Chapter 9
565words
The once-mighty Woods dynasty vanished from Riverdale overnight, reduced to footnotes in business journals.
Vivian Woods briefly clung to Charles like a drowning rat before he cast her aside. She eventually disappeared—some say to a small town where no one knew her name.
With Grandfather's unwavering backing, I stepped into my rightful position at Wright Corporation's helm.
The executives who once whispered about my "country bumpkin" past fell silent as my business acumen became undeniable.
I made decisions with surgical precision, not only stabilizing our core business but aggressively expanding into emerging markets.
Wright Corporation's stock rocketed past its historical ceiling, setting new records quarter after quarter.
No longer the shadow hiding behind the Kosters name, I became the brightest star in Riverdale's business firmament.
Everyone who crossed my path addressed me with newfound respect: "President Wright."
Meanwhile, Charles Kosters—cut off from his family fortune—spiraled downward with remarkable speed.
He attempted several ventures, but without his family connections and my behind-the-scenes support, his "business genius" proved embarrassingly hollow.
He took to haunting the entrance of my corporate headquarters, clutching fresh bouquets like a man possessed.
"Sophie, I was wrong—God, I was so wrong..."
"Just one more chance. I'm nothing without you..."
"Everything I said—I take it all back. Please forgive me."
His eyes were permanently bloodshot, his designer suits hanging off his frame like borrowed clothes.
That famous Kosters arrogance had evaporated, replaced by the desperate humility of a broken man.
Each time, before I could respond, Eric would materialize as if on cue: "Mr. Kosters, this is becoming pathetic. Stop harassing my girlfriend."
He'd casually slip his arm around my waist, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple.
Our casual intimacy was a knife twisting in Charles's gut—a daily reminder of what he'd thrown away.
He'd watch us with naked agony in his eyes, yet return the next day, and the next.
Then came the industry gala that changed everything.
Charles bribed his way past security and lunged toward us, dropping to his knees before the city's business elite.
"Sophie, I was wrong! I've never been more wrong about anything!"
"Come back to me. I swear I'll worship the ground you walk on."
The ballroom erupted in shocked whispers as phone cameras captured the spectacle.
Eric moved with lightning reflexes, pulling me behind him like a shield.
"Pull yourself together, Charles," he said, voice glacial.
"Sophie is my fiancée. We're getting married next month. This pathetic display constitutes criminal harassment."
Something inside me finally snapped.
I stepped around Eric, my voice razor-sharp: "Did you forget you deliberately infected me with HPV?"
"I kept quiet out of respect for your grandfather. I chose not to press charges."
"That ends tonight."
I pulled out my phone, holding it up like a weapon. "I have everything—the medical records, your confession on tape. Attempted bodily harm is a felony, Charles."
As his face crumpled in disbelief, I dialed 911 without breaking eye contact.
With a mountain of evidence, Charles Kosters was sentenced to three years for aggravated assault and criminal harassment.
As officers led him away in handcuffs, he looked back once—his eyes hollow with the realization that this was truly the end.
The woman who once worshipped him had become the architect of his destruction.
When the dust settled, I finally found the peace I'd been searching for.
