Ch10 - Spoiled

Nobody at Caldwell Group knows Stella is married to the ruthless billionaire on the forty-second floor.

That is the arrangement. With the sole exception of Daniel, Ethan's loyal executive assistant, the rest of the world sees exactly what Ethan permits them to see—two separate, unconnected lives moving strictly within their own high-society orbits.

Officially, both of them are single. Ethan has always preferred it that way.

Stella always tells herself the secrecy no longer bothers her, though the lie tastes bitter every time she is forced to swallow it.

Today, wearing a designer hat pulled low and a silk scarf looped twice around her chin, she steps out of the private elevator with a thermal canteen clutched tightly in both hands. It contains bone broth—prepared exactly the way he likes—a pathetic, desperate peace offering because she hasn't seen her husband in over a week since the Vane Foundation gala.

She knows he despises her unannounced visits. She knows he only married her because the Caldwell family deemed Luna an unacceptable match, forcing his hand. Yet, she came anyway, simply because it is the only language she has left to speak to him.

Daniel meets her in the sleek, minimalist corridor with his usual careful politeness, his eyes holding a faint trace of pity as he pushes open the heavy mahogany door. "Mr. Caldwell is expecting you, Ms. Vane."

Stella murmurs a quiet thanks and steps inside.

And abruptly stops.

Luna is sitting at Ethan's desk.

Not across from it in the visitor's chair, but fully occupying the seat of his authority.

Dressed in a pale pink blazer and crisp white trousers, Luna has her legs crossed casually at the ankle, resting elegantly on the edge of the pristine desk while she flips through a thick legal document. By the floor-to-ceiling window, Ethan is finishing a phone call, his broad back turned to the room.

The autumn sunlight spills across them both, casting a warm, cinematic glow that makes the scene feel deliberately, cruelly staged.

Stella knows everything about Ethan's habits, particularly his severe mysophobia and his territorial rules. No one touches his belongings, no one sits in his chair. He simply does not allow it.

He is currently allowing it.

Hearing the door, Luna pauses her reading. She tilts her head, her face settling into a soft, ruinously polite expression that confirms she finds this situation exactly as entertaining as she had anticipated.

"Mrs. Caldwell," Luna purrs, dropping her legs to the floor. "Don't just stand there. And please don't misunderstand—I'm only here for professional reasons."

Stella sets the canteen on the side table, her stomach twisting violently.

Professional reasons? The glare Ethan shoots her the moment he turns around confirms her worst fears.

He looks at her not with hostility, but with a terrifying, absolute blankness—the specific look of a man regarding an object that requires absolutely no response.

"Ethan," Stella begins, forcing her trembling voice to remain level. She stops exactly one pace away from him. "I need you to stop targeting the Ford family. Whatever happened at the Vane estate, I apologize on Jade's behalf. It was my responsibility."

Over the past twenty-four hours, the Ford family's businesses have faced catastrophic, systematic dismantling. Very few people in Harlow possess the power to orchestrate such immediate ruin, and Jade had only offended one of them.

"No," Ethan says. The single syllable falls flat and heavy, completely devoid of hesitation.

"Ethan, please. We are tied together by marriage," Stella pleads, her carefully maintained composure finally fracturing. "Vane Group and Caldwell Group share interests. You're going to bankrupt her entire family just because of one incident at a party?"

"Because she put her hands on something that did not belong to her," Ethan corrects smoothly, his voice never rising.

He crosses his arms, looking down at her with cool, detached amusement. "And are you threatening me, Stella? Jade Ford's spectacular lack of judgment brought down her family's empire. If they cannot absorb the consequences of her stupidity, that is a structural failure on their part, not my responsibility to solve."

Stella's knees buckle slightly, the crushing weight of her humiliation threatening to drag her down to the carpet.

Before she can fully break down, Luna materializes in front of her, having crossed the room silently in her designer heels. Between two slender fingers, she offers a dark, perfectly folded handkerchief.

"Wipe your tears, Mrs. Caldwell," Luna says, her tone entirely devoid of weight or sympathy. "Your friend's crisis isn't resolved yet."

Stella stares blindly at the fabric. A sudden, violent memory surfaces.

One summer night during their freshman year of high school, just after Ethan had saved her from a reckless mistake, Luna had appeared like this—wearing a white dress and offering a handkerchief with that same infuriatingly perfect smile. Stella had hated her then, realizing even at sixteen that Luna Quinn was destined to become the inescapable center of gravity in Ethan's life.

Refusing the handkerchief, Stella turns and flees the office without another word.

The heavy door clicks shut, leaving the thermal canteen cooling uselessly on the side table, exactly the way everything she brings to this man eventually does.

The room settles into a heavy, charged quiet.

Luna calmly folds the handkerchief, slipping it into her pocket before turning her attention back to the contract on the desk. "Are you really not taking a single percentage of my management fees?"

When Luna had declared her intention to dominate the luxury fashion and entertainment sectors, Ethan had immediately mobilized Caldwell Group's elite talent agency, drawing up a flawless representation contract and assigning her the industry's most famous manager.

"Luna," Ethan says, his cold demeanor evaporating instantly, softening into something entirely unrecognizable from the man who had just crushed his wife. "What's mine is yours."

"Don't." Luna holds up a hand, a sharp, mocking smile cutting across her features. "Do I need to remind you that your wife just walked out of that door? We are strictly business, Mr. Caldwell."

Ethan's expression darkens, a flicker of genuine, agonizing pain crossing his eyes. "Luna, you know we are only married in name. We don't—"

"What about four years ago?" Luna interrupts, her voice dropping to a deadly, precision-guided whisper that slices through the air. "Did you not sleep with her? Did she not get pregnant with your child?"

The words hit Ethan like a physical blow. The commanding, oppressive aura of the untouchable CEO shatters, leaving a man utterly paralyzed by his own devastating history.

He opens his mouth, but the defense dies in his throat.

"I have a boyfriend, Ethan, and I certainly don't make a habit of recycling trash," Luna says ruthlessly, leaning over the desk to gracefully sign her name on the dotted line. "I won't reject your resources, but don't expect any gratitude. You are doing this because you owe me."

She straightens up, sliding the contract across the wood. "My first major campaign launches next month. Tell my new manager to handle the press." She walks toward the door, pausing with her hand resting on the brass handle. "Oh, W******p."

Ethan blinks, staring blankly at her silhouette against the backlit glass.

"I'll take you off the blacklist later tonight," Luna says evenly, without turning around.

A sudden, desperate warmth floods Ethan's chest, breathing life back into his frozen lungs.

"Okay," he murmurs, a rare, breathtakingly tender smile touching his lips. "How are you getting back? I can...have my driver take you." He swallows the words I will take you, knowing he hasn't earned the right.

"I drove myself," Luna replies. She glances over her shoulder. "The Ford family. Stop targeting them."

Ethan's smile vanishes, instantly replaced by a deep, protective frown. "Luna, Jade Ford insulted you. She tried to hurt you. She doesn't deserve your kindness."

"You can interpret it as kindness if it helps you justify it," Luna counters smoothly, leaning her hip against the doorframe. "Pull your people back, but do it gradually. Let her think she naturally survived the crisis."

Ethan pauses, his dark eyes locked onto her face. It only takes him a fraction of a second to recalculate the board and understand the lethal, brilliant architecture of her game. She doesn't want to save Jade Ford, she wants Jade to believe someone powerfully intervened on her behalf.

"You want her gratitude," Ethan says, a slow smirk finally returning to his lips.

"Gratitude is a highly useful currency," Luna says softly, opening the door. "And I intend to start collecting."