Chapter 2

The moment the word left my mouth, Brandon’s expression darkened. He pinched the bridge of his nose in sheer exasperation.

"Are you seriously making an enemy out of a harmless young girl?"

"You know her background. Do you really have to bully someone who has nothing?"

"Chloe, what is wrong with you?"

He fired accusation after accusation, each word slicing into my heart like a dull blade.

"Then there's nothing left to discuss. Let's get divorced," I said, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat.

How had I failed to notice? The way he looked at her had changed a long time ago.

He claimed it was just pity, that she grew up poor and worked so hard to survive, which was why he gave her special treatment.

He felt bad whenever Bella worked late into the night on pitch decks. He admired her grit. He thought she was so selfless, enduring hardships without a single word of complaint.

Whenever he mentioned her, his eyes held an unmistakable spark of admiration—the exact same look he used to give me years ago.

Back when everyone in the corporate world thought finance was a boys' club, I was determined to carve out my own path with my own business proposals.

I abandoned my family name, pitching innovative strategies with lean budgets.

And the very first person to applaud me in that boardroom was Brandon.

That night, his eyes had shone with that exact same light. The only difference was that today, that light wasn't for me.

Right now, Brandon was looking at me with pure detachment.

He looked at me the way an executive looks at a depreciating asset, his voice dripping with condescension:

"Chloe, you aren't the pampered Vance heiress anymore. You cut ties with your family, remember? You have no one left except me."

"Stop testing my limits."

I saw through him completely. Behind his eyes was nothing but calculated arrogance.

Somewhere along the line, I had become something disposable to him.

The man I had defied my entire family to be with had rotted to the core.

A sharp buzz broke the dead silence. Brandon reached into his pocket out of habit to check his phone, and a tender smile naturally softened the corners of his lips.

The moment he glanced back up at me, the warmth vanished. He spoke in a flat, matter-of-fact tone:

"Bella is working overtime at the office. She's craving that homemade lunchbox you made last time."

I parted my lips, struggling to process what I had just heard.

He was actually ordering me to cook for his assistant.

The truth was, I had never known how to cook. I only learned because Brandon used to have back-to-back executive meetings and skipped meals. I spent hours in the kitchen, cutting and burning my hands repeatedly.

And yet, that carefully packed meal I made with burned fingers had been handed straight to Bella without him even tasting a bite.

"Alright, let's put this drama behind us. Stop acting jealous over nothing," he said casually.

"You're a senior professional. Looking after a junior employee should come naturally to you."

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed an apron, tied it around my waist, and gently steered me toward the kitchen.

It baffled me how easily he could sweep all my pain under the rug.

I was about to snap and throw the apron in his face when my eyes fell on a package of raw offal and pig scraps sitting in the trash prep bin for our broth.

A cold, dark idea struck me, and I gave a slow nod.

I tossed the tripe, gristle, and pig tails into a pot of boiling water for a quick blanch, barely skimming the scum before jamming the whole mess straight into a lunch container. Snapping the lid shut barely contained the pungent, sickening stench.

She wanted my cooking? Then she was going to eat it.

Seeing that I was finished, Brandon grabbed the container without a word and headed out the door, not even bothering to glance my way.

Let her choke on it. I was done wasting my breath.

As I began gathering my things to pack, my phone buzzed on the counter.

It was a text from my younger brother, Julian:

[Chloe, are you finally taking over the tender project? When are you coming back? These old board members are driving me insane. I can't run this place without you.]

[We need you to push this deal across the finish line.]

He had asked me to return to the family conglomerate multiple times over the past couple of years, but I had always turned him down. Brandon’s company was expanding back then, and I wanted to be by his side.

Not anymore. I was done living in the shadows.

I typed back a single message:

"I'll be there soon."