He Broke My Heart, My Family Broke His Empire Chapter 14

He Broke My Heart, My Family Broke His Empire Chapter 14

Julian, still on the floor, coughed up another mouthful of bloody spit. He tried to push himself up, his face a mixture of defiance and fear.

“Destroy her? I gave her everything! No one was laughing at her! You can’t just say that!”

Wyatt let out a short, harsh laugh devoid of any humor.

He reached into his coat, pulled out a thick fold of newsprint, and slammed it onto the floor beside Julian’s head.

“Really? Then what do you call this?”

I leaned closer to the phone. They were clippings from *The Boston Globe*. The society pages. My name was in every headline, paired with words like “hysterical,” “unstable,” and “meltdown.” Each article corresponded to a year Julian had taken another woman to Nantucket. My public humiliations, reframed as my private failings.

Julian stared at the papers, the blood draining from his face until it was a sickly, waxy white.

Wyatt crouched, grabbed a fistful of Julian’s perfectly coiffed hair, and yanked his head back.

“My sister is a ‘madwoman’ in your circles? Because she found out her husband is a cheating piece of filth?” His voice was a low, venomous whisper.

“Wyatt… please…” Julian choked out.

“My lawyers will be in touch tomorrow, Julian,” Wyatt said, his voice dropping to a flat, final tone. “We’re filing for divorce. I’m taking her home.”

He let go, and Julian’s head thumped against the hardwood floor.

“And you,” Wyatt said, standing, his voice ringing with absolute finality, “will never touch her again.”

He turned and walked out of the frame without a backward glance. The camera lingered on Julian’s crumpled form. Then one of Wyatt’s men stepped forward, a polo mallet held casually at his side.

The video cut off, but not before I heard it.

A sickening crack, followed by a scream so raw and piercing it seemed to tear through the phone’s speaker.

The screen went dark.

Wyatt took his phone back. The cold fury from the video was gone, replaced by an almost boyish pride, as if he were waiting for praise.

“Well?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Did that help?”

My throat tightened, and my nose stung. For the first time in years, it wasn’t from pain. It was the overwhelming, unfamiliar feeling of being protected. Of finally having someone on my side.

“Yes,” I whispered, the word thick with tears of relief. “Yes, it helped. Thank you, Wyatt.”