Chapter 3

At two in the morning, someone began violently pounding on the front door.

The deafening bangs and vile curses made every hair on my body stand on end.

"Open the damn door, you little bitch!"

"You should've been honored I touched you, and you dared get a lawyer?!"

"Wait till I get my hands on you!"

I peered through the peephole.

Mike was standing outside with an iron crowbar, his drunken stench practically seeping through the frame.

"Mike! My boyfriend is here with me! If you don't leave right now, I'm calling for help!"

He spat on the floor and started forcing the lock.

With every brutal wrench of the tool, the deadbolt gave way a little more.

My palms were slick with sweat as I dialed my emergency contact.

"Julian, Mike came to the apartment. He's drunk and trying to pry the door open..."

Julian sounded groggy, like I had just woken him up.

"If you just want me to come home, say it. Don't make up such pathetic excuses."

Seeing the lock on the verge of breaking, I dug my nails into my palms in pure panic.

"Julian, I'm telling the truth! Please, come home..."

He cut me off bluntly. "Enough. I'm with... with a client. I have to go."

Before the line went dead, I heard Nana's playful, coquettish voice in the background.

Clang.

The metal lock broke off and crashed to the floor.

Mike smiled, his bloodshot eyes locked onto me.

He advanced step by step, swinging the iron bar hard against my body.

By the time building security arrived, I was soaked in cold sweat, curled into a corner, trembling uncontrollably.

They rushed me to the hospital.

Through the haze of consciousness, I heard Nana speaking softly to Julian.

"Julian, setting everything else aside, Mike really is an exceptional sales director. He just had too much to drink."

"The doctors said Chloe isn't seriously injured anyway. I really don't think we should press charges—this affects the company's bottom line."

"This company is your life's work. I just don't want a petty issue like this to ruin everything you built."

Julian paused for a few seconds before answering smoothly.

"All right. Whatever you say."

Hearing those words, I opened my eyes in a daze, tears tracking silently down my cheeks.

A scumbag who had harassed me and nearly beaten me to death was instantly forgiven by my boyfriend.

The excruciating pain in my body was nothing compared to the agony in my chest.

Seeing me awake, Julian looked at my tear-stained face and slipped right back into his professional boss persona.

"Chloe, don't worry. The company will make sure you're properly compensated."

There were only three people in the hospital room.

Yet he still chose to keep up the charade to "avoid suspicion."

I let out a hollow laugh. "Understood, Mr. Vance."

I watched them leave.

A few minutes later, my phone lit up with a text from Julian.

[Chloe, I messed up tonight. Rest up first. I'll take care of everything.]

The final thread holding my heart together snapped cleanly. Any lingering attachment vanished into thin air.

The next day, I checked myself out against medical advice and went to the office to resign.

Nana slammed a folder onto my desk. "Julian says you can only leave after you close this deal. Otherwise, forget it."

I glanced at the paperwork.

The client listed was notoriously sleazy in the industry—dishonorable, predatory, and well-known for crossing lines.

"I'm not taking this project."

"Oh, really?" She reached into her bag and pulled out a familiar wooden box.

"If you don't, I guess these old scraps of paper are going straight into the shredder."

I blinked, staring hard to be sure.

Inside that box were the final letters my mother had written to me while dying of terminal cancer.

Back then, surgeries had stolen her voice.

So during her final months, after every round of IV drips, she sat down and wrote me a long letter.

She wrote until her eyes were bloodshot and her joints were swollen, refusing to put the pen down.

She wanted to leave me comfort, so I wouldn't feel entirely alone after she was gone.

Those letters were my most precious possessions, locked safely in our home safe. Only Julian and I knew the passcode.

Nana pulled out one of the letters and fed it into the shredder.

My mother's handwriting was chewed into irreversible ribbons.

"Chloe, if you can't land this contract, every single one of these goes into the machine."

Blinding heartache and a raging sense of betrayal surged through me. My voice shook violently.

"Don't touch my things!"

"I'll handle the contract."