Chapter 4

Hailey's POV

Eric froze when he saw how utterly broken I was.

He walked over, trying to see what the photo was.

"It's just a photo. Is it really worth crying over?" He reached down to grab it.

"Don't touch it!" I snapped at his hand, shielding the photo like a feral animal protecting its food. I looked up at him, my eyes filled with pure hatred.

Eric let out a cold laugh, his anger flaring. "What? Crying over an old photo of me again? Hailey, aren't you sick of this dramatic act?"

He thought the photo was of him.

I didn't bother to correct him. I carefully tucked the photo back into my coat, stood up, and wiped my tears.

"Eric," I said, my voice hoarse but dripping with an icy chill. "Keep your woman on a leash. If she ever touches my things again, I promise I will break her hand."

Without waiting for his response, I pushed past him and walked out.

A few days later, Claire's comeback show suffered a massive disaster.

On the eve of the runway, her headliner jewelry design was exposed as a blatant plagiarism of an early work by a famous European designer.

The internet exploded. Claire's reputation as a talented, innocent designer shattered overnight, and boycotts poured in.

Inside Eric's office, the air was suffocating.

Claire was sobbing hysterically. "Eric, I didn't plagiarize! It was Hailey! She drew that sketch! She set me up!"

Eric rubbed his temples and looked at me, standing quietly in the corner.

"Hailey, you will take the blame for this," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I looked up at him. "Mr. Carter, I am a professional designer. If I admit to plagiarism, my career is completely over."

"So what?" Eric looked at me coldly. "You're marrying me soon. The wife of the CEO of the Carter Group doesn't need to work. But Claire is different. Her career is just starting, and she cannot have a stain on her record."

My wife doesn't need to work.

I sneered inwardly at those words.

I looked at Eric, my eyes as dead as a winter morning.

"Fine. I'll take the fall," I said. "But remember this, Eric. This is the last thing I will ever do for you. If anything goes wrong at our wedding next month, I will never forgive you."

The next day, I held a press conference.

Facing the blinding camera flashes and aggressive reporters, I calmly admitted to plagiarism and announced my permanent retirement from the design industry.

The crowd in the lobby was furious. An angry protester suddenly broke through the security line and threw a heavy water bottle at my head.

"You thieving fraud! Get out of the industry!"

The bottle struck my forehead. Blood trickled down my face.

I didn't dodge. I didn't even wipe the blood. I just stood there, letting the cameras capture my most humiliated moment.

Later, I sat alone in the empty dressing room, casually dabbing the blood from my forehead with a napkin.

Hearing footsteps, I looked up and saw Eric rushing in. I was slightly surprised.

"What are you doing here?" my tone was indifferent.

Eric stared at the cut on my forehead, a flash of genuine pain in his eyes.

He stepped closer, reaching out to touch my wound, but I tilted my head to avoid him.

"I did what you asked," I said, looking at him with clear eyes. "There are fifteen days left until the wedding. I hope you keep your word."

Eric's hand froze in mid-air.

I had given up my reputation, my career, and my dignity.

All I wanted was that wedding.

And as I looked at him, there was not a single trace of love left in my eyes.