LOGINMr. Hughes doesn’t bother with pleasantries.The room is all glass and steel, high above the city, but the air between father and son feels old—stale with history, with words that were never said when they should have been. Brandon stands near the window, hands clasped behind his back, posture calm by habit more than peace.“You’re walking into a fire,” Mr. Hughes says quietly. “And you’re dragging her with you.”Brandon doesn’t turn. “I didn’t ask for this meeting to be threatened.”“No,” his father replies. “You asked because you already know how this ends.”Silence stretches. Below them, traffic crawls like something trapped and
Julia’s statement doesn’t just trend—it ignites.By midmorning, her words are everywhere, stripped of context and then stitched back together by strangers. We don’t trade places. We stand. It becomes a slogan, a provocation, a declaration people argue over like it belongs to them.Brandon watches the numbers climb from the edge of the bed, phone heavy in his hand. Pride wars with something darker in his chest.“She didn’t have to do that,” he murmurs.Julia is at the window, wrapped in one of his shirts, the city bright and merciless below. “Yes, I did.”He looks up. “They’re
The rumor doesn’t arrive loudly. It slips in sideways, dressed as speculation, anonymous and almost polite.Julia sees it while standing at the kitchen counter, coffee cooling untouched. A push notification flashes—Source Close to Hughes Claims Emotional Affair at Center of Charity Scandal. No names. No proof. Just implication sharpened to a point.She doesn’t read past the first paragraph. She doesn’t need to.Brandon’s voice carries from the living room, low, controlled, finishing a call. When he joins her, he already knows. He always knows.“They’re testing the ground,” he says quietly. “Seeing if it sticks.”
The photo hits Julia’s phone before she’s fully awake.Vanessa, poised and immaculate, walking beside Brandon down the steps of Hughes Tower. Their shoulders almost aligned. Their strides matched. The caption beneath it sharp as a blade: Hughes Leadership United as Crisis Deepens.Julia sits up slowly, the sheets sliding down her arms, pulse steady even as something tight coils in her chest. Another notification follows. Then another. Different outlets, same image. Same framing. Same narrative.No Julia.She scrolls, methodical, refusing the instinct to flinch. Headlines evolve with ruthless efficiency. The Woman Beside Him.
The announcement came without warning, delivered in the sterile cadence of corporate language, but it landed like a slap.Brandon stood at the head of the conference room as the board chair spoke, his name paired—cleanly, efficiently—with Vanessa’s. Co-run the flagship campaign. Unified front. Stability. The words stacked neatly, disguising the intention beneath them.Julia felt it before she understood it. The subtle shift in the room. The way eyes flicked from Brandon to Vanessa, then to her, measuring fallout before it even happened.&ldqu
Julia stood alone beneath the overhang, rainwater sliding from her hair to the pavement in quiet drops. The city hummed around her—cars hissing past, lights bleeding into wet asphalt—but none of it reached her. She felt suspended, caught between the storm outside and the one tightening in her chest.The paper was folded in her hand, softened by moisture, the ink smudged but still legible. She had memorized the language already. Annulment permissible under governance breach. As if a marriage were a faulty contract. As if love could be returned, unopened.She read it again anyway.“Julia.”Brandon’s voice came from behind her, low and careful. She didn&rsquo







