Chapter 3Watch Your Empire Fall This Life

Seeing her agitated actually brought a quiet sense of peace to my chest.

I tossed the white dress I had bought for myself into the trunk just as Catherine rushed out of the building.

It was true that Wesley had recently hired a stunning Ivy League grad as his secretary. Even though Catherine rarely interacted with him, I knew she obsessively tracked his every move through backchannels.

Her interest in Wesley was purely romantic; she couldn't care less about his actual business operations.

Because of that blind spot, she hadn't given this joint venture a second thought. She just saw it as a VIP ticket to finally getting the guy.

"Hey. Elliot. How do I look?"

I turned around. She was standing by the car, arms crossed, chin tilted up in a pose of absolute arrogance. The look in her eyes was loud and clear: Look at how perfect I am. You don't deserve to even look at me.

I had to admit, to outshine the rumors of Wesley's new secretary, Catherine had gone to war.

If you didn't know it was a corporate M&A meeting, you'd think she was walking the red carpet at the Met Gala.

She had completely sacrificed her own sharp, commanding style to cater to what she thought Wesley’s aesthetic was.

I felt a brief flicker of pity, quickly followed by apathy.

It wasn't my problem anymore. I got in and drove us to the venue, pushing the speed slightly. I entirely "forgot" that Catherine suffered from severe motion sickness.

Calling it an accident would be a lie. I did it on purpose.

In my last life, I accommodated her every need. I drove her everywhere myself because I didn't trust anyone else with her safety. I knew that if I drove too fast, the acid reflux would make her violently ill.

"Elliot, you did that on purpose! Ugh!"

I watched Catherine lean against the brick wall outside the venue, dry-heaving. I let a faint smile touch my lips. "You're accusing the wrong guy, Catherine. I'm just setting the stage for you and Wesley to have a moment."

She shot me a venomous, red-rimmed glare. I held my hands up defensively. "Come on. Men love a damsel in distress. Playing the fragile, vulnerable card is the fastest way to trigger a guy's hero complex."

I was being overly cynical, but Catherine hadn't clawed her way to the CEO chair by being stupid. She caught the subtext instantly.

She wiped her mouth, straightening up with a harsh, mocking laugh. "Why should I believe a word you say? It's no secret you're obsessed with me. I've told you a million times, it's never going to happen. Stop trying to climb the social ladder through my bed. Wesley is the only one on my level."

She didn't even try to hide the contempt. I put on my best hurt expression. "That's exactly why I've decided to give up on you."

The moment the words left my mouth, Catherine actually went rigid for three full seconds.

"Oh, please," she finally scoffed, recovering her sneer. "You claim to love me, but you fold at the first sign of trouble. You're pathetic, Elliot."

She turned on her heel and marched through the glass doors without looking back.

I watched her go, my eyes narrowing into a cold stare.

If I let myself repeat the same mistakes in this life, that would be pathetic.

Wesley’s team had just arrived.

The private conference room held only the four of us: me, Catherine, Wesley, and his secretary, Jordan.

"Wesley, what made you suddenly want to work with us?"

Catherine completely ignored the chair I pulled out for her across the table, glaring at me before practically throwing herself into the seat right next to Wesley.

It was a four-person table, and she had stolen the seat meant for his secretary.

"We've known each other forever, Wesley. No need to keep things so formal," she purred.

Wesley shot me a deliberate, mocking look. He draped his arm over the back of Catherine's chair, letting it rest just millimeters from her shoulders.

I took in his smug, territorial display with zero emotional reaction. In fact, it took everything in me not to laugh.

A grown man, the CEO of a major corporation, still playing high-school dominance games like a dog marking a fire hydrant.

I watched Catherine practically drowning in Wesley's eyes. Knowing she would drag this out, I was about to speak up to push the deal forward, but the woman next to me beat me to it.

"Mr. Hawthorne, Ms. Dupont," Jordan said, her voice clipped and professional. "Since everyone is present, I suggest we begin."

Catherine, furious at having her flirting interrupted, shot the secretary a murderous glare.

I took a moment to observe Jordan, then glanced at Catherine.

In terms of pure glamor, Catherine had definitely outdressed Jordan today. That was probably the only reason Catherine hadn't demanded the woman be fired on the spot.

Because Catherine was entirely focused on Wesley, the contract review went dangerously fast.

As Wesley stood up to leave, I smoothly stepped in front of him. "Mr. Hawthorne, our CEO is feeling a bit under the weather today. For old times' sake, would you mind driving her home?"

Catherine, who had been looking crestfallen at his departure, instantly perked up. She stepped close to him, putting on a soft, helpless voice. "Please, Wesley? Elliot is completely incompetent. He drove so erratically I got incredibly carsick. Would you mind?"

I kept my eyes on Wesley, catching the microscopic flicker of irritation in his jaw before I gave him a polite smile.

Once Catherine and Wesley were in his car, Jordan reached for the passenger door.

Catherine immediately snapped from the backseat. "Wesley, I really prefer not having random employees know where I live."

Jordan looked genuinely speechless. Trying to hide my amusement, I gently pulled her back by the elbow.

"Mr. Hawthorne, thank you for ensuring our CEO gets home safely. It's a perfect opportunity for you two to discuss the finer points of the partnership."

As the car pulled away, Jordan dropped her leather briefcase onto the pavement with a heavy thud.

"Is she psychotic? Just throwing her weight around to abuse the working class? She acts like everyone is dying to get their hands on that piece of trash."

Hearing her vent, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Well, to be fair, you're the daughter of a billionaire. You're hardly the 'working class'."