Chapter 10
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When he thought about how that man had nearly destroyed his company, cost him his chance with Isabelle, and indirectly subjected her to two years of abuse, Julian wanted the bastard to rot in hell. Help him? Not a chance in hell.
He shut her down without hesitation.
But Clara kept pushing, demanding to know why he'd drop millions on jade for Isabelle but wouldn't spare a fraction of that to save her father.
She even had the audacity to call him ungrateful.
Something in Julian snapped. The truth came pouring out like venom:
"If your father hadn't tried to crush my company under his boot, I'd never have needed your so-called 'rescue' in the first place!"
The revelation hit Clara like a physical blow. She was the unwitting catalyst for all this misery. Guilt and shame crashed over her in waves.
Watching her sob uncontrollably, Julian felt an unexpected pang of regret. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.
Because seeing her in such agony didn't bring the satisfaction he'd expected.
He realized he preferred her carefree smile.
But words, once spoken, couldn't be taken back. The damage was done.
Shortly after, Isabelle's ex showed up making threats. For their safety, Julian brought mother and daughter into his home.
Clara, raised in privilege, had a spoiled streak that only he seemed to tame. Worried she might mistreat his guests, he warned her to behave.
Yet on the very first day, Clara attacked Isabelle and her child—or so he thought.
The sight of Isabelle's daughter sprawled on the floor wailing, Isabelle's cheeks streaked with bloody scratches—Julian saw red.
But he swore he never meant to hurt Clara.
He just wanted to separate the women, to protect Isabelle from further harm.
He never expected Clara would fall down those stairs.
Her head cracked against the floor, blood pooling beneath her pale face, the sight burning into his retinas.
He scooped her up in a panic and raced to the hospital.
In that moment, he recognized the cold grip of fear.
Fear that Clara might die.
He couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
That's when the truth hit him like a freight train—he'd developed feelings for Clara.
His resentment had blinded him to his own heart.
Clara remained unconscious for exactly 24 hours. When she finally opened her eyes, she looked right through him as if he were a ghost.
Julian's throat tightened painfully, but he understood. Accident or not, he'd hurt her. Her anger was justified.
Desperate to make amends, he quietly paid off her father's fifty-million-dollar debt.
He assumed this grand gesture would speak for itself—that Clara would come crawling back, grateful for his generosity.
Instead, Clara looked him in the eye and said: "Julian, I want a divorce."
Julian was blindsided with rage.
What right did she have?
He'd already compromised—what more did the woman want?
This marriage was her idea in the first place—who was she to throw it away?
Fury clouded his judgment, words spilling out like acid:
"You attacked Isabelle and her daughter first! You got exactly what you deserved! Who are you trying to fool with this victim act?"
"Fine, let's divorce! But remember—I'm the one walking away! I wouldn't lower myself to stay with a vicious bitch like you anyway!"
