Chapter 4Married To His Ultimate Boss

"Claire! Must you always be so goddamn selfish?!"

His words sliced through the quiet room. "They say people in the entertainment industry have no loyalty and no heart, and God, they were right about you. Your slate is already dirty. The scandal is already out there. But Bridget has a brilliant academic career ahead of her! Consider it a favor to me—is that so hard?!"

"Selfish."

The word echoed in my skull, absurd and grotesque.

I had walked away from an Ivy League fellowship to enter the brutal audition circuit because his research required private funding that university stipends couldn't touch. When his mother fell into severe clinical depression, I spent months sitting beside her hospital bed, changing bedpans and holding her hand while he remained cloistered in his lab. In the early days, when I was an unknown extra making two hundred dollars a day, I endured humiliating private dinners, drinking until my stomach tore open, just to scrounge up the ten thousand dollars he needed for a microscope.

And in the end, seven years of devotion were reduced to four words: "heartless, selfish, industry trash."

I looked at the way he cradled Bridget, his body curled defensively around hers, treating me like a monster who wished them harm.

The pain reached its absolute zenith—and then, mercifully, vanished into a vast, numbing silence.

I didn't argue. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't shed a single tear.

I looked at him and gave a slow, measured nod. "Fine. Take her and get out."

Ollie visibly sagged with relief.

He loosened his grip on Bridget and took a step toward me, raising his arms to offer a conciliatory hug. I took a deliberate step backward, letting his hands hang uselessly in the empty air.

A flicker of irritation crossed his features, quickly masked by a patronizing, appeasing smile. "That's my girl. Look, you've been in Hollywood for years. You have thick skin. Once the news cycle turns, people will forget all about this. But Bridget is an academic—she needs a spotless record."

He reached into his pocket, his voice softening into the tone he used when rewarding an obedient pet. "Once this blows over, I'll book us two weeks in the Maldives. You've been wanting to go, right? Bridget, say thank you to Claire."

Bridget lowered her head, wiping her eyes as she gave a small, demure curtsy. But in the brief second her chin dipped, I caught the sharp, triumphant upward curve of her lips.

I looked down at my phone. A text from my private investigator had arrived twenty minutes ago.

The IP address that originally uploaded my leaked private photo to the gossip forums was registered directly to Bridget Meyer’s personal laptop.

I didn't say a word.

Why bother? If I showed Ollie the forensic report right now, he would only claim Bridget was young, that she made an innocent mistake, that I was being cruel for holding a grudge.

I had no interest in wasting another breath on either of them. Instead, I quietly forwarded the entire encrypted dossier to the federal cybercrimes unit and the university's ethics board.

As for the breakup—Ollie clearly thought I was throwing a tantrum. I didn't care to convince him otherwise.

The moment the front door clicked shut behind them, I dialed Rachel’s private line.

"Hey," I said, leaning my head against the cold entryway wall. "Remember that ridiculously handsome, six-foot-three brother of yours who said he'd take me out the second I dumped Ollie? Is that offer still open?"

Rachel practically shrieked through the speaker. "Are you kidding me?! For you, that offer is open until the end of time! He’s been waiting for you to come to your senses for four years!"

……

Over the next forty-eight hours, Bridget Meyer walked away completely unscathed, securing a prestigious junior fellowship at the city's top biochemical institute.

I, meanwhile, remained the internet’s favorite punching bag.

Ollie’s project was progressing smoothly. With the preliminary trials completed, all he needed was a massive capital injection from the upcoming high-society charity gala to finalize his expansion. He was entirely confident he would win the national innovation award.

As for the lengthy, definitive breakup email I had sent him that morning? He hadn't even bothered to read past the first line.

"Just another tantrum," he thought. Once he secured the institutional funding at tonight's gala, he would buy a diamond ring, take her to dinner, and let her weep into his chest until she forgave him. He had already bookmarked a simple, unadorned platinum band online. She would be thrilled.

Lost in his thoughts about the proposal, he barely felt Bridget tugging on his tuxedo sleeve.

"Ollie, look around," Bridget whispered, her eyes wide as she took in the crystal chandeliers and champagne towers of the St. Regis ballroom. "Everyone here is a billionaire. If you can catch the eye of Daniel Parker tonight, the lab will never have to worry about grants again."

Ollie nodded absently, his brow furrowing as he checked his phone.

Claire had blocked his primary number again. Where did she get the nerve? Was she truly trying to end things?

A brief flicker of panic stirred in his chest, only to be instantly dismissed. "Impossible. Claire loves me to a fault. She built her whole life around me; she has nowhere else to go."

Suddenly, the heavy mahogany double doors at the far end of the grand ballroom swung open.

The ambient murmur of five hundred elite guests died instantly.

Every pair of eyes turned toward the grand entrance.

The master of ceremonies stepped up to the podium, his voice ringing with reverence:

"Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming the Chairman of Parker Global Holdings, Mr. Daniel Parker, accompanied by his wife, Mrs. Daniel Parker."

Ollie didn't hesitate. Straightening his bow tie, he grabbed Bridget’s wrist and began elbowing his way toward the front of the receiving line, desperate to introduce himself to the most powerful venture capitalist in the country.

But when his eyes locked onto the couple emerging under the warm blaze of the spotlights, the breath was violently ripped from his lungs.