Chapter 2

*Knock, knock, knock.*

The study door was pushed open frantically by Marcus, Julian’s right-hand man.

"Boss! Mr. Cole was ambushed at the docks this morning. The warehouse blew up. His face... it's badly burned. Luckily, he survived."

Marcus hesitated, glancing at my expression before continuing:

"Miss Hayes is tending to him, but the syndicates are in chaos. She doesn't know how to handle the business."

"Mr. Cole wants you to come take charge."

I let out a faint laugh. Typical Julian.

When blood needed to be spilled and fires put out, he came running to me. When he wanted domestic bliss, he ran to his sweet little nurse.

I closed the folder, stood up, and said:

"Lead the way."

Outside the hospital room door, Clara’s soft, pleading voice drifted through the crack:

"Julian, you promised me, remember?"

"Leave all the bloody, dangerous work to Scarlett. We're going to step away from all this violence and live a normal life. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

Julian hesitated, trying to reason:

"But I've always taken the bullets for her. If she runs into danger..."

Clara's voice instantly broke into a tearful, mournful wail:

"If you won't think of yourself, what about our baby?"

"Our child is so small. It can't grow up without a father."

Looking at Clara’s slightly swollen belly, Julian gave in.

"Fine. When she gets here, I'll make things clear."

Right then, Marcus cleared his throat behind me.

The two inside turned around, their faces freezing in awkward embarrassment when they realized I had been standing at the door listening.

I didn't care in the slightest.

My gaze was locked entirely on Julian’s face. Heavy layers of white gauze wrapped his head, crimson blood seeping through the edges.

Good. That face was thoroughly ruined.

Satisfied, I smiled serenely.

"Since Miss Hayes put it so nicely, focus on recovering. I spoke with the doctor; you can be discharged this afternoon. You'll have scars, but with proper care, you'll live."

"Don't worry about business out there. I'll handle everything."

With my blessing, Julian conveniently dumped all the danger, turf wars, and messy syndicate politics onto my shoulders, immersing himself completely in his love nest with Clara.

Three days after his discharge, late at night, I walked into the penthouse smelling of fresh blood, only to catch Julian pinning Clara against the wall in the living room, kissing her deeply.

The air froze for a few seconds.

Julian shoved Clara away in a panic, eyeing the dark, wet stains on the hem of my trench coat. Guilt flickered in his eyes.

"Are you... okay?"

I gave a curt nod without a word, turning to head upstairs.

"Wait!" Julian called out.

"Can you clean yourself up outside before coming home next time?" he frowned. "Clara can't stand the smell of blood. It makes her throw up."

I paused, glancing back at them over my shoulder.

Clara shrank timidly behind Julian, looking at me like I was a monster.

"All right," I answered smoothly, turning back toward the stairs.

Julian had no idea.

The blood on my hem belonged to Marcus.

A few nights later, in the middle of a late-night video conference, I went down to the kitchen to refill my coffee. The moment my finger flicked the light switch, the bright glare exposed the filthy scene inside—

Julian had Clara pressed against the refrigerator door, their clothes torn open, tangled in raw, breathless passion.

Clara gasped, hiding her flushed face in Julian’s neck. Julian glared back at me, but this time, there was no guilt in his eyes.

Only pure annoyance at being interrupted.

"Get out!" he snarled.

I didn't say a word. I didn't even look twice.

Picking up the full pot of freshly brewed coffee, I stepped out of the kitchen and pulled the door shut behind me with polite care.

Back in the study, my captains waited silently on screen for orders:

"Too slow," I murmured, my voice flat.

"Accelerate the timetable. I want everything wrapped up within three days."

I glanced at the organizational chart of Julian’s core holdings on my desk, adding coolly:

"Burn down every last root he has in this city."

The night I killed Julian’s last loyal enforcer, it was pouring rain.

In the living room, Arthur was dressing a deep, bone-exposing slash on my forearm.

Julian came downstairs with his arm wrapped around Clara. His eyes swept indifferently over my gruesome wound, not bothering with a single word of courtesy. Instead, he slammed a thick stack of divorce papers onto the coffee table in front of me.

His voice was cold and impatient:

"Scarlett, let's get a divorce."