Chapter 4 - Tên Chapter 4: The Price of Disrespect
By eight o’clock the following morning, my phone was ringing off the hook.
There were seventeen missed calls from Olivia, eight voicemails from Chloe, and five frantic text messages from Sarah. When I finally clicked on Olivia's latest voicemail, her hysterical voice shrieked through the speaker: “Emily, please! Pick up! Men in black suits came to Meridian PR this morning! My boss called an emergency board meeting! They’re canceling our firm’s contract and auditing my expenses! What did you tell that monster? Please, call him off!”
I sat on my sofa with a steaming mug of black coffee, feeling an unsettling rush of cold clarity. For two years, Olivia had treated my heartbreak as an entertaining spectator sport. She had pushed me into humiliation for a cheap laugh with her country-club friends. Now, the monster she poked had turned his gaze toward her.
At precisely 8:45 AM, my apartment intercom buzzed.
Downstairs on the curb sat the same black Maybach, but standing beside it was Vincenzo, holding a flat, heavy mahogany box tied with a satin ribbon.
"Good morning, Ms. Carter," Vincenzo said respectfully, tipping his hat. "Mr. Brooks requested that I deliver this to you before his morning conference."
I brought the box up to my kitchen table and untied the ribbon. Inside lay two documents and a velvet jeweler's case.
The first document was an official deed of release from Boston Harbor Trust, stamped and notarized, showing the $320,000 commercial lien on Maple Street Books paid in full. Across the bottom was a crisp, bold signature in black fountain ink: Daniel Brooks.
The second document was an itemized invoice from Grand Oak marked Paid by Check #1042 — Olivia Vance. Below it was an added handwritten notation from Daniel: Humility is best taught through the pocketbook. She will be paying back that loan for the next three years.
I opened the velvet case. Resting inside was a vintage Art Deco engagement ring—a flawless three-carat emerald-cut diamond flanked by baguettes, mounted in platinum. It was breathtaking, tasteful, and unquestionably worth more than my entire life’s possessions.
Along with the ring was a handwritten note:
“A contract requires consideration from both parties. If your answer is yes, wear it to the Harbor Gala tonight at eight. If your answer is no, keep the deed anyway; consider it an apology for Jason's insolence. — D.B.”
I picked up the ring. It felt cool and heavy against my skin. Slipping it onto my left ring finger, it slid on with an exact, bespoke fit. He hadn't even asked for my ring size, yet it was immaculate.
A sudden knock rattled my apartment door.
May you like
I peered through the peephole and felt my stomach violently lurch. Standing in the hallway, wearing an expensive designer leather jacket and smelling of cologne through the door frame, was Jason.
The man who had shattered my world had returned.
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