[CONTENT TEMPLATE HERE]
Chapter 816:
“You were never my husband, Cole. You were a placeholder. A defective copy. A walking memorial to someone better than you could ever hope to be p>
The word substitute again. But this time it was not a revelation. It was a coroner’s report, signing the death certificate of Cole’s entire existence.
His stomach convulsed. He doubled forward, dry heaving violently until the bitter, acidic taste of bile coated his throat. His stomach felt as though it were being crushed in a vice of ice, the sheer agony stealing the oxygen from his lungs. Dark spots danced at the edges of his vision, threatening to drag him into unconsciousness.
“Mr. Compton.” Easton’s voice was professionally detached. “Do we need to pause for you to compose yourself p>
Cole shook his head, swallowing hard against the nausea. He could not take his eyes off June. She had already turned away, already dismissed him, already moved on to the next phase of her life.
Easton slid the property transfer addendum back across the table. He uncapped his Montblanc pen and placed it precisely on the signature line.
“We’ll take the assets, Compton. Consider it compensation for emotional distress, identity theft, and three years of false imprisonment.” His smile was thin and sharp. “Now sign p>
𝖡𝘦 рa𝗋𝘵 𝗈𝘧 𝗈u𝗋 𝖼𝗼𝗆𝘮un𝗶ty 𝗼𝘯 𝗀𝖺lո𝘰𝘃𝖾𝗅s.с𝗈𝗺
The conference room was silent except for Cole’s wet, labored breathing.
He stared at the pen. The metal barrel caught the morning light, throwing a thin blade of reflection across the table. His hand moved toward it, stopped, then moved again.
“Having second thoughts about your billions?” June had retreated to her seat. She crossed her legs, the cream silk whispering.
“Not the money.” Cole’s voice was barely audible. He wrapped his fingers around the pen. The metal was cold against his palm. “I just don’t know what I’ll be. After. When there’s nothing left to give you p>
June’s expression did not change. “You’ll be gone. That’s what you’ll be p>
She reached into her bag and withdrew a second document — the original divorce settlement, its pages crisp and unmarked. She tossed it onto the table, and it slid to a stop in front of Cole.
“Sign both. Then disappear p>
Cole looked at the two piles of paper: the addendum transferring twelve billion dollars in assets, and the divorce decree ending three years of legal bondage. Between them, they represented everything he had built, inherited, stolen, and destroyed.
He uncapped the pen.
The scratch of nib on paper was the only sound. He wrote his name on the addendum first, the letters shaky but legible. Cole Compton. The signature that had launched a thousand contracts, crushed a hundred competitors, and built an empire of steel and glass — now signing away half of that empire to the woman who hated him.
He turned to the divorce decree. His hand trembled violently. The pen skidded, leaving a jagged line across the page. He gripped it tighter, forced the nib back to the line, and completed his name.
The pen slipped from his fingers and hit the carpet with a soft thud.