On the eve of the company’s blockbuster IPO, Nicholas was in the mood to celebrate—big time. To cap off the night, he ordered his secretary to distribute double year-end bonuses—cold, hard cash.
Gwendoline, with her sickly sweet smile, personally handed out crisp stacks of hundred-dollar bills to every employee. But when she reached me, her expression twisted. She shoved me aside like I was trash.
“Move it! Filthy strays don’t belong here!”
I blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”
She sneered and slapped a termination letter against my chest. “A shameless tramp like you doesn’t deserve a dime. Get out before you make everyone sick.”
Behind her, the massive projector screen lit up with a slideshow—photos of me with a high-profile client. Some showed us laughing over drinks, others with his arm around my waist as we stepped into a hotel.
Then came the bonus list. My stomach dropped. Six-figure payouts for everyone—except me. My column was a glaring red ZERO.
I clenched my fists and locked eyes with Nicholas across the room.
“Are you sure you want to fire me—tonight?”
The photos kept cycling. Each one felt like a knife twisting deeper.
Nicholas finally tore his gaze from the screen and leveled me with a look so cold it could freeze hell.
“Rose,” he said, voice dripping with disdain, “what right do you have to stay? Every ounce of this company’s success was earned—except yours.”
He stepped closer, looming over me. “Was I not generous enough? Did I not care for you? Or was it these men who kept you from being the devoted wife I expected?”
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he pulled a stack of photos from his pocket and hurled them at my face. The edges sliced my cheek. I touched the wound—my fingers came away smeared with blood.
“They say going public is noble,” he spat. “But I won’t let disgraceful trash like you tarnish this company—not even if you are my fiancée.”
I swallowed hard, forcing patience into my voice. “Nicholas, you know me. My success was earned—those photos mean nothing.”
Gwendoline cut in with a mocking laugh. “Oh? And what kind of ‘hard work’ was it, exactly? We’ve all heard how deep your ‘collaborations’ go.”
The room erupted in cruel laughter.
“Right? Who knows how many beds she crawled into for those deals!” someone jeered.
I gritted my teeth. “Those photos prove nothing. My interactions were strictly professional.”
“Professional?” Gwendoline snatched a photo from the floor—the one of me entering the hotel. “Then explain this.” She smirked. “It’s a screenshot from a full video. Should I play it for everyone?”
I stared at the image—then suddenly laughed in relief.
Because the man in that photo?
That was my brother.
That night, I’d been too drunk to call Nicholas. So I’d called him instead.
