Julian called Chloe to his office at noon.
She arrived dressed for battle — Chanel suit, pearls, perfume that cost more than most mortgages. She smiled as she entered, confident, certain of her place in his world.
"Darling," she purred, closing the door. "I was thinking we could discuss the fall gala. I've already picked the venue—"
"Sit down."
The coldness in his voice stopped her. Chloe blinked, her smile faltering. "Julian?"
"Sit. Down,” he gritted out.
She sat, her posture rigid, her eyes narrowing. "What's wrong?"
Julian stood behind his desk, his posture impeccable, his expression carved from ice. "We're done."
Chloe laughed nervously. "Excuse me?"
"This. Us. Whatever you want to call it." He removed his glasses, cleaning them with deliberate precision. "It's over. I've had
