Chapter 6

Chloe's POV

On the seventh evening, the heavy front door finally opened.

Julian walked in, bringing the chilly winter air with him. He was dressed in a pristine, custom-tailored black suit, looking as powerful and untouchable as ever. But when his eyes fell on me sitting on the carpet, looking like a skeleton, a flicker of pain and frustration crossed his face.

He quickly masked it, returning to his usual cold demeanor.

"Are you done throwing your tantrum?" He walked over, looking down at me, and tossed a document onto the table. "Sign this. Then we'll go get the divorce finalized."

I turned my head slowly, my eyes landing on the paper.

"I thought you ripped up the last copy because you didn't want to divorce," my voice was raspy, sounding like sandpaper.

"Chloe, don't be naive," Julian said, his tone brutally calm. "Next Wednesday is my engagement party with Scarlett. You need to accept reality. The title of Mrs. Vance belongs to her now."

My heart squeezed painfully, a sharp ache radiating through my chest.

"If you're getting engaged, why are you keeping me locked up here?" I looked up, my eyes bloodshot.

Julian knelt down, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Because I've designated you as the head chef for the engagement party."

My pupils dilated. I stared at him in utter horror.

He wanted me, his wife, to cook for his engagement party to another woman?

"Are you insane, Julian?" My voice finally cracked. "What do you think I am? How much more of my dignity do you need to crush before you're satisfied?!"

"What are you? A chef who once cooked for the Vance family, or a woman who needs to learn her place." Julian's eyes were merciless.

"Your assistant, Penny, and the rest of your studio staff. I have them blacklisted. If you don't make this dinner perfect, I'll make sure none of them ever find a job in New York again. They will be drowning in debt."

"You monster!" I raised my hand to slap him, but he caught my wrist mid-air.

"I'm just teaching you how the real world works," Julian said, throwing my hand back and standing up. "Chloe, if you behave, do this one last job, and prove you've let go of your obsession with being my wife, you can stay by my side. I'll make sure you live in luxury."

I trembled, staring at him for a long, long time.

So long that Julian actually looked away, unable to meet my gaze.

My eyes were completely dead.

The twelve years of love, adoration, and warmth had burned to ash in a single second.

I finally accepted that the boy who once carried me on his back for five miles in a rainstorm was dead. This man was a stranger.

"Fine," I said, my voice flat and lifeless. "I'll do it."

Julian blinked, clearly surprised by how quickly I agreed.

"Good. Sign the papers and prepare. Don't think about running away." He turned and walked out, his back cold and unyielding.

When the door locked, I didn't cry. My tears had dried up during the week of isolation. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the divorce papers. Each stroke felt like a cut through my past twelve years.

Over the next few days, I started eating again. I even asked the maid to bring in premium ingredients. The guards thought I had finally given up, so they relaxed their security.

I worked like a robot, making batch after batch of wild mushroom soup. But this time, I didn't use any of the rare, gut-healing herbs I used to source from all over the world.

I opened the pantry and dumped thousands of dollars worth of premium, health-boosting ingredients straight into the garbage.

Julian, you wanted me to cook? I'll cook. But from now on, your health, your stomach, and your life have absolutely nothing to do with me.

The following Wednesday, at the Waldorf Astoria in New York.

The engagement party of the century between Vance Enterprises and the Sterling Group had taken over the entire penthouse ballroom. Every powerful family in New York was there.

But in the kitchen, the atmosphere was tense.

I stood in a white chef's uniform, my hair tied back neatly, staring blankly at the prep station.

The other chefs looked at me with pity and whispered gossip.

Everyone knew I was Julian's secret wife, now forced to cook for his new bride. It was the ultimate humiliation.

"Miss Lynn, they are calling for the soup in the ballroom. Is the wild mushroom soup ready?" the head chef asked cautiously.

"Yes," I said quietly.

I sprinkled a bit of fresh parsley over the soup. It looked beautiful, but it lacked the rich, healing aroma it used to have.

Suddenly, the kitchen doors swung open.