Divorce Countdown: The CEO Moves Right In

Julian stormed into the townhouse an hour later, the cold night air clinging to his overcoat. Arthur Chen intercepted him in the foyer, his expression impassive. "Your grandfather is waiting for you in the library, sir."

Without a word, Julian strode down the hall and pushed open the heavy oak doors. Theodore was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, his face a thundercloud.

"What is so important it couldn't be an email?" Julian demanded, his patience already worn thin.

Theodore didn't answer. He slid a file across the polished surface of the desk. It contained the deed and floor plans for a new penthouse Julian had recently purchased in Soho.

"You will sell this," Theodore commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And you will move back into the West Village residence. With your wife."

Julian laughed, a harsh, incredulous sound. "And why would I do that? I have no desire to live with a woman I can't stand to look at."

Theodore's hand tightened on the silver head of his cane. "Because she is your wife! Because the Carlisle name is being dragged through the gossip columns with every photo they print of you and some model!"

The argument exploded. It was an old one, but tonight it had a new, sharper edge. Theodore railed against the shame Julian's antics brought upon the family. Julian shot back that the marriage itself was the real joke, a farce born of a scandal he blamed entirely on Chloe.

"She ruined everything!" Julian snarled. "She planned it all, and you fell for it!"

Theodore's face hardened. He rose slowly, leaning on his cane. "If you do not fulfill the basic obligations of this marriage—presenting a united front—I will invoke the trust's character clause. Your voting power on the board will be frozen. Effective immediately."

The threat landed like a physical blow. Julian's face went pale with fury. He knew his grandfather wasn't bluffing. The old man held the purse strings, the ultimate source of his power.

The heated exchange had left his throat dry. He paced the room, his movements agitated, and his eyes fell on a single, unopened bottle of Fiji Water on a side table. Without a second thought, he twisted the cap and drained the entire bottle in a few long swallows.

Across the room, a flicker of something—satisfaction, perhaps—glimted in Theodore's eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared.

Julian slammed the empty plastic bottle down on the table with a loud crack. "Fine," he bit out, the word tasting like poison. "I'll move. But that's it. Don't expect anything more."

He jabbed a finger in his grandfather's direction. "And I will not get her pregnant. I will never let that woman's child have a claim to this family's inheritance."

Theodore offered a thin, knowing smile. "We shall see."

Julian turned on his heel, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room. As his hand touched the doorknob, Theodore's voice stopped him.

"Oh, and Julian?"

He glanced back over his shoulder.

"You should go up to your old room," the old man said, a strange look in his eye. "There might be a... surprise waiting for you."

Julian frowned, dismissing it as another of his grandfather's mind games. He stalked out of the library, his mind consumed with rage.

As he started up the main staircase, a wave of exhaustion hit him. The argument, the stress, the long day—it all seemed to catch up at once. His head felt heavy, his thoughts slightly blurred at the edges. He rubbed his temples, attributing it to the adrenaline crash after the fight.

He reached the second-floor landing, his steps feeling heavier than usual. He was at the door to his old bedroom, the "surprise" his grandfather had mentioned now making him uneasy for reasons he couldn't name. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the knob—from fatigue, he told himself. Nothing more.