Three Million Dollar Goodbye

I asked Conrad for a divorce right when he was drowning in his busiest season.

He didn't even look up from the case files in his hands. His knuckles tapped a rapid rhythm against the mahogany desk before he tossed out an ultimatum. If you've made up your mind, I'm taking full custody of Rhys.

Like he expected me to cave for our son's sake.

I tugged the corner of my mouth into a tight smirk and slapped a gold-rimmed black card onto his desk. "Here is the three million dollar spousal compensation from our prenup, plus interest. I'll be wiring Rhys's child support to this account from now on."

"Happy divorce, Conrad."

Chapter 1

It was deeply ironic for a top-tier divorce lawyer to get slapped with his own divorce.

When I posted the photo of our divorce agreement on Instagram, someone joked about it in my comments. I pulled at the corner of my mouth and typed back, "Too bad a top-tier divorce lawyer can't even clean up his own mess."

Conrad and I had been married for twelve years. We shared a ten-year-old son. Yet, we now slept on opposite edges of the same mattress, our backs turned. He had been handling his unforgettable ex-girlfriend's divorce case for three whole years, and she still wasn't legally separated.

Only Conrad viewed her through a thick, golden filter. He acted like the situation was a massive, tangled web, and one wrong step would send his precious ex plummeting off a cliff. So, he had to be careful. Beyond careful.

The way I saw it, the woman just couldn't let go. She was sinking her teeth into the trust fund of her abusive, cheating husband, hell-bent on taking half of his entire estate. She was also addicted to the limelight of playing the victim.

The constant internet buzz kept a C-list actress like her relevant. Forget about scoring actual movie or TV scriptsshe had booked over a hundred magazine covers, reality shows, and interviews in the past three years alone.

I then pinned the photo of the divorce agreement to my Twitter account, which barely had double-digit followers. I tagged Sabrina and added a mocking caption: See? Kicking a trash man to the curb isn't that hard, as long as you're willing to walk away without a single cent.

Her pathetic army of sympathetic fans instantly flooded my account. The hate comments refreshed faster than I could scroll. My follower count skyrocketedall haters, of course.

They would probably doxx me soon, brewing up a massive cyberbullying campaign that would bleed into my career, my personal life, and my friends.

I didn't care.

I actually wanted to see who Conrad would choose once Rhys's life got dragged into this mess.

Conrad called me almost immediately. I expected him to reprimand me, order me to delete the ambiguous tweet, and warn me against doing pointless things. But he didn't. His voice dragged, heavy and raspy through the speaker.

"Vivienne," he started. "You know I see things through. Since I took Sabrina's case, I have to be responsible for it until the end."

I gave a flat, "Mhm. And then?"

Dead silence stretched over the line. He didn't offer a single word to coax me. Instead, he took the moral high ground. "If you're divorcing me because of her, that's unnecessary."

Like he was scolding a child for throwing a tantrum.

I let out a cold scoff. "Conrad, when you wake up in the middle of the night and look in the mirror, do you dare look yourself in the eye and say that these past three years were all for your noble professional ethics, or were they just to satisfy your own dirty, hidden desires?"

He didn't even hesitate. "I'm a lawyer."

I let out a sharp laugh. "Over the past three years, there were seven different times you promised Rhys you'd take him to Disneyland, to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, to his Little League finals. But you were always called away by a single phone call. And I had to cover for you."

"I couldn't tell him you were running off to play savior to your unforgettable ex-girlfriend. I could only tell him you were a great hero, fighting against terrible marriages and giving countless men and women a new lease on life. Until one time"

I gripped the phone tighter. "Take a guess. What kind of expression do you think Rhys had when he watched you on TV, walking out of the courthouse next to that pretty lady?"

"That pretty lady was swarmed by a mob of reporters, but her bodyguards and assistants already had her shielded. Yet you still charged over there like a madman, wrapped your arm around her shoulder to let her lean on you, and glared at the press. What do you think your son's face looked like then?"

Chapter 2

"Guess again. How do you think I explained that to him?"

Total silence on his end. I glanced at my screen. The call was still connected.

Maybe his neglect of our son finally triggered his conscience. I didn't mind twisting the knife. I kept pushing.

