Living in the Sterling Shadow

I ignored the anguish and confusion warring in Julian’s eyes.

"Dad," I said, my voice crisp and clear. "Please handle this. We can't have the family name dragged through the mud."

Back in my penthouse, I surveyed the gallery of faces on my wall—the dozens of marriage candidates my father had so carefully curated for me.

Trust fund heirs, Wall Street's nouveau riche, ascendant political stars. My eyes scanned past them all, and I strode toward the most inconspicuous portrait in the corner.

Caspian Thorne. The city's most infamous private equity magnate—a billionaire known for his devastating charm and ruthless cynicism.

My father had hung his portrait in the farthest corner, a silent testament that he didn't consider Caspian even a worthy backup.

"Arthur," I called. Our family butler, Arthur Beaumont, entered, his composure still rattled from the scene downstairs.

"Contact Thorne Capital," I said. "Tell them I accept."

A flicker of shock crossed Arthur’s face, but he masked it quickly, giving a single, deferential nod before exiting the room.

As dusk settled over the city, I was strolling through Central Park when I heard his footsteps behind me. I knew it was Julian before I turned.

He stood before me, his eyes bloodshot and puffy.

"Why?" he asked, his voice raw.

I stopped, facing him. "Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded, his voice cracking. "Scarlett, I know you're angry, but—"

"But what?" I cut in. "You paraded a pregnant woman into my home, knelt before my father, and begged to marry her. What was I supposed to do, Julian? Throw you a party?"

His face paled. "It's not like that. Just let me explain—"

He pulled something from his jacket pocket. The key to our SoHo apartment. Its edges were worn smooth, a clear sign of how often he must have held it, turned it over in his hands.

"I carried this for three years," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I never forgot you, Scarlett."

I held out my hand. He placed the key in my palm, and I felt its familiar weight. Then, with a flick of my wrist, I sent it spinning through the air. It landed with a faint clink, disappearing into a sewer grate.

"I don't want things that are tainted," I said calmly. "Or people." The color drained from his face. He staggered back, as if I’d struck him again.

Just then, Bianca materialized at his side, steadying his arm. She looked at me, her eyes wide and innocent, pure doe-eyed manipulation.

When she spoke, her voice was a cloying syrup of feigned concern and barely-there triumph. "Scarlett, Julian missed you so much. Every night, he'd just stare at your picture for hours, whispering your name."

She pulled out an old, battered phone. The screen lit up with my chat history—endless messages sent into a void over three long years.

"His phone was broken the whole time he was away," she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "He never got a single one of your messages. Such a tragedy."

A triumphant glint flashed in her eyes. I laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Stay out of Sterling family business."

I nodded to the bodyguard standing discreetly behind me. "Show them out."

For a moment, Julian looked like he might resist. But his defiance faltered as his gaze met my cold, unyielding stare. He said nothing, allowing the bodyguard to escort both him and Bianca from the park.