Shattered Vows: The Unwanted Wife Returns

Chloe hosted the quarterly marketing meeting for the group's flagship luxury hotel brand, "Carlyle Crown." The meeting room was filled with the aroma of expensive coffee and tense ambition.

The marketing manager—a young man eager to show off—clicked on the last slide of his presentation. A large glossy photo of Jessica Morgan appeared on the screen.

“…… Therefore, we recommend hiring Jessica Morgan as a brand ambassador. Her social media influence among young audiences is undeniable. ”

The room suddenly fell into an awkward silence. Everyone's gaze nervously glanced at Chloe, then quickly looked away. That unspoken reality—they proposed hiring the CEO's mistress to represent the family brand—filled the air.

Chloe's face was expressionless. She tapped the gleaming rosewood table lightly with a perfectly trimmed finger. The rhythmic tapping was the only sound that broke the tense atmosphere. When she spoke, her voice was completely professional, without any personal emotion.

"How does her engagement rate on Instagram compare to the actual conversion rate of her sponsored posts? I need solid data, not the popularity of gossip tabloids. ”

The manager stammered through the notes—he didn't have the data.

Chloe calmly pronounced the verdict.

"This brand represents heritage and understated luxury. Ms. Morgan's public image...... Changeable. Find me someone with taste, not just someone who generates clicks. ”

This decision was absolute, backed by irrefutable business logic. No one could refute it. She skillfully used the impersonal language of corporate strategy to defuse a personal threat.

After the meeting, Elizabeth walked into her office.

"Mr. Carlisle's office called. His assistant said he already knew your decision and ...... No objections. ”

A faint, imperceptible emotion—not victory, but a weary cynicism—flashed across Chloe's eyes. Julian certainly didn't object. He never cared about those women themselves—they were mere tools, tools he used to protest a marriage he could not escape.

Meanwhile, in the CEO's office, Julian hung up the phone. His assistant stood to the side.

"Ms. Sanders handled it perfectly. She showed no personal emotion. ”

Julian gazed out the window, his expression elusive. He had anticipated an argument, a trivial behind-the-scenes struggle. Instead, she acted as if Jessica Morgan were a complete stranger, a mere entry on the budget sheet. This thorough, professional indifference was more disturbing than any argument. It made him feel ...... irrelevant. A strange, unfamiliar irritation stinged his skin.

That night, Chloe didn't drive the Bentley back to the cold, expansive Carlisle estate. Instead, she got into an unremarkable Lexus, drove through city traffic, and arrived at a secure apartment building guarded by guards in the Upper East Side. This apartment was registered under her maiden name, a premarital property Julian had never bothered to inquire about—her safe haven.

She unlocked the door with her fingerprint, and the click of the lock cylinder sounded especially pleasant. When she took off her high heels at the door, she felt the "armor" of the day begin to melt. The fatigue deep in her bones vanished the moment she heard a small, piercing sound.

"Mommy!"

A four-year-old girl with jet-black hair and stunning blue eyes ran out of the living room and threw herself into Chloe's arms. Chloe knelt down, hugged her daughter tightly, and buried her face in her hair. This was Sophie—her armor, her weakness, her whole world.

"Sophie is very well-behaved today." Nanny Maria called out from the kitchen doorway. "We finished her painting."

Chloe took Sophie's small hand and walked into the living room, then her heart suddenly sank.

On the coffee table, a copy of American Weekly was spread out. The cover featured a full-page photo of Julian and Jessica Morgan at a yacht party.

Maria's face turned pale. "Sorry, Ms. Sanders, this was given to the wrong person. I was about to throw it away......"

But it was too late. Chloe's gaze fell on her daughter. Sophie's pinky finger was pointing at the man in the photo. She looked up at Chloe—those blue eyes, identical to Julian's, wide open with innocent curiosity.

"Mommy." Her voice was clear as a bell. "Is that ...... Daddy? ”

This question hit Chloe like a heavy blow, draining the air from her lungs. She knelt down, gently stroking her daughter's hair, her mind racing for an answer that was neither a lie nor a destructive truth.

Sophie pointed to the woman clinging tightly to Julian's arm.

"Who is she? Why does she want to hold Daddy?" ”

A cold hard mass formed in Chloe's throat. How could she explain this filthy, ugly truth to this perfect, innocent child? In her daughter's eyes, she saw a simple and pure longing for her father—a new wave of cold and thorough hatred toward Julian surged toward her.