"Conrad, hasn't it ever struck you as odd? Why Rhys, who used to be glued to your hip, suddenly became so independent and quiet? He stopped begging you to play with him. He stopped excitedly asking you to help with his homework."

"He stopped calling you 'Daddy' in that sweet voice. The two of you act more like roommates on opposite work schedules now. At best, you just nod at each other when you cross paths."

For the past three years, I had endured Conrad's icy detachment. I absorbed all of Rhys's silent heartbreak. And on top of it all, I had to swallow the constant humiliations Sabrina threw in my face.

I was done.

I closed my eyes, pulling up one corner of my mouth in a cold smirk. "You're already a disgusting piece of trash for a husband. Since you're getting custody, don't be a repulsive, garbage father too."

Conrad and I agreed on a schedule. Every Friday evening, I would pick Rhys up from school. Saturdays belonged to me, and I'd drop him back off after dinner.

Except the very first Saturday happened to clash with a red carpet event for Paris Haute Couture Week. As one of Hollywood's most sought-after head makeup artists, I immediately flew out for the $200,000 single-session payout thrown at me by an arrogant nepo baby. By the time I flew back, it was already Tuesday.

When the next Friday finally rolled around, I went to pick Rhys up. Conrad was waiting at the school gates too.

He looked like a complete wreck. Rough stubble shadowed his jawline, and dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. His dress shirt, which was normally pressed without a single crease, hung off his frame in a wrinkled mess.

The massive cyberbullying and doxxing I had anticipated never materialized. Whether the internet had finally lost interest in Sabrina's endless theatrics, or Conrad had pulled some strings behind the scenes to suppress it, I didn't know.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and fixed his tired, sluggish eyes on me. "Why didn't you fight for his custody?"

I froze. My fingers curled into a tight fist, the long nails biting into my palm.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I shot back. "Conrad, are you seriously trying to throw away your own son for a woman?"

This didn't align with what I knew. Conrad used to be a man of deep responsibility. In the twelve years we spent together, he was never the kind of man who would abandon his own flesh and blood for a woman who wasn't even divorced yet.

Sure enough, his brows pulled together. "That's not what I meant."

My clenched fist slowly uncurled. If he had shown even a fraction of a hint that he didn't want our son, I wouldn't have hesitated to smash my fist right into his face.

"It's just a simple calculation of pros and cons," I replied coldly. "Conrad, I'm not like you. I don't just do whatever I want. Rhys will have a far better future sticking with you."

"He is your family's bloodline, and you can't sever that tie. Even if you throw everything away to chase after your precious ex-girlfriend, there are still your parents to think about, aren't there?"

Conrad came from a powerful East Coast legal dynasty. His grandfather was a tenured professor at an Ivy League law school. His father was a federal judge, his mother a senior partner at a top-tier law firm, and his uncle the state attorney general. His older brother didn't study law, choosing instead to carve out a political career in Washington.

He was exceptionally capable in his own right, too. After getting his Juris Doctor, he entered the most prestigious law firm in the capital. In just ten short years, he became the managing partner of the entire firm, clutching the lifelines and connections of countless elites in the palm of his hand.

Chapter 3

His career was skyrocketing, and his family background was practically American royalty. No matter how much money I raked in as Hollywood's most sought-after makeup artist, I had crawled my way up. My parents were just ordinary public school teachers. I could never compete with his family's generational wealth.

Take Rhys's school, for instance. It was the most elite private prep school on Manhattan's Upper East Side, with a seventy-thousand-dollar annual tuition. My current bank account could easily cover it, but I could never get him in on my own.

The brutal exclusivity of schools like that bled into every single detail. If Rhys hadn't gotten into that prep school, I never would have imagined they actually interviewed the parents before accepting a student. Class lines were a damn near impossible wall to climb over.

His sharp eyes narrowed. He clearly hadn't expected my reasoning to be so practical.

I pulled up the corners of my mouth in a cold, mocking smirk. "I told you over and over to stay the hell away from Sabrina, and all you did was fight with me. Were you dead certain I'd never leave our son? Did you think you never had to worry about your own backyard catching fire, so you could just pour all your time and energy into another woman?"

"Thinking like that makes you a cheap, pathetic bastard."

His brows furrowed. His pristine, old-money upbringing made it physically impossible for him to spit out dirty words. "Do you really have to speak like that?"

