The air in the room went still.
Clint stared at the thin sheet of paper, and a sudden wave of panic gripped his chest. Something was slipping out of his control, and the feeling gnawed at him without reason.
This company had consumed so much of Millie's effort. Years of her blood and sweat poured into every corner of it.
Could she really bear to walk away?
"Millie, what kind of stunt are you pulling now?" He frowned. "First you threaten me with calling off the engagement, and now you're threatening me with your resignation?"
Lucille stamped her foot beside him. "Miss Sullivan knows perfectly well the company can't function without her. Is this some kind of power play?"
Clint's expression turned cold, as though her words had flipped a switch. He let out a derisive laugh.
"Fine, Millie. You've really grown bold."
He snatched the resignation letter from her hands. Without so much as reading it, he scrawled his signature across the bottom.
"You want to leave? Then leave. Don't come crawling back, because even if you beg, I might not take you back!"
The moment the pen hit the paper, the last flicker of anything Millie still felt for him went dark.
She pulled out her phone. Right there, in front of everyone, she dialed a number and put it on speaker.
"Mr. Qian, it's me. Millie Sullivan."
The other end picked up quickly, the tone polite. "Director Sullivan, about the contract, we were just about to—"
"The contract is off the table." Her voice was perfectly level. "The data was compromised. The partnership is canceled."
The conference room plunged into dead silence.
Clint's face drained of color. "Millie, what the hell are you doing?!"
Millie didn't so much as glance at him.
The voice on the other end faltered. "Director Sullivan, this—"
"Also," she added, her tone unhurried, "I've resigned from Gilbert Group. This project is no longer my concern."
She hung up.
"Millie!" Clint lost all composure, his voice shaking with barely contained fury. "Do you have any idea what this project is worth? You're treating a company partnership like a joke?!"
Millie looked at him, her gaze ice-cold.
"I was cutting the company's losses."
She paused, and the faintest trace of mockery curved her lips.
"After all, you can't even tell the difference between what's real and what's fake."
Clint's expression froze.
"And I have never once threatened you." Her voice didn't waver. "The resignation is real. Calling off the engagement is real."
She turned on her heel and walked out without a backward glance.
Her start date at the new company was just two days away.
She threw herself into her final goodbyes. Colleagues she'd grown close to, friends she'd be leaving behind—one farewell dinner after another. Words of reluctance and affection filled her ears, slowly washing away the exhaustion and grievances she'd carried for so long.
She never expected that before leaving the country, she'd cross paths with Clint one last time.
She had stepped out to get some air after a few drinks when Clint and Lucille emerged from around a corner.
Lucille's lips were flushed, her eyes hazy and unfocused.
What had just happened between them needed no explanation.
Lucille slipped back into the private room first. Clint seemed to be deliberately staggering his exit, but the moment he looked up, he saw Millie. A flash of shock and guilt crossed his face.
Millie took it all in. She simply gave a calm nod and moved to walk past him.
That nameless unease seized Clint's chest again.
How could Millie act as though none of this mattered?
The memory of how he'd treated her these past few days surfaced, and a thread of guilt flickered in his eyes—so faint he didn't even notice it himself.
He was about to reach for her hand when Lucille came stumbling toward them.
Her hands were covered in blood. Her face was white as chalk.
"Mr. Gilbert, I've done something terrible. I think I killed Mr. Neal."
Every muscle in Clint's body went rigid. Millie was instantly forgotten. His voice shook. "What happened?!"
"Mr. Neal kept forcing me to drink, and then he tried to grope me..." Lucille sobbed, tears streaming down her face like rain on blossoms. "I grabbed a bottle and hit him over the head. He collapsed, and there was blood everywhere..."
Between her broken sobs, Clint pulled her into his arms, his heart aching. "Don't be scared, Lucy. I'll handle it. That old creep Myron Neal had it coming. This is my fault—I never should have let you go in there alone..."
Lucille cried harder. "Mr. Gilbert, I can't go to prison. I'm so scared..."
Millie's brow furrowed, but she said nothing. She turned and walked away.
The next morning, when she woke up in her hotel room, her parents were standing at the door.
There were no pleasantries. Greg's voice was an order that left no room for argument. "You're going to take the blame for Lucille."
Millie's head snapped up. She was sure she'd misheard. "What did you just say?!"
Judith cut in, her tone sharp with impatience. "That Mr. Neal is still unconscious. His family is threatening to call the police."
"I'm not doing it."
She had long since stopped hoping for her parents' love. But hearing them demand she take the fall—her eyes still burned, reddening against her will.
Crack.
Judith's palm connected with her face.
"If you'd had any ability at all—if you could have held on to Clint—would things have gotten this bad? Honestly, I wish Lucille were our daughter instead. She's more like Carrie than you ever were. She's better at keeping Clint happy than you could ever dream of being."
"You're going today whether you like it or not."
