Chapter 3

The next morning. The top-floor boardroom of Claire Consortium.

I sat in the CEO's chair, gauze taped across my forehead.

Julian pushed through the door, trailed by Cynthia clutching a folder—his personal assistant.

He was the general manager of the consortium's New York subsidiary. Cynthia was his secretary.

When Julian noticed the gauze on my forehead, his stride faltered briefly.

"What happened?" he said with a frown, his tone more annoyed than concerned.

I opened the terminal data report in front of me. "Let's begin your presentation, Julian. The board members' time is valuable."

Julian's expression darkened. He took the seat across from me.

Halfway through the report, Cynthia's hand trembled as she handed Julian his coffee. The entire cup of black coffee spilled across the original financial statement on the table.

"I'm so sorry, Julian! I didn't mean to…" She scrambled for napkins, tears falling on cue.

Julian pressed her hand still. "It's fine. It's just a document. As long as it didn't burn you."

He turned to me and ordered: "Sarah, have your secretary print a new copy and bring it in."

I capped my pen with a crisp *click*.

"That document was reviewed and stamped by Swiss Trust and the SEC. It is the sole legally binding original."

Julian waved impatiently. "Then have your legal team redo the entire process! Cynthia was up until dawn helping me compile the data last night—she just slipped up. As a senior executive, you need to show some understanding toward your employees."

The entire boardroom sat in dead silence. Not a single director dared speak.

I raised my head, fixing him with an ice-cold stare.

"Julian, this is a workplace. Discuss business. Not personal affairs."

"You're just targeting Cynthia!" Julian slammed the coffee-soaked document on the table. "It's just a spreadsheet! As my fiancée, can't you show an ounce of generosity?"

Cynthia stepped forward, eyes red. "It's all my fault. Please don't blame Julian… I'll go prepare a new set right now…"

She spoke while bending to pick up fragments from the floor.

Julian immediately stood to steady her, then roared at me: "Enough! Sarah! Look at yourself—this pettiness! Where is the dignity of a consortium heiress? Cynthia is sensitive by nature. If you give her some kind of psychological breakdown, can you bear that responsibility?!"

I pressed the intercom button on the desk, my expression unchanged.

"Send the corporate security team up."

Julian stared at me in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

"Cynthia has committed gross negligence and destroyed a core legal document of this consortium, exposing us to incalculable compliance risk. She is terminated effective immediately."

Then I turned my gaze to Julian. "As for you—mixing personal matters with professional duties, severely disrupting board proceedings. Effective today, all your management responsibilities are suspended pending an internal review."

Julian laughed in fury, jabbing his finger at my face.

"Sarah, to force me to grovel, you'd actually stoop to weaponizing your authority for personal vengeance?"

"Fine—I'll leave! Let's see who can push this acquisition forward without me!"

He grabbed Cynthia's hand. "Cynthia, we're leaving!"

At the conference room door, Julian stopped and turned.

"When you figure out how to be a proper fiancée, you can come beg me to come back."

The door slammed so hard the glass walls of the conference room shuddered.

The wound on my forehead throbbed dully. I fed the ruined document into the shredder and opened the next file.

"Let's continue the meeting."

---

Two days later. The corridor outside the VIP ward on the top floor of the medical center.

Grandpa's attending physician looked grave.

"Mr. Claire's heart is nearing complete failure. He needs bypass surgery performed immediately by Professor Ian from Switzerland. But the professor is currently at a classified research facility attending a symposium—all public communications have been severed. We've determined that the Gulfstream G650 registered under Julian's name has special flight-path clearance. It is currently the only means of transport that can bring Professor Ian back in time."

I took out my phone. My fingertips trembled.

I dialed Julian's private number.

The first attempt—rejected. The second—no answer. The third finally connected. Party music and cheering crowds blared through the speaker.

"What?" Julian's voice was laced with displeasure.

"Julian, Grandpa's had a cardiac emergency—he's in critical care! We need your private jet to bring Professor Ian here!" I forced my voice to stay steady. "I'm begging you. Authorize the flight immediately!"

Silence on the other end for a few seconds.

Then Cynthia's coy, syrupy voice floated through: "Julian, who is it? We're supposed to watch the meteor shower tonight. If the plane gets sent away, we won't be able to go… I've never seen a meteor shower from forty thousand feet…"

Julian murmured tenderly: "Don't worry, baby. A promise is a promise."

His voice turned cold again as he addressed me:

"Sarah—to get me to come back, you'd actually lie about your own family's health?"

"I'm not lying! Grandpa is in the emergency room right now!" My voice shot up involuntarily.

"Emergency room? Last month you said Grandpa had high blood pressure. Last week you said you cut your hand slicing an apple."

"Sarah, the same trick stops working after the third time." Julian let out a cold laugh. "I already promised to take Cynthia on the jet tonight for the meteor shower."

"So—even if your Grandpa really is dying, there is absolutely no way I'm going back on my word!"