"Katie, please... call him," the old woman begged, her voice cracking. "I just buried my daughter. Let me at least hear your husband's voice. Let me know you have someone to protect you when I'm gone."
Every word felt like a dull knife sawing at Kathryn’s heart. Suffocating under her grandmother's pleading gaze, she dialed Julian's number.
It rang only once before his voice cut through the line—icy, impatient, and utterly devoid of warmth. "What is it?"
Kathryn swallowed the blood tasting lump in her throat. "My mother was just buried. Can you... can you just come for ten minutes? For my grandmother's sake?"
"I'm busy," Julian rejected flatly, without a second of hesitation. "I have a crucial social engagement."
Suddenly, a woman's voice chimed in from his end, sweet, cloying, and deliberately loud enough to be heard over the speaker. "Julian, darling! The drone show is about to start, come look!"
It was Chloe.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Julian hung up. He didn't even bother to explain.
A wave of sheer, visceral nausea hit Kathryn. The world tilted violently. The gray tombstones spun into a blur, and her knees buckled.
Before she hit the muddy grass, Alistair’s strong arms caught her. He pulled her against his chest, his dark eyes burning with a mix of fury and heartbreak. "Katie! Are you okay?"
Kathryn stared blankly at the dark screen of her phone. A crucial social engagement.
That night, she didn't even need to look for it. The news was shoved into her face by every major media outlet in the city.
"Billionaire Julian Carlisle Lights Up the Sky! 1,000 Drones Spell 'Happy Birthday Chloe'!"
Kathryn sat in the dark, staring at the viral video. Thousands of drones formed a massive, glowing heart over the city skyline.
While she was standing in the freezing rain burying the woman who gave her life, her husband was throwing a multi-million-dollar spectacle for his mistress.
The tears she had been crying for days suddenly stopped. What replaced the grief was a freezing, absolute hatred. Julian Carlisle, from this second on, you are dead to me.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Chloe. Attached was a photo of Julian’s distinct, elegant hands cutting a massive custom cake, his body leaning intimately against Chloe's.
Then came the text: [He wouldn't even spare a minute for your dead mother, but he spent the whole day making sure my birthday was perfect. Kathryn, you're not a wife. You're just a pathetic joke.]
Instead of crying, Kathryn let out a chilling laugh. Her fingers flew across the screen, typing out a response dripping with venom: [And yet, I'm the one with the marriage certificate. You've been raising his bastard son for years, and he still won't give you a ring. Tell me, Chloe, how does it feel to be a glorified, unpaid nanny?]
Chloe didn't reply. Instead, she quickly recalled her own message. Kathryn's eyelid twitched in pure disgust at the woman's cowardly, manipulative games.
An hour later, Kathryn pushed open the heavy doors of the Carlisle mansion.
Julian was sitting on the leather sofa, dressed in a deep-V silk shirt that perfectly accentuated his broad shoulders and flawless physique. He was sipping whiskey, looking like a god who had just descended from a glorious party.
He glanced at the grandfather clock, then at Kathryn's pale face and black mourning dress.
"The funeral is over?" he asked, his tone as casual as if he were asking about the weather.
"Yes," Kathryn said, her voice dead.
Julian set his glass down. He picked up an exquisite velvet box from the coffee table and held it out to her. Inside was a diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe watch.
"My condolences," Julian said, his expression completely blank. "I had my reasons for not being there. I was occupied with important matters."
Kathryn stared at the blinding diamonds. He was trying to buy off her mother's death with a watch.
"Important matters?" Kathryn sneered, her voice trembling with pure rage. "You mean lighting up the sky for your mistress? I saw the news, Julian."
Julian's handsome face darkened. He hated being questioned. "Kathryn, don't be hysterical. It was a PR stunt for the company. It's not what you think."
"Not what I think?" Kathryn let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed in the massive room.
She reached into her bag, pulled out a stack of papers, and slammed them directly against his chest. The papers scattered, fluttering down onto the glass table.
Right on top was the bold, undeniable text: Probability of Paternity between Julian Carlisle and Leo Sterling is 99.999%.
Julian's gaze dropped to the paper. For the first time in three years, the mask of perfect indifference on his face completely shattered. His ice-blue eyes widened, a storm brewing instantly within them.
Before he could utter a single word, Kathryn looked him dead in the eye, her voice cold enough to freeze hell over.
"Keep your watch, keep your lies, and keep your bastard son. I'm filing for divorce."
