The day Adrian Sterling secured the majority shares of the Sterling Group, he ended our three-year relationship.
Not quietly.
Not peacefully.
He appeared before the media with his new lover and announced to the world that I was dead.
Three months later, we met again.
At an investment bidding conference.
This time, I wasn't standing behind him.
I was sitting at the front of the room.
As Isabella Hawthorne, theeldest daughter of the powerful Hawthorne family.
When the final bid opened, I calmly raised my paddle.
"Fifty million."
The room fell silent.
With a single move, I took the project Adrian had spent months securing.
The one he believed was already his.
The conference ended in stunned whispers.
But Adrian didn't leave.
Instead, he cornered me in a hallway, his eyes red, his voice rough with emotion.
"Bella… I regret it."
Before he could touch me, my bodyguards forced him back against the wall.
I looked down at him coldly.
"Watch your place, Mr. Sterling."
My voice was calm. Detached.
"The Sterling Group is not enough to act arrogant in front of aHawthorne, is it?"
"Break up."
The message Adrian sent me contained only two words.
I was standing in a crowded market buying groceries for dinner.
Just a minute earlier, I had texted him gentlely:
"I'm cooking your favorite tomato beef stew tonight."
Then his message appeared.
The tomatoes slipped from my hands and rolled across the pavement.
Ipanicked, andran home without even taking my basket.
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