Chapter 12

The champagne flute shattered on the floor.

Amber liquid splashed across Julian's shoes and trouser leg. He didn't notice.

He could only stare.

Lily was wearing a sapphire-blue satin gown — fitted, sleek, cut to perfection. Her makeup was flawless. She was smiling. And her eyes held something Julian hadn't seen in years: light.

She wasn't the pale, drawn Mrs. Sterling anymore. She was radiant, and she was standing beside Marcus Calloway as if she belonged there.

Marcus Calloway.

Julian knew him. Everyone in the room knew him. The only heir to the Calloway Family — commander of a business empire worth hundreds of billions, ice-cold, almost never in public. A man whose approval of you was the most valuable currency in certain circles.

And the other thing Julian knew: Marcus was Lily's childhood sweetheart. Her parents had spent years trying to steer her toward him. It was, in fact, their insistence on Calloway that had driven Lily to choose Julian instead, in a fit of defiance.

The room felt the shift. Eyes moved, calculated, curious. Conversations dropped to a murmur.

Scarlett's nails dug into Julian's arm. She'd gone slightly pale. "Julian… what's she doing here…"

Julian felt like something had been driven through the centre of his chest.

That woman — the one he'd been certain would always be waiting, always be there — was walking across the room on another man's arm, and she was shining.

Marcus guided her to the main table with unhurried ease. As they passed, Lily's gaze swept over Julian and Scarlett the way it might pass over two people she'd never met. No recognition. No residue. Nothing.

Marcus gave Julian a slight, deliberate nod — the look of a man who had already assessed the situation and found it uncomplicated.

Scarlett muttered, low and cutting: "Running to a better deal the moment the papers were signed. Quite the act she's putting on—"

Julian's hand closed around her wrist.

Hard.

She flinched.

"Don't." His voice was barely above a whisper.

Up on the terrace, the wind was cold off the water.

Julian had followed Lily there, not caring how it looked. His eyes were red. He stepped in front of her.

"Lily. Tell me where you've been for the past six months. Tell me when this started. Tell me what's going on — are you and Calloway—?" His hands moved toward her shoulders; one of Marcus's security team stepped smoothly into the gap.

Lily stopped walking. She turned around.

Her eyes were frost.

"Julian, we're divorced. Who I spend my time with is none of your business."

"The divorce—!" He choked on it. "That certificate doesn't erase ten years. You can't just burn down what we had. Lily, I know I was wrong — I know it — come back. I swear, I'll be different. I'll make it right. It'll be just you—"

Lily looked at him the way you look at something you've long since stopped fearing.

Her lips curved — not warmly. "Julian. Your promises are worthless to me. Save them for someone who still wants them."

Her eyes moved briefly to Scarlett, still watching from inside. "She looks like she's waiting for you."

"Lily — please—" He was almost at her feet. "Six months. I've been out of my mind. I can't function without you. I know I was wrong, I know it all now, I was wrong — give me one more chance—"

She looked at him without a flicker of what he needed to see.

"When you drained my blood for Scarlett's benefit — when you ordered a doctor to remove my uterus — when you had my private photographs scattered across the entire city — you should have thought about this moment." Her voice was even. Precise. Without cruelty, and perhaps that was the worst part. "I'm not something you can summon and dismiss, Julian. We're over."

She turned away from him and walked toward Marcus.

Marcus stepped forward and settled his jacket over her shoulders with a naturalness that was worse than any declaration. Then he curved his arm around her, and they walked.

Julian watched them go.

Then he sank to his knees on the cold terrace floor, and let the wind come in, and felt, for the first time with his whole body, what it was to have nothing left.