"How else should I speak?" I shot back, raising an eyebrow at him. "Should I wish you and your precious ex a happily ever after?"

His shoulders suddenly caved in. His once perfectly straight spine hunched over as he braced both hands heavily on his knees, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

"We don't need to do this," he rasped. "I've already handed Sabrina's case over to another attorney. The files will be transferred in a few days."

I raised my eyes to look at him. My pulse didn't even skip a beat.

If he had done this the very first time I brought up Sabrina, I would have been thrilled. I might have even considered having a second kid in my thirties. If he had done this before we actually divorced, even if I felt no joy, I would have dropped the idea of leaving just to give Rhys an intact home.

Too bad we were already divorced.

I never did things on impulse. Once I made a decision, it was calculated and final. Even if there was a sheer cliff right in front of me, I would never turn back.

"Waiting until we're officially divorced to pull this move Conrad, you're even cheaper than I thought," I replied coldly.

I honestly never wanted it to come to this. Even if Conrad couldn't let Sabrina go, he still had his powerful family behind him. His older brother's political career was blazing white-hot. Conrad might not care what people thought of him, but he would never allow himself to become a dirty stain on his brother's resume.

That was why I always believed Conrad and Sabrina maintained a strictly professional attorney-client relationship. It was the only reason I turned a blind eye to his behavior.

But out of all the lines she could have crossed, Sabrina never should have danced her way right in front of Rhys.

And Conrad never, ever should have put his own son in second place for that woman, time and time again.

I only found out after the fact. Last month, Conrad promised to take Rhys hiking. Halfway there, he got a call from Sabrina and hurriedly dragged Rhys right along to her.

At that time, while Conrad's attention was off our son, Sabrina's assistant actually pinched Rhys's cheek and told him Sabrina was going to be his new mommy.

When they got back, Rhys mustered up all his courage to talk to Conrad about it. But Conrad just assumed I was using our son as a pawn to force him to cut ties with Sabrina. Conrad tracked me down and started a fight.

Chapter 4

When Rhys finally sobbed out the whole story, Conrad flinched, his jaw tightening.

He didn't apologize. He just grabbed his coat, slammed the door, and vanished for two straight days.

When he finally reappeared, he brought a string of pearls for me and a ridiculously expensive toy for Rhys, laying his "sincere apologies" on thick.

A cold laugh escaped my throat.

That was the exact moment I decided to dump him. He made my stomach turn with disgust.

But his familys empire was a launchpad for Rhys. I had to leave my son in his custody. But I would be damned if I ever let Sabrina step on Rhys again.

The solution was simple. I was going to destroy Sabrina's reputation and rip her out by the roots.

I burned cash on a PR firm to artificially boost my Twitter engagement. Once the outrage hit its boiling point, every single filthy, underhanded scheme Sabrina had ever pulled would be dragged into the light. The "homewrecker" label would be superglued to her forehead.

But the trending hashtag flatlined.

Conrad didnt have a fraction of my pull in Hollywood. Sabrina's pathetic little PR agency wasn't even a blip on my radar. I ran the calculations in my headneither of them had the muscle to suppress my media blitz.

So who was covering for Sabrina? After piecing the puzzle together, my target locked onto Conrad's uncle. A ruthless, cutthroat businessman. The exact kind of predator I actually respected.

I vividly remembered the day Conrad first introduced me to his family. The rest of his elite relatives looked at me like dirt on their shoes. Only his uncle crushed their objections and backed our marriage.

When I asked him why later, he just lit a cigarette, letting the thick smoke roll over his lips. The glowing ember flickeredunpredictable, just like the man himself.

"This family needs a shark," he had said.

But blood or not, an uncle was still just an uncle. A husband and wife were the only true alliancewe either ruled together or bled together.

Back then, I made a mental note: Never make an enemy out of this man.

I always avoided the corporate battlefield. First, it was because of the shadow left by a failed startup in college. Later, it was because I knew my own explosive temper perfectly well. I was genuinely afraid that if I got provoked at a negotiation table, I would just grab the nearest heavy crystal sculpture and smash the other guys skull in.

But I traded private equity and played the stock market behind closed doors, and I was damn good at it. I could easily hold my own in the inner circle of top-tier day traders. I kept that secret locked down tight. Not even my parents knew.

