Chapter 92

Sean POV

The streets of Manhattan were alive with Christmas preparations as I descended the courthouse steps.

My hands wouldn't stop trembling as I pushed through the holiday crowds.

Salvation Army bells rang out nearby, their cheerful sound mixing with carols drifting from storefronts, creating a cacophony that made me want to scream.

All I could really hear anyway was the echo of Angela's voice from the night before:

"I love him. I love Christopher."

The words had haunted me through my sleepless night, and now they seemed to reverberate with each step I took away from the courthouse.

Away from her. My fingers clenched involuntarily, the ghost of her signature on those damned papers burning into my mind.

I forced myself to keep walking, to not turn around.

I knew if I did, I might see Christopher waiting for her - Christopher, who had apparently loved her for years.

Christopher, who had been patient enough to wait for the perfect moment. Christopher, who now had everything I had foolishly taken for granted.

I arrived at the parking lot, got into the car, and finally found a moment of peace.

The moment I closed the car door, a sharp pain shot through my chest. My vision blurred slightly as I reached for my phone, hitting Peter's number on speed dial.

"Sir?" Peter's voice came through clear and professional.

"I need..." I paused, drawing in a ragged breath. "I need you to pick up the car. "

"Of course, Mr. Shaw. I'll be there in ten minutes."

I don't think I should be driving right now.

A thought came unbidden, unwelcome. I pushed it away, along with the urge to run back up those courthouse steps and... and what?

Demand answers?

Beg her to reconsider?

I was Sean Shaw, CEO of Shaw Group. I didn't beg.

Evening found me in my private study at the Park Avenue penthouse, surrounded by the trappings of power that suddenly meant nothing.

The photograph of Angela that had always sat in the corner - a candid shot from a charity gala where she'd been laughing at something Elizabeth had said - lay face down.

I couldn't bear to look at it. Couldn't bear to see the happiness in her eyes and wonder if it had ever been real.

The knock at my door was sharp. Only one person would dare interrupt me tonight.

"Enter," I called out, not bothering to look up from the untouched glass of scotch in my hand.

Victoria's heels clicked against the hardwood floors as she approached my desk. "Where is she?"

My grip tightened on the glass. "Gone."

"Gone where, Sean? What did you do?"

"What did I do?" I laughed, the sound harsh and foreign to my own ears. "I gave her exactly what she wanted - freedom to be with the man she actually loves."

"The man she..." Victoria's voice trailed off as understanding dawned. "Christopher Blake? Those rumors are real?"

My response was to drain my glass in one burning swallow.

"You're a fool," Victoria said quietly. "A blind, stubborn fool who can't see what's right in front of him."

"I saw plenty," I snapped, pushing to my feet. "I saw the way he looked at her, touched her. I saw how she defended him, chose him over me again and again. I saw-"

"You saw what your jealousy wanted you to see," Victoria cut in. "Did you ever once ask her how she felt? Really asked, without accusations or assumptions?"

"She told me herself!" The words exploded from me as I slammed the glass down on my desk. "She said she loved him!"

"And you believed her?" Victoria's eyebrow arched delicately. "The woman who's spent two years protecting your reputation, supporting your grandmother, building a life with you despite your obvious affair with Christina - you really think she'd suddenly throw all that away for Christopher Blake?"

My phone buzzed on the desk - Christina's name flashing on the screen for the tenth time that evening. I ignored it, just as I'd ignored all her previous calls.

"Leave me alone ,Please." I said quietly, dangerously.

Victoria moved toward the door but paused in the doorway. "You know what your real problem is, Sean? "

"Please ,Mother, Just... get out."

The door closed behind her with a soft click. I stood motionless for a long moment, then slowly reached for the bottle of scotch. My hand trembled as I poured, drops spilling onto the mahogany desk.

My Montblanc pen - a gift from Angela on our first anniversary - caught my eye. Without thinking, I grabbed it and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying crack, ink splattering like blood against the cream-colored paint.

My phone buzzed again. Christina's face smiled up at me from the screen, and suddenly I couldn't bear to look at it anymore. With one sweep of my arm, I sent the phone flying off my desk, along with half the merger documents.

I was too focused on breathing through the tightness in my chest, trying not to picture Angela in Christopher's arms or remember how she'd looked at me yesterday and said those three words that broke me.

The city lights twinkled beyond my floor-to-ceiling windows, a million stars that seemed to mock my solitude.

Somewhere out there, Angela was probably with Christopher now. Planning their future. Laughing about how easily I had let her go.