로그인Julia’s hands trembled as she gripped the ID card tighter. The name Hughes burned like acid across her vision. She set it down on the table with a sharp snap.
When Brandon finally stirred, rubbing sleep from his eyes, Julia was waiting. Arms crossed, jaw set, eyes blazing.
“Care to explain this?” She shoved the ID card toward him.
Brandon froze, the lazy smirk fading from his lips. For once, he didn’t have a witty retort ready. He stared at the card, then back at her.
“Why lie about who you are?” Julia demanded, her voice low but fierce. “Brandon Carter, Hughes… whatever your name is. Do you think this is funny? Do you know what your family has done?”
He sat up slowly, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
A long pause stretched between them. Brandon’s gaze darkened, his usual arrogance replaced by something guarded.
“I just… wanted to start fresh.” His tone was flat, evasive. “I don’t want to be Hughes anymore. That’s it.”
Julia’s heart hammered. He wasn’t denying it, but he wasn’t confessing either. The ambiguity only sharpened her anger.
“Start fresh? In my apartment? With my rent money?” she snapped. “What kind of game are you playing?”
Before Brandon could answer, a sharp knock echoed at the door.
Julia frowned. “Who is it?”
The knock came again, firmer this time. Brandon’s shoulders stiffened. He stood, running a hand through his hair as if trying to appear more composed.
When Julia opened the door, a tall man in a pristine suit stepped inside uninvited. His presence filled the cramped apartment, his gaze sweeping over the room with thinly veiled disdain.
“Brandon,” the man said crisply. “You look like hell.”
Brandon’s lips curved into a mocking smile. “Nice to see you too, James.”
Julia blinked. James?
The man adjusted his cufflinks, ignoring her completely. “Your family is furious. Do you realize what you’ve done by disappearing like this? You’re lucky I tracked you down before the press did.”
Julia’s stomach churned. So he was a Hughes.
Julia excused herself to the kitchen, pretending to busy herself with dishes, but her ears strained at every word.
“You can’t stay here,” James said sharply. “Hiding in some dingy apartment with… people like her? It’s beneath you, Brandon.”
Julia’s hand froze on the dishcloth.
“Beneath him?” The words echoed in her skull, stinging sharper than any insult she’d heard before. She bit her lip hard, forcing herself not to storm back into the living room.
James’s voice lowered. “This girl—what’s her name, Julia?—she’s a distraction. You don’t belong in this world. You’re Hughes, whether you like it or not.”
Julia’s throat tightened.
For a moment, silence stretched. Julia’s chest ached. Then Brandon’s voice cut through, firm and cold.
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
Julia’s breath caught.
James scoffed. “You can’t be serious. She’s… ordinary. Disposable. You think this girl can help you rebuild your life?”
“I didn’t ask for your approval,” Brandon snapped. “Julia’s worth ten of the parasites I grew up surrounded by. She doesn’t care about my name, and that’s exactly why I’m here.”
Julia’s heart twisted. She pressed a hand to the counter, steadying herself.
Why would he defend me like that?
Her pulse thundered with confusion. He was hiding something—big enough to terrify him into running away. And yet, he stood up for her, as if she mattered.
When James finally left, the air in the apartment was thick. Brandon leaned against the doorframe, shoulders tense. Julia avoided his gaze, her emotions tangled between fury, doubt, and… something else she refused to name.
“You heard everything, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.
Julia turned away. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t care what your lawyer thinks.”
But her voice wavered, betraying the storm inside her.
Brandon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t push. He simply walked past her into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.
Julia slumped against the counter, her fists trembling.
The next morning, Julia’s phone buzzed as she prepared for her shift. An unfamiliar number flashed across the screen.
“Miss Julia Reed?” a smooth voice asked.
“Yes?”
“This is Hughes Corporation. We’ve reviewed your application. There’s an opening, and we’d like to schedule you for an interview this week.”
Julia nearly dropped her phone. Her? At Hughes Corporation? She hadn’t applied—she knew better than to step foot anywhere near them.
“W-what position?” she stammered.
“Administrative support. Recommended through Mr. James Whitmore.”
Julia’s blood ran cold. James.
Her gaze slid to Brandon’s closed door, her heart pounding. Was this a trap? A chance? Or another way for the Hughes family to pull her into their web?
Either way, she was about to be pulled into a world she’d sworn never to touch again.
The leak hits before dawn, sharp and merciless.By the time Julia’s phone starts vibrating across the nightstand, the headline has already metastasized—screenshots, legal language stripped of nuance, phrases like annulment filing and corporate risk bolded for maximum damage. She doesn’t open anything at first. She lies there, staring at the ceiling, listening to Brandon’s breathing beside her, uneven even in sleep.When she finally sits up, the room feels colder.“Julia?” Brandon murmurs, waking as if he felt the shift in the air. He reaches for her without opening his eyes, fingers brushing her wrist. “
Julia doesn’t wait for the right moment. She creates it by refusing to let the silence keep stretching.Brandon is at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, staring at his phone without scrolling. When she places the printed pages between them, the soft thud sounds louder than it should. He looks down, then up at her, confusion tightening his mouth.“What’s this?” he asks.“A proposal,” she says, voice steady enough to convince herself. “Not an ending.”He scans the first page. His jaw locks. “This is a separation.”“It’s a strategy,” she replies quickly. “A pause. A firewall.”He sets the p
Arthur doesn’t look relieved when he sees Julia. He looks careful.They meet in a quiet private room off a legal café downtown, the kind of place designed to look neutral and fail at it. Glass walls, muted light, the hum of other people’s problems leaking through. Julia sits across from him with her coat still on, spine straight, expression composed enough to be mistaken for calm.“This isn’t about leaving Brandon,” she says before he can speak. “If that’s what you think, say it now so I can walk out.”Arthur studies her for a long moment. “Then don’t walk out.”He slides a folder across the table, not opening it. Not yet. “This is about fallout. Containment. Damage that’s already in mot
Julia reads the word annulment three times before it becomes real.The paper trembles faintly in her hands, though her face stays still. Corporate risk statutes. Reputational exposure. Financial liability. Her name appears not as a wife, not as a person, but as a variable to be eliminated.She sits on the edge of the bed, morning light cutting across the room in pale stripes. Brandon stands a few feet away, saying nothing, watching the way her shoulders slowly draw inward as if bracing against a wind only she can feel.“They quantified me,” she says finally, voice flat. “Like I’m a bad investment.”“Julia—”
The envelope is heavier than it should be.Brandon feels it the moment his assistant places it on his desk, the thick cream paper stamped with legal insignia he knows too well. No preamble. No courtesy call. Just the weight of intent, pressed flat and merciless.He doesn’t open it right away. He stares at the skyline beyond the glass wall, jaw locked, pulse slow and dangerous. When he finally breaks the seal, the words don’t surprise him—only the speed does.Filed for annulment under corporate risk statutes. Immediate injunction. Joint assets frozen. Public appearances suspended until further review.“Christ,” he breathes.This isn’t about legality. It’s leverage. The board isn’
Silence lives between them like a third presence, heavy and deliberate.Julia sits on the edge of the bed, robe tied too tightly, fingers worrying the fabric as if it might unravel on its own. Brandon stands by the window, city lights flickering across his face, phone dark in his hand for the first time in hours. No calls. No lawyers. Just the quiet aftermath of choice.“I keep waiting for the next hit,” he says without turning. “The email that blows everything apart.”Julia swallows. “Me too.”The silence returns, thicker now. It isn’t anger that fills it—worse, more fragile. Fear. The kind that waits, patient and sharp, promising consequences.“They’ll come for you







