Chapter 4
The final signature on the contract belonged to Cliff. I stared at it in disbelief. I had to confirm it with him in person to avoid any misunderstanding.
I drove to the company, and as I arrived, I spotted Cliff’s secretary, Shayne, downstairs. At first, she looked like she wanted to avoid me, but she composed herself when our eyes met.
She was carrying several bags—it was clear she was preparing to leave. I bent down to help her pick up a folder that had slipped from her grasp and asked why she was suddenly resigning.
Unable to hold back any longer, Shayne burst into tears. I took her to the tea room and comforted her as she cried.
Through her sobs, she revealed the real reason she quit: Cliff had been exploiting her appearance to entertain clients. He had even pressured her to sleep with them, and she felt powerless to refuse.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” I said firmly. “I’ll talk to Ian and have you transferred to the field department. That way, you won’t have to see him again.”
She stopped crying and thanked me. As a gesture of gratitude, and perhaps relief, Shayne told me everything she knew about Cliff—things she had kept to herself until now. The list was staggering: forcing employees to entertain clients sexually, tax evasion, wage withholding, and more.
Ian had mentioned some of these issues to me on the phone earlier. Now, Shayne’s testimony confirmed it all.
I made my way to Cliff’s office. When he saw me, he appeared surprised but quickly masked it with concern.
“Vivian, why are you here so suddenly? Are you feeling better now?”
His sudden display of affection felt strange and disingenuous. Most people in the company still assumed we were married, and Cliff continued to act the part in public.
“You know Austin’s brother committed suicide. I found the mortgage papers in his house—it was mortgaged to you.” I said calmly.
Cliff looked up and feigned surprise, his tone turning cold. “Debts must be repaid. Is that why you came?”
“Really? His company spiraled into debt in just six months. You expect me to believe that has nothing to do with you?” I said, tossing the mortgage contract onto his desk.
“It’s normal in business—some win, some lose,” he replied indifferently.
I didn’t argue further—I didn’t have all the evidence yet.
“Don’t forget the press conference in three days. I’ll be announcing your release from the hospital. All our business partners will be there, so cooperate, Vivian,” Cliff said, abruptly changing the topic.
My mind was consumed by thoughts of my brother. Emotion surged through me and I finally snapped.
“In order to be with Ginger, you really went so far as to kill him!”
Cliff stood and picked up the mortgage contract. “Nian Nian and I are getting married soon. He couldn’t bear the pressure of debt collectors. A man like that could never make Nian Nian happy.”
“You’re well now. You can go home anytime after the press conference. And if you’d like to attend the wedding—you’re welcome.”
Their wedding was fast approaching. If my brother had lived, it would have scandalized Ginger’s name. I now understood—they pushed him with pressure and shame until he “accidentally” took his own life.
Even under my relentless questioning, Cliff’s expression didn’t waver. Only when I said I wouldn’t attend the press conference did his mask begin to slip.
“Vivian, be good and show up. Otherwise…” He leaned in close, his voice low, “I can’t guarantee what I might do.”
I trembled. My eyes reddened. I couldn’t believe how calm he remained—he, a murderer. My brother had helped him in the early days. And now this man, with cold precision, had destroyed him—and might destroy me next.
If today he could crush my brother with business pressure, what would stop him from using public opinion to ruin me tomorrow?
I looked at the man in front of me—so cruel, so empty. With a sigh of despair, I turned and left.
Twenty-three days left. Two hours before the press conference.
Shayne had negotiated with the housekeeper and obtained a full investigation file. Everything was there—Cliff’s crimes over the past six months.
When the press conference began, Cliff stepped on stage first. He announced that he had taken me out of the mental hospital, claiming I was fully recovered.
He glossed over the past, blaming everything on my “mental illness.” He described how tenderly he cared for me post-treatment. The audience applauded. Some even praised him. Then, he turned to me and gave a cue to join him on stage.
I didn’t move. I waited until he started getting anxious, then slowly walked up.
He gently took my hand. “Vivian, you look beautiful today.”
I avoided his gaze. Adjusting the microphone, I cleared my throat.
“I’d like to clarify the truth about the past. It wasn’t mental illness. It was coercion—from Cliff.”
I pulled out a recorder I’d used for months and played it aloud.
“Cliff, please, I can’t take this anymore. He’s my brother…”
“If you don’t listen, don’t expect to see Lindsey again. Your mother wants to take her—or maybe I should just send her there…”
The crowd gasped. Whispers became outrage. Cliff’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected I kept a recording.
Panicking, he tried to grab the mic, but I stepped back and raised my voice.
That was just the beginning. One by one, I displayed hard evidence on the big screen—tax evasion, wage theft, fake contracts. The room turned cold.
CEOs started leaving before I even finished. When I finally did, not a single person remained.
Cliff rushed offstage, insisting I was still mentally unstable. But it was too late—every document I showed was stamped, signed, and dated. No one believed him.
I looked at his crumbling figure and said softly, “Uncomfortable, isn’t it—being despised?”
Walking past him, I placed a hand on his shoulder. “If you do too much evil, eventually you’ll be left with nothing.”
He lunged at me, eyes bloodshot, but stopped—this press conference was being broadcast live. He stood there, helpless.
I tossed a thick stack of files into the air like confetti and walked away smiling.
After the Press Conference
Cliff’s empire collapsed overnight. Every partner cut ties. He was buried under pressure—and didn’t even realize I had left.
Three days later, the wedding went on. But both bride and groom were visibly distracted.
While guests smiled and posed for pictures, Ginger’s eyes were blank. Cliff kept thinking about how to recover from the fallout.
At the altar, when the pastor asked them to vow eternal love, Cliff rushed through it. Ginger paused for too long. Then, claiming morning sickness, she stepped down to rest.
When Cliff offered her water, she didn’t take it.
“What’s wrong, my wife?” he asked gently.
Ginger pulled away. After a moment of silence, she said, “I saw the press conference too. I spoke to the board. The company’s stock tanked. The losses are… astronomical.”
“I’ll fix it. Don’t worry.”
“I think we need to reconsider the wedding. Things are too unstable.” Her voice trembled.
Cliff understood. The collapse had scared her off. In the end, money mattered more to her than he did.
He said nothing. Just nodded.
“I’ll go greet the guests,” she said quickly—and walked away, not looking back.
Watching her go, Cliff suddenly thought of me. Of our wedding. Of how happy we were.
I was genuinely excited that day. Even our simple life after—full of laughter and struggle—had been beautiful in its own way. I had believed in him. Loved him.
He smiled bitterly.
Then he realized: he hadn’t seen me since the conference.
He pulled out his phone. No signal. Only a cold, automated voice saying the number was unreachable.
He called Ian.
“She left three days ago,” was the reply.