Now, ever since his lung cancer surgery the year before last, Conrad's uncle had quit smoking. Whenever the nicotine craving hit, he just liked to pour a glass of vintage Macallan whiskey and swirl it slowly in his hand. Time had barely left a scratch on his face. Maybe wealth really was the ultimate preservativehe didn't look a day over forty.

"It wasn't me," he stated smoothly, taking a slow sip. "I don't sink low enough to meddle in your marital drama."

"Aren't you afraid that my little trap for Sabrina will drag your precious nephew through the mud right alongside her?" I never bothered biting my tongue.

He lifted his eyes. The businessman's sharp glare shifted, settling on me with a slow nod of approval. "Unlikely. Conrad doesn't have the spine to actually cheat. Even if this whole mess blows up in his face, the worst the public will do is brand him a bastard. To our family, thats nothing but a tiny scratch on our pride."

"You know how it works, Vivienne. When a dynasty is powerful enough, a little dirty laundry is inevitable. But what does it matter? These nobodies only dare to whisper behind our backs. The second we walk into the room, they still trip over themselves to kiss our boots."

"Vivienne, I backed you because I needed someone sharp to push this family forward. And you've proven you have the teeth for it. We already have Carlton holding up the political front. As for Conrad? As long as you don't burn the entire house down, this family couldn't care less what you do to him."

He leaned back, exuding the suffocating confidence of a man holding all the cards. "You have my word."

I stared him down, searching for even a micro-expression of deceit. I found nothing. Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out.

Chapter 5

I tracked down my best friend, Cleo, who was halfway across the world in Paris, to ask if she was the one suppressing the trending hashtags.

She denied it and handed me a different name to chew onMaximilian.

Memories crashed over me like a tidal wave. My very first encounter with Maximilian happened at the start of the second semester of my sophomore year. After my startup crashed and burned, I desperately shifted my focus to racking up credits to keep my academic record spotless.

I had clawed my way out of a dead-end Rust Belt town to get into this top-tier Ivy League. I had seen its majestic grandeur, and I had seen its intoxicating, money-soaked decadence. I had seen my peers dripping in haute couture, and I had seen what it truly meant to be born with a silver spoon.

In this place paved with gold, my perfect SAT scores meant nothing.

I wanted to stay in this city. But I knew that just keeping my head down, studying hard, and getting a 9-to-5 job after graduation would barely afford me a closet to sleep in.

I wanted more.

I wanted to plant my roots deep into this concrete jungle, building a dynasty that would thrive for generations.

To secure the GPA required to keep my full-ride scholarship, I grabbed my laptop and headed to the lecture hall early to snag a front-row seat. That days guest speaker was a top-tier Wall Street tycoon. I showed up forty minutes early, but the tiered auditorium was already packed to the brim.

I ducked my head, sliding into an empty seat near the edge. I flipped open my laptop, the screen instantly filling with dense stock market analyses and trading models.

I was teaching myself how to play the market.

Maximilian was sitting right next to me. He was dressed incredibly low-key, hiding behind a mask and a baseball cap pulled down low. Under the dim lights of the auditorium, I couldn't even see his eyes clearly.

Up on stage, the speaker was giving an impassioned pitch. Down in the crowd, I kept my brows locked, furiously highlighting and charting data.

Then, Maximilian suddenly leaned in close. His voice dropped to a low, magnetic murmur. "A business major crashing an archaeology lecture?"

I shot him a quick glance. He was bundled up tight, so I immediately dropped my gaze back to my screen. "Math major. Just here for the credits."

He crossed his hands over his knees, his gaze lingering on my screen. "Math major working on a senior thesis?"

I swiped a hand over my keyboard, annoyed by the interruption. "Sophomore. Just messing around on my own."

After the lecture wrapped up, he slid a business card onto my desk. A single name was stamped across it in heavy gold foil: [ Maximilian ].

When I got back to my dorm, I ran his name through a quick search. Zero hits. I tossed the card straight into the trash.

My second run-in with Maximilian happened right around finals. A biology professor at our university had just published a groundbreaking paper in Nature, causing a massive uproar. The university immediately arranged a week-long seminar series. Students from every major college in the city were practically breaking down the doors to get a seat.

I claimed my seat early. Maximilian, still dressed in his signature low-key style, strolled up to me with his hands shoved in his pockets. "Done analyzing the stock market?"

