Julian's POV
I didn't sleep all night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Emma's face when she handed me those divorce papers. Cold. Done. Like I was a stranger she couldn't wait to forget.
By Monday morning, I looked like hell. My secretary took one look at me and asked if I was sick. I ignored her and went straight to my office, locking the door behind me.
My phone had forty-three missed calls from Sophie. I'd blocked her number around 2 AM when she sent her fifteenth text asking if I wanted "company" after my "rough day."
The woman I'd spent ten years fantasizing about made my skin crawl now.
I pulled out Emma's divorce papers for the hundredth time and forced myself to read every word. Full custody of Lily. Half my assets. The penthouse. A restraining order preventing Sophie from being near our daughter unsupervised.
That last part confused me until I saw the attached screenshot of a text Sophie sent Emma: I'll be a much better mother to Lily than you ever were.
My blood boiled. Sophie threatened my daughter?
I grabbed my phone to call Emma, then remembered Rachel Chen's warning. No direct contact. Everything through lawyers now.
I'd lost the right to talk to my own wife.
A knock interrupted my spiral. "Mr. Pierce?" My secretary's voice was worried. "The board meeting starts in five minutes. Ms. Hart is already in the conference room."
I groaned. Sophie. I'd forgotten she was coming today. She'd begged me last week to let her observe a board meeting, said she wanted to "learn about business" from me. Like an idiot, I'd agreed.
I walked into the conference room to find Sophie holding court with the board members, laughing and charming as always. She lit up when she saw me.
"Julian! There you are." She crossed the room and touched my arm—a gesture I used to find flattering but now felt invasive. "I was worried you forgot about me."
"I almost did," I said honestly, pulling away.
Her smile flickered. "Rough weekend?"
"You could say that."
The board meeting dragged on forever. Budget reports, quarterly projections, investment proposals. I couldn't focus on any of it. All I could think about was Emma's text: My family built that company. You've just been playing CEO with our money.
Was that true? Had the Hart family really funded Pierce Industries?
I pulled out my phone under the table and searched "Hart Holdings Pierce Industries investment." The results made my stomach drop.
Article after article about how Robert Hart had been the primary investor when my father started the company thirty years ago. How the Hart family trust owned 40% of all shares. How they'd stayed silent partners, never interfering, letting the Pierce family run the company as if we'd built it ourselves.
My entire career was built on Hart family money. On Emma's family money. And I'd treated her like she was nothing.
"Julian?" Sophie's voice cut through my thoughts. "You okay? You look pale."
"I'm fine," I lied.
The conference room door burst open. My secretary rushed in, looking panicked. "Mr. Pierce, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but there's an urgent courier delivery that requires your immediate signature."
"Can't it wait?"
"The courier says no. It's marked 'time-sensitive legal documents.'"
My blood went cold. Legal documents. From Emma's lawyer, probably.
"I'll be right back." I stood up, ignoring Sophie's curious look.
In the hallway, a courier held out a thick manila envelope. "Julian Pierce?"
"That's me."
"Sign here, please."
I signed and took the envelope. My hands shook as I opened it right there in the hallway.
PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE
The words were printed in bold black letters across the top. Below that, page after page of legal language destroying my marriage. Emma's signature sat at the bottom of page one, elegant and final.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was the list of reasons for divorce: Abandonment. Emotional neglect. Adultery.
Adultery?
I flipped through the pages frantically. There—an affidavit from someone named Casey Martin, administrative assistant at Pierce Industries. She swore under oath that she'd witnessed "inappropriate behavior" between me and Sophie Hart over the past six years, including "intimate lunches, late-night meetings in Mr. Pierce's office with the door locked, and overly familiar physical contact."
My heart stopped. Six years? But I'd only been having coffee and business dinners with Sophie. I'd never—
Another document. Phone records showing hundreds of calls between my number and Sophie's, including calls at midnight, 2 AM, during family events.
But I hadn't called Sophie at those times. Had I? I tried to remember. Maybe she'd called me? Maybe I'd answered without thinking?
Another page. Credit card statements showing expensive gifts purchased and sent to Sophie's address. Jewelry. Flowers. Designer bags.
I never bought Sophie gifts. Never. But there was my card number, right there in black and white.
"No," I whispered. "This is wrong. This is all wrong."
I pulled out my phone and called my credit card company with shaking hands. "This is Julian Pierce. I need to review charges on my account going back five years. Specifically any purchases I didn't authorize."
The woman on the phone was quiet for a long moment. "Sir, I'm showing regular monthly charges to luxury retailers, all with your approval and signature confirmation."
"That's impossible. I never—"
I stopped. Signature confirmation. Who had access to my signatures?
My secretary. My assistant. And Sophie, who'd been borrowing my office when I traveled, who I'd trusted with my passwords because she said she wanted to "help organize" my files.
