn’t sound right. Did she already know about the president and Ms. Gu?
Cold sweat broke out on his back. He bolted out of the office.
Abigail looked at the jewelry on the desk like it was something she’d rather not touch—almost like it was dirty. She pulled out her phone, snapped a photo, and sent it to the owner of a luxury resale shop: Sell this set for me. Donate the money to the Foundation for Children with Cognitive Disabilities.
Luxury shop owner: “…”
＊＊＊
Five p.m.
Parking garage.
Abigail had just reached her car and pulled the door open. As she paused, her gaze drifted across the lane—right to a car already running on the opposite side.
Through the window, she saw Julian Sinclair in the back seat, sitting close to a short-haired girl whose round, sweet face practically radiated youthful energy.
“President—!”
Rupert’s terrified shout cracked through the garage as he slammed the brakes.
Across the glass and the still air of the garage, Abigail and Julian’s eyes met.