This time, he was only wearing the baseball cap. I stared at his face. His features were sharp and chiseled. When those grayish-blue eyes narrowed, the heavy gaze pinned me in place.

A person's aura is a strange thing. Someone could have aggressively average features, but with the right presence and breeding, their attractiveness skyrockets.

I watched the effortless ease on Maximilian's facea suffocating confidence built on a mountain of generational wealthand thought to myself: Which billionaire's trust fund brat is this?

I took the initiative to reel him in. Since his business card had long been hauled off to the landfill, I flat-out asked for his number, using the flimsiest excuse in the book. "You know the market? Let's grab a coffee and talk about it."

By that time, I had already scored a small fortune day-trading, and I reeked of that smug, newly-minted money vibe.

Chapter 6

I approached him thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could become my ultimate connection in Manhattan.

Whether he found me amusing or just wanted to get into my pants, it was an unavoidable cost of doing business on my climb to the top. If not him, it would be someone else. I might as well get used to playing the game early. Hustling with these old-money heirs was a crash course in reading the room anyway.

But that mindset didn't last long.

As finals wrapped up, my roommates packed up and headed home for winter break. The only ones still crashing in the dorms were me and a filthy rich business major. This particular princess had terrible luckshe got stuck rooming with three math majors.

Not that she cared. She just dressed to the nines for her classes, partied like a rockstar in her free time, and rarely even slept in her own bed. Lately, though, she was actually hiding out in our room. I thought she was grinding for finals, but it turned out she just didn't want to spend her winter break interning at her family's corporation.

She had zero interest in inheriting the empire and decided to throw herself into Hollywood instead.

After hanging around Maximilian for a while, I soaked up more than I ever expected. He wasn't just some trust fund kid burning his family's money. On the contrary, his pure capability sat firmly at the absolute top of the pyramid.

He dropped one casual hint, and my stock portfolio doubled overnight.

I wanted to drain more knowledge out of him, but I knew I had to offer something in return. So, I started showing up to our dates with flawless makeup and designer heels. Even though this guy never bothered booking reservations at Michelin-starred restaurants, luxury yachts, or dimly lit speakeasies.

Instead, he dragged me out to shoot pool, fire arrows at archery ranges, hit the slopes, ride purebred horses, and swing clubs on exclusive golf courses.

All sports I had barely even seen on TV, let alone touched.

It was fine. This was how the one percent burned their time, and learning their playground rules wouldn't hurt me.

But I didn't want to just play around. I wanted real power. He had only tossed me a single breadcrumb of market insight, and it was enough to keep me racking my brain for days.

I wanted him to teach me more. When I asked him flat out, he didn't give me a straight answer. Instead, he took me to an underground high-jewelry auction.

The cheapest piece on the block started at seven figures. As several items were hammered down in quick succession, Maximilian didn't even twitch to raise a paddle. I watched him lean back, looking as relaxed as a man watching a Broadway show from the front rowperfectly content just being an audience member.

But I wanted to test him. I needed to see exactly how deep his pockets really went.

So I leaned closer and asked, "Nothing catching your eye?"

He lifted his gaze to mine. For the very first time, his eyes darkened.

"If you see something you like, just bid on it," he casually dropped the command.

I kept quiet until that rare pink diamond necklace, the grand finale, was rolled out. Hearing the auctioneer call out the ten-million-dollar starting bid, I turned my head and locked my eyes dead onto his.

Maximilian slouched lazily against his chair. His dark, unreadable eyes practically dared me to do it.

I raised the paddle. I slammed down the winning bid at nearly three times the starting price.

When the gavel struck, a cold shiver ripped down my spine.

It hit me like a freight train. Maximilian was existing in a stratosphere I couldn't even begin to fathom.

Dropping tens of millions was like flicking cigarette ash to him. The momentary hit of adrenaline was all the justification he needed to set that kind of cash on fire.

He didn't even spare a second glance at the diamonds. He simply waved a hand at his assistant and ordered, "Have it wrapped and sent to the Sinclair heiress for her birthday."

Chapter 7

Handed over just like that, without a single wince of regret.

And someone like me couldn't even dream up what a life with tens of millions of dollars would look like.

Maximilian hadn't brought me here to expand my horizons. He was warning me