Before, I would've immediately hit the intercom and fired every gossip on the spot. At Rockefeller, discussing the boss's private life was a fireable offense.
This time, I didn't.
I suddenly realized I'd been at the top too long. Everyone around me was deferential. I only heard polished praise and compliance. Those harsh accusations just now, even as they undermined my authority, let me hear the truth for the first time.
I needed those voices.
If complete strangers could see Ella's worth while I stayed blind, the problem was clearly me.
That afternoon,a powerful board member tracked me down. He'd weathered decades alongside Grandfather and never respected me much as the successor. Usually, we maintained a polite distance, but today his wrinkled face showed undisguised displeasure.
"Lucas, the whole company's buzzing about your divorce," he said, hands planted on the desk. "What's your plan?"
"Those are baseless rumors." I forced down my anger. "I'll have HR investigate."
"True or not, you need to handle your private affairs immediately!" He pounded the desk. "A public company CEO caught in a divorce scandal tanks stock prices, shakes investor confidence. The board's already questioning your stability. I don't care how you do it—resolve this marriage crisis fast."
"Thanks for the advice," I pointed to the door. "Now get out."
He glared at me with frustration, then left.
The second the door closed, I got HR on the line.
"Find out who's spreading rumors! Track down the source! Now!"
I grabbed my coffee cup and smashed it on the floor.
Even as rage consumed me, I knew anger wouldn't solve this. At a company Rockefeller's size, a major investigation touching employee privacy would damage reputation and stock value.
For the first time, I felt my business empire—the fortress I'd built—wasn't safe anymore. This supposedly impenetrable stronghold was springing leaks everywhere.
That evening, I dragged myself back to the manor, exhausted.
I'd been sleeping in the study for two weeks. In all that time, I'd never entered the bedroom Ella and I shared. As if not opening that door meant the marriage wasn't really dead. But today, with even the lowest-level employees gossiping about me over coffee, I finally understood: avoidance solved nothing.
I pushed open the door for the first time since Ella left.
No trace of her. Just endless silence swallowing me whole.
My spine gave out. I collapsed onto the wide silk bedding.
This was where we'd slept countless nights. Cold, smooth sheets pressed against my face, carrying a faint scent—what remained of Ella. I pulled the blanket over my head, buried my face deep, and tried to force that fading fragrance into my lungs. Only this way could I pretend Ella was still beside me.
The scent worked like a drug, giving me brief peace.
I don't know how long I lay there half-asleep before I sat up again. My gaze fell on the nearby nightstand.
That priceless diamond ring still sat there.
On impulse, I opened the drawer with the divorce papers. The agreement was in its usual spot, but something was off. The position was wrong.
I'd always prided myself on my memory. I knew for certain that when I'd thrown those papers in the drawer, they'd been on the left side. Now they sat dead center.
My breath caught.
Someone had touched them. Someone had invaded my private space and rifled through my most painful secret.
I stormed downstairs and knocked on Mrs. Hughes's bedroom door.