Oh God.
"Sir?" The woman on the phone sounded concerned. "Are you reporting fraud?"
I hung up and stumbled back into the conference room. Sophie looked up, concerned. "Julian? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I stared at her. Really looked at her for the first time in years.
And I saw it. The calculation in her eyes. The fake worry that didn't reach her smile. The way she positioned herself next to me like she owned me.
"How long?" My voice came out cold.
"How long what?"
"How long have you been setting me up? The phone calls, the gifts, the 'business dinners' you insisted on?" I held up the divorce papers. "My assistant swore under oath that we've been having an affair for six years. Six years, Sophie. Since before I married Emma."
Sophie's face went pale, then red. "Julian, I have no idea what you're talking about—"
"Don't lie to me!" My voice echoed through the conference room. The board members froze. "Did you or did you not use my credit cards to buy yourself gifts and make it look like I was showering you with presents?"
"I... you said I could use your account for business expenses—"
"Jewelry isn't a business expense!" I was shouting now, not caring who heard. "You've been sabotaging my marriage from the beginning, haven't you? Making it look like I was cheating. Calling me at all hours so Emma would think—"
"She was never right for you!" Sophie stood up, her mask finally dropping. "You were supposed to be MINE, Julian! We were perfect together before she trapped you with that pregnancy!"
"Emma didn't trap me. I was too drunk to remember that night, but I know it wasn't her fault." The truth hit me like a truck. "It was yours, wasn't it? You knew I was planning to ask Emma out properly. You got me drunk on purpose. You—"
I couldn't finish. The memory was coming back now, fuzzy but there. Sophie handing me drink after drink at that party. Sophie suggesting Emma and I would "look cute together" and pushing us toward the same hotel. Sophie calling me the next morning to ask how it went, sounding disappointed when I said I couldn't remember.
She'd set up that entire night hoping I'd sleep with Emma and then leave her. But I'd gotten Emma pregnant instead, and Sophie's plan backfired.
"You've been destroying my marriage for five years," I said slowly. "Every late meeting, every phone call, every touch—you made sure Emma saw it. You wanted her to leave me."
Sophie lifted her chin. "She was always going to leave you, Julian. She's not strong enough for this life. I am. I've been by your side, supporting you, waiting for you to see that we belong together—"
"Get out."
"What?"
"Get out of my building. Out of my company. Out of my life." I turned to my board members, who were watching with open mouths. "Someone call security. Sophie Hart is no longer welcome in Pierce Industries. If she ever sets foot in this building again, I want her arrested for trespassing."
Sophie's eyes filled with tears—fake tears I'd fallen for a hundred times before. "Julian, please. You don't mean that. I love you. I've always loved you—"
"No, you haven't. You loved what I represented. The money, the status, the company." I stepped back from her like she was poison. "I don't know what you are, Sophie, but it isn't love."
Security arrived and escorted a screaming Sophie from the building. The conference room was dead silent.
I looked at my board members. "Meeting adjourned. I need to fix my life."
I grabbed my coat and ran.
I had to get to Emma. Had to explain that I'd been an idiot but not a cheater. Had to make her understand that Sophie had manipulated everything.
I drove to Emma's Brooklyn address—the one listed on the divorce papers. It was a beautiful building I'd never seen before. The doorman stopped me in the lobby.
"I'm here to see Emma Pierce. Emma Hart."
"Mrs. Hart isn't receiving visitors."
"I'm her husband—"
"Mrs. Hart left specific instructions about you, Mr. Pierce." The doorman's voice was cold. "You're not allowed in this building. If you don't leave, I'll call the police."
Desperation clawed at my throat. "Please. I just need five minutes. I need to explain—"
"Sir, leave now."
I stumbled back outside and pulled out my phone. I'd call her. I'd break Rachel Chen's rules and call Emma directly and beg her to listen.
I dialed her number.
It went straight to voicemail. She'd blocked me.
I tried texting. Message failed to deliver.
She'd blocked me everywhere.
I stood on the sidewalk outside my wife's building, holding divorce papers that painted me as a cheater, and realized I'd lost everything that mattered.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Mr. Pierce, this is Marcus Chen. Emma's colleague. She asked me to tell you something: Stop trying to contact her. Sign the papers. Move on. She doesn't want your explanations or your excuses. She's done. And if you keep harassing her, the Hart family will vote you out as CEO by Friday. Your choice.
My legs gave out. I sat down on the curb, my expensive suit getting dirty, and felt my world crumble completely.
Another text came through. This time from Rachel Chen:
Oh, and Mr. Pierce? One more thing. Sophie Hart IS pregnant. Twelve weeks. She told Emma it's your baby. Is it? Because if you've been lying about the affair this whole time, we're taking you for everything in court. You have 24 hours to submit to a paternity test, or we'll assume guilt. Clock's ticking.