Even many of Ethan’s own partnerships, waiting on a denial, pulled out as fresh scandals surfaced.
He went berserk, calling every PR firm he knew. He was willing to spend a fortune, but no one wanted to touch his mess.
It could have been salvageable—if I’d wanted it to be. I didn’t.
In the end, Ethan dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.
“I’ll take it down. I’ll return everything. I’ll go with you right now to give the baby a proper burial!”
I said nothing, just stared out the window.
Ethan yanked Zoey forward.
“If you’ll let me go, I’ll make Zoey disappear. I was wrong!”
“Help me clarify the video as art—say there was nothing between me and Zoey. Please.”
I turned my head and spoke slowly. “Fine. Go get ready for tomorrow’s exhibition. I’ll be there…”
Ecstatic, Ethan didn’t even let me finish before thanking me profusely and dragging Zoey out.
I murmured, “When a net tears, does it really take everything down with it?”
That night, just as I was getting ready for bed, staff brought armfuls of boxes into my room.
A few questions later, I learned Ethan had arranged it all.
Then the messages started flooding in from him:
“Claire, look at that gown—it’s the one we commissioned from the Italian designer. I rushed it!”
“Claire, and the necklace—your skin is so fair, those rubies will look perfect on you!”
“Claire, and the SS lapel pin—nice, right? One for each of us!”
“Claire…”
He kept saying my name over and over.
If none of this had happened, I might have squealed over these presents like a giddy girl.
Even the couple’s pins I once forced him to order were now his last lifeline.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
I sighed, shook my head, and sent back a single “Mm.”
Seeing I had accepted the gifts and replied, Ethan finally relaxed, convinced the storm had passed.
He glanced at Zoey lying on the bed, and a calculating glint flashed in his eyes. He had no power or connections,
but as long as he showed up at tomorrow’s exhibition with me—me, the woman who built him—the rumors would collapse.
What he wanted was the entire creative agency—an agency without me in it.
He couldn’t let me burn it down before it was in his hands.
He’d been biding his time for a very long while.
Despite everything, because I was still scheduled to attend, there weren’t many cancellations.
People love a spectacle.
But the next day, his heart leapt back into his throat.
I was late. The room buzzed with whispers.