Chapter 317
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Chapter 317:
Silicon Alley, the hub of New York’s tech industry, was packed with commuters clutching expensive coffees. Directly across the street from the towering glass façade of Douglas Tech headquarters stood a massive, three-hundred-square-meter LED billboard that had been under maintenance for two weeks.
At exactly 8:00 AM, the screen powered on.
There was no commercial. No clever marketing slogan. No text at all. The entire surface simply radiated a blinding, toxic shade of neon green.
In the unspoken, vicious language of high society and Wall Street, that particular color was the ultimate, universally recognized symbol of a man who had been cuckolded. It was a physical assault on the eyes.
Tech workers and executives stopped dead on the sidewalk. They pulled out their phones, laughing and recording the bizarre, aggressive display.
Kieran Douglas sat in the back of his armored Mercedes as it turned onto the street. The neon green light flooded the car’s interior, reflecting off the windows and painting his pale face in a sickly, humiliating glow. He was forced to stare at the massive green square for a full minute while the garage gates crawled open. The light caught his reflection in the armored glass and twisted his features into a grotesque mask of shame. In that moment, in the eyes of the entire city, he was nothing more than a joke.
Kieran stormed off the elevator and onto the top floor of his company. He kicked his office door open and swept his arm across the mahogany desk, sending laptops, coffee cups, and crystal paperweights crashing to the floor.
“Fix it!” Kieran roared at his terrified PR Director. “Turn that screen off right now p>
The director swallowed hard, clutching a tablet to his chest.
𝖨𝗇𝘀t𝗮𝘯𝘵 𝗮𝖼cе𝗌𝘀 𝗼𝘯
“Sir, we tried,” he stammered. “The property rights to that billboard were acquired overnight by an offshore trust company. They paid ten times market value and signed a one-year, iron-clad broadcasting contract. Their legal team must have worked through the entire weekend — the deal was finalized at five this morning. Unless they display illegal content, the city cannot touch it p>
Kieran’s chest heaved, his lungs burning with pure rage.
He knew exactly who was behind the offshore trust. Gaston Collins. No one else in New York had the liquid capital or the sheer, psychotic pettiness to burn millions of dollars simply to humiliate him in public every single day.
Before he could issue another order, the office doors flew open.
Aspen Schneider marched in, flanked by two aggressive-looking divorce attorneys. Her eyes were red and swollen, her designer dress slightly rumpled. She threw a thick legal binder onto the remaining clear space on Kieran’s desk.
“You think you can just throw me away?” Aspen shrieked. “You ruined my family for that used trash, Jocelyn! I am not signing anything unless you wire twenty million dollars into my account as a settlement p>
Kieran turned his head slowly. He looked at the blinding green light reflecting off his windows. Then he looked at Aspen’s twisted, greedy face.
A wave of physical nausea rolled through him. He felt genuinely disgusted that he had ever touched her. A cold, dead laugh escaped his throat.