Chapter 4 - The Downward Spiral
Four months after Elena walked out, Adrian Romano was losing his mind.
Romano Enterprises was bleeding. The board of directors had just concluded a disastrous four-hour emergency meeting. The multi-billion-dollar merger with the Swiss pharmaceutical conglomerate, Vane & Co., had stalled indefinitely.
""Mr. Romano,"" the Swiss representative had said coolly before exiting the conference room, ""our late founder always placed immense value on family stability and ethical leadership. The recent tabloid coverage regarding your messy domestic affairs, coupled with your visible lack of focus, does not inspire confidence in your executive oversight.""
Adrian sat at the head of the sixty-foot mahogany conference table, his vision slightly blurred. His stomach was a furnace of constant, agonizing pain. He had hired three different private chefs, but none of them could prepare food that didn't trigger his chronic ulcers. He had hired two high-priced personal medical assistants, but they merely read dosages off bottles without anticipating the subtle shifts in his symptoms the way Elena always had.
""Adrian, baby, you didn't answer my texts!""
Bianca swept into the boardroom, completely ignoring the stunned look on Adrian's senior vice president’s face. She was carrying three glossy shopping bags from Fifth Avenue, dripping in diamonds Adrian hadn't remembered authorizing.
""Get out,"" Adrian whispered, not even looking up from his tablet.
""What?"" Bianca froze, her practiced pout faltering. ""Adrian, the photographer for our vanity spread is waiting downstairs at the restaurant! You promised we would do the society interview today. You said it was time we showed everyone we are an official couple!""
Adrian looked at her. Really looked at her. Her face was expertly sculpted with makeup, her designer dress impeccable, but behind her wide, innocent eyes lay a shallow, predatory void. She didn't ask why his hands were trembling. She didn't notice the dark, purplish hollows beneath his eyes or the fact that his suit was hanging off his rapidly thinning frame.
""A few months ago,"" Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly calm, ""you cried in my arms because you said nobody in New York took you seriously. You said you needed me to survive. You said you were drowning.""
""I... I was!"" Bianca stammered, stepping backward.
""You weren't drowning,"" Adrian sneered, standing up and towering over her. ""You were shopping. You saw a lonely, exhausted man whose wife was too dignified to flatter his ego, and you fed me poison wrapped in honey. I gave up an eight-year marriage for a woman who can’t even remember that I'm fatally allergic to shellfish!""
""Adrian, that was an accident at the restaurant—""
""Pack your things,"" he cut her off, his voice cracking like a whip. ""Get out of my penthouse. My security team will catalog every gift I gave you. Whatever was bought on my corporate credit cards stays. You have two hours.""
Bianca’s eyes flared with pure venom. The helpless, fragile persona vanished in an instant. ""You pathetic, miserable bastard! You think your precious Elena is going to take you back? She hates you! She vanished into thin air because she couldn't stand the sight of you! You're going to die alone in that giant apartment, Adrian, and nobody will give a damn!""
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She spun on her heel and stormed out, her stilettos clacking sharply down the marble corridor.
Adrian collapsed back into his leather chair. He buried his face in his hands, his broad shoulders shaking violently. For the first time in his thirty-six years of life, the billionaire realized he was completely, utterly bankrupt.
