Chapter 2

Three days later, on the top floor of the Worth Group headquarters building in Manhattan.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows lay the dazzling night view of New York City, neon lights reflecting a cold light off the glass. I sat behind a huge mahogany desk, listening to the group's senior executives report on the quarterly results, my fingers tapping lightly on the surface, producing a rhythmic sound that seemed to strike their hearts with each tap.

"Sir, the energy projects in Europe are progressing smoothly; we've already secured the exploration rights for the North Sea oil fields." "Sir, the medical technology company's new drug development has entered Phase III clinical trials and is expected to be launched next year." "Sir, our competitors on Wall Street are already struggling and are seeking acquisitions."

I listened to their reports, expressionless. These people had followed me for years and knew I disliked idle chatter, so every word they uttered was precise and efficient. Only in this position could I truly feel the weight of power—not just cold numbers, but the fates of countless people held in my hands.

Just then, my personal assistant knocked on the door and came in, handing me a document: "Sir, this is what you requested, a report on Miss Leila's current situation."

I took the document, my fingers pausing slightly before regaining their composure. Opening it, I saw a record of everything that had happened since Leila left me. She had moved back to her old apartment in Brooklyn, continuing to work as an assistant at a gallery. Recently, she had been trying to secure an important exhibition opportunity, but was facing setbacks due to a lack of funds and connections. Her good-for-nothing brother had racked up gambling debts again, and creditors were lining up outside her gallery, forcing her to borrow money from all sides, leaving her in a state of utter distress.

I looked at the photo on the document. She was wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans, moving picture frames in an art gallery. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her eyes showed fatigue, yet she remained stubborn. I remembered three years ago, when she first painted on the street and was harassed by some thugs. I was the one who stepped in to help her. Back then, her eyes shone with light, like a little wild animal that knew no bounds.

“Sir, would you like to…” the assistant tentatively began, offering to help her. I looked up at him, my gaze turning cold: “No need. She chose this path herself, let her walk it herself.”

The assistant wisely shut her mouth and left. I tossed the documents back onto the table, picked up the red wine, poured myself a glass, and the crimson liquid swirled gently in the crystal glass. For three years, I had grown accustomed to playing the role of an ordinary doctor in front of her, accustomed to silently clearing all obstacles for her, but she pushed me away with her own hands. And so, I will never look back.

Just then, my phone rang. It was Claire calling. I frowned, answered the phone, and her voice was trembling with tears: "Ethan, I know I was wrong, please forgive me? I just love you so much, I don't want to lose you..."

"Do you like Ethan Cole, or Ethan Worth?" I interrupted her, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. She paused, then cried, "I don't care who you are, I just want you..."

“Unfortunately, I don’t want anything from you.” I hung up the phone and blacklisted her number. I’ve seen too many of these opportunistic women. They never loved me as a person, but rather the wealth and power I possessed. As for Lyra, she genuinely believed Ethan Cole was just an ordinary doctor when she married him. But in the end, she left him because of his “mediocrity.”

Just then, my assistant knocked on the door again and came in, looking somewhat complicated: "Sir, there's a woman downstairs who claims to be Miss Leila and says she wants to see you."

I raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised. How did she find her way here? "Let her come up," I said calmly.

A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened, and Leila walked in. She was wearing a beige trench coat, her hair slightly disheveled. When she saw me, her eyes first showed surprise, then turned to panic. She probably never imagined that her husband, who lived in a small apartment in Brooklyn, would be sitting in one of Manhattan's top office buildings, wearing a custom-made suit, like a king.

“Ethan… you…” Her voice trembled slightly as her gaze swept over everything in the office: the night view outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Worth family crest on the wall, and the expensive suit I was wearing that she had never seen before.

I leaned back in my chair, looking at her, my tone calm and even: "What is it?" Her lips moved, and after a long pause, she found her voice: "You... who are you? Where is this..."

"This is the headquarters of the Worth Corporation. I am Ethan Worth, the heir to the company." I watched her expression shift from surprise to disbelief, then to panic, but I remained completely unmoved. "You came to me just to ask this?"

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No, I... I'm here to apologize to you. Ethan, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have believed Claire, I shouldn't have divorced you... I know I was wrong, can you... can you give me another chance?"

She stepped forward, trying to take my hand, but I slightly turned away. Her hand froze in mid-air, her eyes filled with hurt and grievance. "An opportunity?" I looked at her, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. "You were the one who signed the divorce papers, you were the one who turned and left. Now that you know I'm not just some mediocre doctor, that I'm the heir to the Worth Group, you've come back begging for reconciliation?"

"No!" she hurriedly explained, tears streaming down her face. "It wasn't because of your identity, it was... I only found out later how much you'd done for me. My brother's gambling debts, the gallery's troubles, you helped me settle them all, didn't you? I was so stupid before, I misunderstood you, Ethan, let's start over, okay?"

Looking at her red, tear-filled eyes, I felt no pity, only amusement. Did she think a simple "misunderstanding" could erase her initial resolve? Did she think that if she wanted to turn back, I would wait for her forever?

“Laila,” I began, my voice as cold as ice, “you used to think I was cold, that I was mediocre, that I couldn’t give you the future you wanted. Now, I can’t give you that anymore.”

She froze, the color draining from her face instantly. "Ethan, what did you say?" "I said, we're over." I stood up, walked to the French windows, and turned my back to her. "Go away. This isn't a place for you."

She wanted to say something more, but my bodyguard escorted her out. The office returned to silence, the night view outside the window was still vibrant, but my heart felt empty. I picked up the photo frame on the table; it contained a picture of me and Leila. She was smiling brightly, and I looked at her with a tenderness in my eyes that I hadn't even realized I possessed.

I thought I had let go, but seeing her crying and begging me still hurts. But I can't go back. She destroyed everything between us, and now, even if she knows the truth, it's too late.

Just then, the assistant knocked on the door and came in, handing over an invitation: "Sir, would you like to attend the charity gala next week? Miss Leila has also received an invitation; she probably wants to find an opportunity to get closer to you at the gala."

I took the invitation, glanced at it, and said casually, "Attend. Also, help me make preparations; I'll be bringing Claire along."

The assistant paused for a moment, then understood what I meant: "Yes, sir."

The charity gala was Leila's last chance. She thought she could win me back, but little did she know, I had already laid a trap for her. I wanted her to see for herself what kind of world she had given up; I wanted her to understand that what she had lost could never be regained.

And Claire, the woman who stirred up trouble back then, now it's her turn to make her appearance. Doesn't she want to be the mistress of the Worth Group? Well, I'll give her that opportunity and let her and Lyra put on a good show at this dinner party.

I gazed at the night view outside the window, a cold smile curving my lips. Laila, you want to win back your husband, don't you? Then I'll play along to the end. But this time, I won't be soft-hearted.