He Broke My Heart, My Family Broke His Empire Chapter 04

He Broke My Heart, My Family Broke His Empire Chapter 04

My confrontation with Julian didn’t cool the party down; it just spiraled into an even more twisted form of entertainment. Someone suggested Truth or Dare, and soon an empty whiskey bottle was spinning across the expensive Persian rug.

It stopped, pointing squarely at Julian.

The challenger, one of Julian’s Harvard classmates, let his gaze slide between me and Felicity before smiling.

“Choose one woman in this room to spend the night with.”

Every sound in the room died. Countless gazes—a mix of pity, schadenfreude, and pure malice—pinned me like searchlights.

I barely reacted. I just looked down at my phone.

A new message from Wyatt had just appeared.

“Thanksgiving Day. I’m coming to take you home.”

Before I could reply, my phone was slapped from my hand. It hit the wall with a sharp crack, the screen shattering.

Julian grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it felt as if he wanted to crush my bones. He stared at me, his eyes cold, and said two words.

“I choose Felicity.”

He swept Felicity into his arms. As he passed me, he deliberately paused, his gaze flicking contemptuously toward the master bedroom.

“The master bedroom is ours for the night.”

He knew I was a germaphobe.

I met the challenge in his eyes and gave a calm nod.

Then, in front of everyone, I walked into the master bedroom, took an unopened box of Trojan condoms from the bedside table, and placed it on the pillow.

The door slammed shut behind me.

I walked to the wall and tore down the expensive art calendar, counting silently in my head.

Three days.

Early the next morning, I opened the master bedroom door.

A man’s shirt and a woman’s evening gown were tossed carelessly on the floor. Used condoms lay scattered across the carpet like filthy mushrooms. My favorite Frette bedding was a twisted heap, stained with suspicious wet patches.

The cleaning lady stood in the doorway, looking mortified and unsure of what to do.

I surveyed the mess, my tone as flat as if I were discussing the weather.

“Throw it all out. The sheets, the duvet, the pillows. Everything.”

Felicity was sitting barefoot on the living room sofa, telltale red marks still visible on her neck. She was feeding Julian coffee with a small spoon. She gave me a sweet smile.

“Sorry, Clara. I made a mess of your room.”