JOHNSO

scotch in his glass. "Clara Stone, the tragic artist. Reduced to sket

elf-sacrificing. So pure. It' s exhausting. And frankly, a little annoying." I took a long sip of my drink. "She

rted. "She always seemed... a bit simple, didn' t she? Too caug

on. "She wanted the lifestyle. The penthouse, the galas, the endless praise for her 'talent'

Ston

d him. I remembered the late nights I' d spent with him, not at parties, but in this very office, bringing him coffee, listening to his grand plans, offering little insights from my artistic perspective that he

pletely unplanned, and frankly, inconvenient." He paused, then his tone hardened. "I told her, repeate

ned. "You think so, Jakob? Clar

thing, Marcus, especially when you' re facing a mountain of deb

sed, a slight unease in his vo

I thought, not a child. Not anymore. The decision I had made,

ere are games to develop, empires to expand. If she thinks a baby will tie me down, she

ed. "You really dislike the id

t. This whole domestic charade? It' s a job. A public relations exercis

eyes glittering, "then let' s make a game of it

ces erupted. "I' m i

idence, "she' ll be begging on my doorstep within a month, of

e' ll try to fight, make some noise. But when

together. "The pot is... substantial. And Jakob, you' re

total, absolute ruin. Every last penny she thinks she has, every shred of

y event," Marcus interjected, his voice low and sug

a physical blow, stripping away layers of my skin, exposing raw nerve. My breath hitched, a desperate gasp for

ished within me. My hand instinctively flew to my still-flat belly, a protective gesture that was now tragically misguided. The chi

ilently down my face. But these weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of pure, unadulterate

broken trophy. They wanted a show? I would give them a performance the

ing they built on lies. Their money, their reputation, t

ally dismissed, would be unmade. Not because I didn't want it, but because I refused to bring an innocent soul int

, where they planned to smash my sculpture, my last vestiges of identity. It would become

ery single penny of their disgusting bet. This was not the end of