At Janice’s bachelorette party, I watched her—a woman with crippling mysophobia—casually sip from her mentor’s glass. In that moment, I knew I’d lost her. I stayed quiet as they talked effortlessly about projects and personal matters. That night, alone, I gave her an ultimatum: call off the wedding, or I’d ruin his academic career. She vanished overnight. The next morning, she returned, pale and exhausted. “The wedding will go on,” she said. But at the ceremony, in my tuxedo, I watched something break in her. She sobbed, “I can’t marry someone I don’t love. I never should have let him go.” Before anyone reacted, she posted a statement online, turning me into a joke. Within an hour, photos of her in her wedding gown kissing her mentor at the airport were everywhere. Every decision has a price. Ten minutes later, Mason Industries’ stock dropped ten points. If she chose public betrayal, she can’t blame me for her ruin. … My phone screen was still lit up, displaying Janice’s latest social media post. The caption was short: This time, I choose love. The photo accompanying it showed her, radiant in white, throwing herself into Lucas Thorne’s arms at the airport terminal. Below it, comments from our mutual friends flooded in. [Janice is so brave! How mortifying for Liam Sinclair.] [Ditching the groom at the altar to run off with her mentor? Wow. Liam deserved better.] [Is Janice insane? She’s going to bankrupt her family over a guy?] I dragged my gaze away from the phone and looked down at the wedding rings resting on the table. Our initials were engraved on the inner band. Janice had designed them herself, embedding tiny, powerful magnets into the settings so that when brought close, they would click together, inseparable. It was her symbolic gesture. Because of her severe mysophobia, she couldn't always handle physical intimacy. The rings, she claimed, were proof that her heart would always overcome her condition, always gravitate toward me. I never pushed her. I respected her boundaries. But then I saw it with my own eyes at the party: her lifting Lucas Thorne’s glass, drinking without a moment's hesitation. When Lucas noticed me staring at the glass in her hand, he actually turned to me with a dismissive little laugh. “We get stuck in long meetings for hours. We just share whatever water is around. It's a habit. You don't mind, do you, Liam?” Before I could answer, someone else slung an arm around my shoulder. “Mind? Come on, Liam Sinclair is bigger than that. Don't insult the man’s character.” They worked in tandem, painting me into a corner where any objection would make me look petty and controlling. But how could I not mind? When I confronted Janice about it later that night, she flushed with embarrassment and apologized profusely, promising to be more careful next time. Looking back now, it was all a lie. She wanted the backing of the Sinclair fortune, and she wanted to keep her lover. She wanted everything. My assistant knocked and entered. “Sir, Chairman Mason is on line one. Will you take the call?” I glanced at the blinking light on the console. “What’s the damage report?” “Down seven points. Market cap loss approaching forty million.” Not enough. Not nearly enough to balance the public humiliation I’d endured. “I see,” I said, my voice flat. “Tell the Chairman to control his daughter. If he won’t, someone else will do it for him.” “Understood. And shall I have the PR department manage the online narrative?” “No.” I looked back at the photo of Janice, her expression one of almost religious sacrifice for love. “She chose love. Let everyone see just how much her love is worth.” The assistant retreated. I rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The city lights were beginning to ignite, outlining the cold, glittering skyline. The assistant must have relayed my message, because Chairman Mason didn't call back immediately. I hadn’t anticipated how much leverage he still thought he had. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was Janice. The name I once had pinned to the top of my contacts flashed on the screen. I ignored it, letting the call ring out until silence returned. Seconds later, a text message illuminated the screen: [You’re ruthless, Liam. Just because I chose Lucas, you're going to destroy my family? You’re that pathetic a loser?] Another one followed immediately. [I know I hurt you, but you can’t force feelings that aren’t there. Why can't you just be a man and let me go with dignity? Why resort to these dirty tricks? You disappoint me more than I can say.] I paused, a humorless smirk touching my lips. She could have ended things cleanly. But for the sake of the merger benefits, she chose to perform this charade. She, with her debilitating mysophobia that made her flinch from my touch, had no issue sharing saliva with Lucas Thorne. She, who had looked me in the eye and promised to proceed with the wedding, had chosen the most humiliating method possible to abandon me. She thought she could play us both, a delicate game between two powerful men. She nailed me to a cross of public ridicule, making me the butt of every joke in the city. And now she dared lecture me about dignity? I sent a message to my assistant. [Accelerate it. I want a full ten-point drop by morning.] After receiving the confirmation, I swiped away from the airport photo and watched the live feed of Mason Industries’ stock value evaporating. I trusted Chairman Mason would eventually understand the gravity of the situation. My phone lit up again. Janice. Her tone had shifted dramatically. [Liam, please, can we talk? This chaos isn't helping anyone. My parents are frantic. I’ll come back. I won’t run away again. Just give me one more chance, please?] [I know I embarrassed you today. I can fix it. I’ll do whatever you want, any punishment you choose. Just stop going after my father. This has nothing to do with him.] My fingers tapped lightly on the screen as I replied. [If you’re asking for a truce, then show some sincerity.] The reply came back almost instantly. [Okay. I know what I have to do.] Reading that line, a strange feeling pricked at me, but I dismissed it. After finishing up at the office, I drove toward my private villa. Halfway there, my closest friend called, his voice tight with panic. “Liam, where are you?” “Just left the office, heading home…” “Turn around. Get back here now. Janice Mason is on the roof of the Sinclair tower. She’s threatening to jump, telling everyone you drove her to it. She just posted about it, and the press is already here. You need a strategy, fast. The entire narrative has flipped against you.”
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